#my fics went without a proper input for too long

[wipcreamontop]

Danger Notes Challenge: 9/?

Enjoy as I challenge myself to stretch my writing muscles by writing for at least five minutes nonstop under threat of starting the fic over

Fic 9: Even more matchablossom

“I shouldn’t have said that,”

Kojiro turned white as a sheet.

“Kojiro?”

“You’re engaged to the crown prince. An entire peace treaty hinges on your wedding,” Kojiro stepped back towards the door. “Forget I said it,”

“But how could I-“

The door closed behind Kojiro. Left with his own thoughts, Kaoru put his hand to his cheeks, trying to hide the color covering his face. For the first time, Kaoru was utterly lost.

His whole life had been chosen for him by his royal family. They had unofficially picked his fiancée when they were both children. That was fine with him. After all, it was Adam they had picked. Adam, who was always the most exciting part of going to a ball. Adam, who always knew how to make Kaoru laugh. Adam, whom he fell for before he knew it.

In the Shindo castle though, he could not have felt more underprepared or out of place. Trying to talk to Adam about his concerns just led to him changing the subject every time. The work as a diplomat just got harder and harder. He felt himself slipping away, lost in never ending meetings and paperwork. Stuck playing the role of the perfect fiancée, lest the peace treaty come under threat.

It seemed like the only time he was able to relax was back in his room, alone. The only place where he could ignore propriety and act as himself. Maybe he could have with Adam, but as of right now, they were unmarried and not allowed to share a room. They hadn’t had a proper conversation since Kaoru came to the castle, and his pleas for another fell on deaf ears.

Kaoru found only ally he had in the castle was Kojiro. The Shindo family had allowed him to pick a chef to come with, as they didn’t want him to be without the comforts of home. Kojiro was more than prepared for the challenge, as the Nanjo family had served the royal family for ages, and he had been trained in early to run the kitchens one day. He was practically the only person his own age Kaoru had around him growing up. The two butted heads over and over again because of it.

But somewhere along the line, Kojiro became the first person Kaoru told about most things. Kojiro’s input became the opinion he listened to the closest. Despite warnings to stay away, Kaoru kept finding himself at the kitchens time and time again. He desperately wanted to follow Kojiro into the kitchens again. He had no appetite in recent months, only eating the bare minimum to avoid scrutiny at meetings and the dinner table.

Kojiro was the only one who noticed.

Kaoru’s parents never noticed when he secretly kept doing calligraphy. They never noticed that he always cleaned his plate when they served carbonara. They only noticed when his posture was wrong, or if he spoke too informally. He had hoped Adam would pay more attention than that. Clearly he was wrong.

But Kojiro was always there, making sure his food was always good, and that he never went hungry. For as long as Kaoru could remember, Kojiro was the only person he believed truly cared about him. The Adam he knew ended up being a lie, after all.

And it turns out Kaoru was not prepared for why Kojiro had cared so much when Kaoru kept refusing meals.

Because I love you, dumbass.

It all made sense now. Why he had learned to cook all of Kaoru’s favorites, why he snuck in calligraphy supplies for him, why he’d sneak over to Kaoru’s room after hours so often. Why he decided not to leave the castle when his family offered him the choice to stay or not.

And Kaoru had been oblivious to it all. The heat of embarrassment refused to dissipate. Maybe Kojiro was right. Forgetting that had happened would make things easier. He could go on to the wedding as planned, and finally get to share the life he wanted with the man he loved. But there were two truths in front of Kaoru: One, Kojiro cared for him far more than Adam ever could. And two, nothing would stop Kaoru from chasing after Kojiro, whatever the circumstances.

Having finally gathered his thoughts, Kaoru was done pretending. He rushed to the kitchens.

***

After receiving many strange looks from the kitchen staff, he was pointed in the direction of Kojiro’s living quarters. He could only hope to apologize later for startling them, but this could not wait. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he knocked on Kojiro’s door. He was greeted by silence followed by a light flicking off in the room.

“I know you’re in there, Kojiro. We need to talk,”

The silence persisted.

“You’re the one person who will listen to me anymore. Please, I can’t just go back to my room like this,” his voice choked up. “I just can’t,”

Light once again came from behind the door, and a moment later, Kojiro hesitantly opened the door ajar, his gaze averted.

“I told you to forget it, it’s okay,”

“Kojiro,”

“Please, you know what would happen if-“

“I’m well aware, Kojiro,”

“Clearly not! Do you not think it was already a noticeable scene when I left your chambers earlier? You following me back here just makes it look more suspicious,” Kojiro turned toward his room. “Go. Just… go,”

“I can’t. No, I won’t,”

Kojiro stayed standing in the doorway.

“This castle is somehow more suffocating and irritating than back at home, and it’s only getting worse. Not even the kitchens can catch a break. I’m surprised you can still cook under these circumstances,”

“Well, if there’s one thing I can still do under these circumstances, it is cooking,” Kojiro folded his arms.

“I brought you here not just because I thought you’d be honored by the chance to learn from the chefs and cuisine here, but because I wanted you here. I wasn’t prepared for this place whatsoever, I couldn’t go it alone. I didn’t expect this place to put you under the same pressure,”

The chef shook his head. “No, I am still learning a lot here, and yeah they demand a lot, but I’m doing what I want to do. I came because I wanted to, not just cause you asked,”

“Kojiro,”

“I’ve never trusted Adam. I wasn’t about to wait and see what he did once you two were at this castle and married,”

“Adam is-“

“The crown prince, and your fiancée. And there will be no more peace if that changes. So I’ll leave,”

“What,”

Kojiro sighed. “People talk, Kaoru. I can’t deny avoid treason charges if I dismiss myself before word spreads,”

Because I love you, dumbass.

“The other chefs know how to make most of your favorites by now, so don’t worry, I’ll be fine back home,”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, dumbass,”

“Then why are you here?”

“What you said earlier… you were serious weren’t you? I can’t forget something like that,”

“It doesn’t have to change anything,”

“But you’re having to leave now because of it! That hardly seems fair,”

“I learned what I was hoping to here, I’m not worried-“

“Kojiro, you being here made me realize something important,”

“Did it?”

“Look at me, Kojiro,”

The two finally locked eyes.

“I actually dread living in this castle for the rest of my life,”

Kojiro’s mouth snapped shut.

“I probably would be in worse shape now if you weren’t here with me. You’re the only one who noticed,”

“I’m sure Adam did, he just never-“

“No he fucking didn’t and you know it. None of them did,” Kaoru took a breath. “If I’m being honest, as much as it hurts to admit after wanting it for so long I… I don’t think I can marry Adam,”

“I really will get nailed for treason-“

“Let me be clear, I realized this a while back, now. Once I settled in as a diplomat, it didn’t take long,”

“So you’re saying, that even if I hadn’t come with,”

“That I probably wouldn’t have been able to marry Adam then, either, or if I did, I think I would just waste away here,”

“So, what are you gonna do now, then?”

“Take me with you,”

“You’re serious,” Kojiro sighed. “How do you think it will look if the two of us runaway together? We won’t make it halfway back to the castle,”

“What if we didn’t try to go back to the castle?”

Kojiro raised an eyebrow.

“Faced with the prospect of either getting stuck married to Adam forever or running away with you, the latter is an easy choice,”

A blush fell on Kojiro’s cheeks. “Kaoru, you-“

“I thought I knew what love was, and I thought that’s what I felt for Adam. It’s clear to me now that wasn’t the case. And… I can’t imagine never being allowed to see you again. It would be too painful,” Kaoru’s voice got quiet, hsi eyes pleading. ”Kojiro, please, let me come with you,”

“So you really wanna be branded a traitor, huh,”

Kaoru spun around, heart pounding, to be greeted by a familiar shock of blue hair.

“Pray tell, what is the meaning of this?”

“Adam,” Kaoru carefully regained his composure. “Nice of you to finally talk to me for once,”

“Cut the formality. Explain yourselves. Now,”

“What I discuss with my best friend is no business of yours,”

“Hah, best friend, so that’s what you’re calling it,”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Like I never noticed how you longingly looked towards the kitchens when you thought nobody was watching,” Adam took a step forward. “I’m here to secure the peace treaty, no matter what it takes,”

“And that’s all that matters to you? After all this time?” Kaoru clenched his fist.

“This engagement was arranged for that purpose, to secure the kingdom. What other purpose need it serve?”

“I could have been happy, with you,” Kaoru started slowly. “Maybe in another life, I would be a more adept diplomat, I would find this place to be a second home, and I would be content to spend my time with you when a hard day’s work was done,” he looked Adam square in the eye. “But I see now that was just a dream,”

“You’d want for nothing in this castle! You’d be married to a crown prince! Such an opportunity, just to get thrown down the drain for this… peasant,” Adam spat.

“Who I keep company with is my business, Adam. Get to your point already,”

Adam snapped his fingers. Guards filled the hallways from both directions. “Guards, these are the traitors I informed you about. Detain them immediately!”

Kaoru froze, but luckily Kojiro had not. Before he knew it, he was pulled Kojiro’s room, and the man was desperately trying to keep the door shut. The two locked eyes while the banging on the door intensified. Kaoru anxiously began looking around the room, and caught sight of Kojiro’s window.

“Go,”

“You can’t be serious,”

Kojiro shook with the force hitting the door, his gaze unwavering. Kaoru hated that look. It meant Kojiro was right. He averted his gaze.

“My chef’s knife, it’s in the top drawer of my dresser. Take it with you,”

“I’m not going to-

“Soldiers are surrounding this room on all sides as we speak. Take it and go,”

Kaoru crossed his arms. He reluctantly went over to the dresser, pausing for a moment as he picked up the knife. “I’ll come back for you. Be here when I do, got it?”

“Kaoru, you…”

With a tear rolling down his face, Kaoru looked at Kojiro one last time. “I’m sorry,”

In a flutter of curtains, he was gone.

[measurelessdreamer]

I’m back to writing finally after months of being able to write only few (and very bad) sentences a month at best and it’s making me so happy!!!

[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - chapter xv

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N for this chapter: this is 3.2k of unedited drama and I am so fucking proud of it. I wrote this entire thing today, and it’s easily one of the pieces I’m most proud of. So I haven’t been able to fit a proper conversation between the reader and Harlan - I couldn’t make the scene justified if his presence was there, since he does seem to be the one thing that keeps the family on the line - but that means I had some ideas of how I can make up for it in the future! Extra chapter? Perhaps. We are approaching the end though. I only have two more chapter planned for this fic and an epilogue. We’ll see how that goes!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Hey!” I got into the car excited to see him again, but I tried to reason with myself that it was all because of his visit to his grandfather’s publishing company, of course. I wanted to know how that went and I was curious as to what Harlan’s plans were, that was mostly it.

The fact that I had genuinely missed the man by my side after spending just four hours away from him had very little to do with it, or so I tried to tell myself. I didn’t know how to deal with depending so much on someone yet.

But I was trying to.

Ransom’s silence alerted me that something was different. I stopped trying to fix myself to look to the side and find him staring out the window, face expressionless and eyes void of any sentiment.

“Ransom, what’s wrong?” Reaching over, I squeezed his thigh to get his attention, and he jerked as if he was genuinely surprise by my presence in the small vehicle. “You look stressed,” I clarified, eyebrows furrowed in worry as I reached over to push away a strand of hair that had fallen out of place.

He just stared at me for a while and still I couldn’t read what he was thinking. Was he mad at me? Had I done something wrong? After what felt like eternity, he sighed, gripping the steering wheel as he looked on his lap and admitted, “I’m gonna have to go to this family dinner on Friday.”

Immediately, I breathed deeply in relief, suddenly realizing just how worried I actually was that his mood had something to do with me. But then I was reminded of the little that Ransom had told me about this family - even that little felt like too much.

I could only imagine the anxiety he was feeling, and my heart ached to soothe him as best as I could. “Do you want me to go with you?” I asked, running my digits over his nape calmly, keeping my voice as soft as possible to help him relax.

Still, his head snapped up so he could meet my eyes, his wide as two saucers as he struggled to process what I’d said. “… You’d do that?” He sounded so surprised, so genuinely shocked by my offer, that I couldn’t stop myself from giggling, taking both of his hands on mine and squeezing them gently.

“Of course I would, honey.” Ransom’s eyes were so soft as they stared into mine, even as my heart doubled its size in its effort to reach out for his, I found myself justifying, “You went with me to see my parents!”

The way his smile dropped at my explanation had me feeling cold and empty, desperate to see him look at me the same way he was doing only seconds ago.

“Besides,” I forced myself to admit it, trying not to sound as breathless as I felt while I opened my heart to him. “I-I don’t want you to go through that alone. I wanna be there for you, like you were for me.”

Immediately, I felt rewarded on my effort to open up by the smile he gave me. “Thank you, baby.” He squeezed my hand this time, and when he leaned over and connected our lips on a quick peck, my heart skipped a beat.

I was in love with this man.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I sighed as we stood in front of my grandfather’s front door, trying to adjust my sweater that suddenly felt uncomfortable. Beside me, she seemed to be doing the exact same thing, fingers pulling on the end of the dress she was wearing, making me smile.

The dress highlighted her bump - it was now undeniable that she was pregnant and even if I’d never been particularly attracted to women in this stage of life, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her now.

It was like she shined from within. Her beauty amazed me, and so when she noticed me staring and stopped fiddling with her clothes, straightening herself up to ask, “Do I look okay?” I had to stop myself from laughing.

“Yes.” More than okay. “But are you sure you won’t be cold?” We’d gone through this argument before leaving the house, so I was prepared to see her rolling her eyes as she reached out to take my hand in hers.

“Unless your family has the habit of dining outdoors regardless of the weather, I think we’ll be alright.” I chuckled, rubbing my thumb on the back of her hand, but it sounded nervous even to my own ears. It didn’t surprise me that she noticed it. “Are you ready?” She questioned, voice in that soothing tone she used whenever she noticed my stress.

“Not at all,” I admitted, but in all honesty, the prospect of joining my family for dinner didn’t seem as bad as it usually did. Not with her by my side.

“I’m here for you.” Hearing her say those words meant more to me than I was able to properly express at that moment so I just stared at her, taking in the fact that this incredible person actually cared about me.

“Just… don’t leave me alone, okay?” Her immediate nod had me smiling. It prompted me to once again lean over and connect our lips, only this time, when I tried to pull away, she kept me close with her hand on the back of my neck.

Who knows where this kiss might have led us if the door hadn’t open right at that moment, revealing my lousy uncle who stared from me to her with wide eyes?

“… She’s pregnant? With your baby?” A groan was all I could muster as a response, tugging her into the house with me. “When were you going to tell your family?”

“For fuck’s sake,” I cursed, looking around the living room for the bar. “Where’s the goddamn alcohol?” There was no way I’d be able to survive this night without it, as much as I wanted to be supportive of Y/N.

“I think that’s a bottle of scotch,” I heard her whispering next to me, pointing towards a corner of the room, and I sighed in relief at her understanding.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

An hour into the evening and I had already understood why Ransom was the way that he was - and why he liked his grandfather so much, despite how he felt about the rest of the family.

Harlan was gentle where all of his children were… prickly. In fact, he was the only one who addressed me at all, but I found myself feeling grateful for it, since when the dinner actually started, I wanted the rest of the family to forget about me completely.

“I am so sorry,” Harlan apologized, rubbing his hands nervously as he stared at the rest of the family who was walking towards the dining room. “I sleep early, everyone knows that, but this is the only time they could all gather and since they didn’t know you were coming…”

I waved away his apologies, offering him a hug as I wished him good night. “Just as long as you’ve had your dinner, Harlan. Thanks for welcoming me into your home.”

He accepted my embrace easily, taking advantage of the proximity to whisper in my ear, “Just hang on to him, dear. I promise it’ll be worth it.” I smiled when we parted, nodding in confirmation to his words.

“It already is,” I assured him, but he only sighed.

“Make sure to remember that during dinner…” Now I understood why. It started with a simple question, one of the maids offered me some meat, and when I hesitated to answer…

“God, are you daft, girl? Have you never eaten lamb?” My eyes widened in surprise, but before Ransom could have the chance to throw himself at his mother, I just squeezed his thigh.

“I was going to ask her if there was any oregano in the sauce. It’s been making me feel sick.” I didn’t need to add why - the reminder of my situation, of what led me to be there with them in this dining room was very clear in me.

And still, that didn’t stop them.

“That’s a pretty necklace…” Ransom’s father commented before we could even grab a bite. I chuckled to myself, immediately catching onto what he wasn’t saying.

“Thanks, I got it at a little boutique back home. It was a gift for myself after I got my first paycheck.” I could feel Ransom’s gaze on me, the waves of pride rolling from him in waves. It made me smile, but it was just the calm before the storm.

“Ransom, have you contacted a lawyer?”  This question came from his uncle’s wife, Donna - I think that’s what she was called. Not that she tried to introduce herself to me or anything, but Harlan made sure I knew everyone’s name as soon as I stepped inside the house.

“Why?” Ransom’s tone was vicious and his squinted eyes alerted everyone that he was prepared for a strike, but the fact that he still hadn’t anticipated what was coming almost made me laugh.

Even Donna herself hesitated, unbelieving that he was going to make her say it. “There’s no way you’re that stupid.” And just like that, the doors to hell were opened up.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but then again, was I really surprised?

“You should make sure to draw a prenup,” Donna insisted, while the rest of the family pretended not to hear, undoubtedly coming up with their own ways to insult Y/N. “Something that will assure only your kid has access to your money.”

I could hear Y/N quietly laughing to herself next to me, but while she was able to find the irony in the situation amusing, all I felt was blinding rage.

“God, do you even hear the shit you say? I never asked for your input, this, right here, is precisely why I didn’t tell any of you all about my baby.” I saw Y/N flinch from the corner of my eyes before I heard my mother’s fork drop against the precious porcelain dish she was pretending to eat from. I knew this was the sorest topic of discussion for her. I knew this was why she had been pretending Y/N wasn’t even there, hadn’t even been invited to dinner with me.

“Fair enough,” she spoke, lying back against her chair as she finally raised her eyes to meet mine. “I don’t know if we even should learn anything about this child, considering it most likely isn’t even yours.”

It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice over me. Y/N was oddly quiet now, seemingly as frozen as me - and when I realized that, my anger returned with twice its power.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I warned, just as my mother retorted, “Don’t you talk like that to me.” I didn’t even have the chance to talk back when she stroke again. “You fuck so many ransom desperate chicks, I’m surprised this is the first you knocked up.”

This was as insulting to her as it was to me, and it also struck a chord in me because of how I feared this was just reinforcing Y/N’s views of me. “Don’t say shit like that,” I threatened, to no avail. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Ransom…” Her sweet voice tried to intervene, but I was too far gone to hold myself back now. I couldn’t stand the thought that I was hurting her because I was the reason she was here in the first place.

“You know nothing about her, and yet you feel comfortable judging her,” I continued, ignoring her completely. “She’s a lawyer, actually. You would know it if you had even bothered to talk to her. If there was ever the need for a prenup, I’d have her draw it.”

Maybe they thought I’d stop at that - I thought so myself, until I realized there was still so much I wanted to get out, and I was going to do that now.

“And you know what? I trust her more than I trust you, and I came out of you. So maybe you should consider that before you attack the one person I try to introduce to my family.” I hated everything about this. I hated how they still managed to get to me, how the fact that my own mother, who I didn’t even respect, still managed to make me feel inadequate about the one thing in my life that made me excited.

I knew I’d always lose with them. They just had this way of inciting the beast in me - they brought out the worst in me, and I felt helpless to fight it.

“Okay, so she’s not some random skank,” my uncle oh-so-helplessly interrupted, immediately making me want to punch him in his stupid face. “But this just means she’s the one playing you.”

“Oh, shut up!” I threw my hands up, pushing my chair away from the table, fully intended to storm out of the room until Meg was the one who stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Did you even get a paternity test, Ransom?” She seemed almost uncomfortable to voice it, eyes darting from me to Y/N, but I could read her apologetic smile perfectly.

She just didn’t want someone else to get Harlan’s attention and interest because that would potentially mean less money to each and everyone of the people in this room, as he’d add one more person to his aid list.

My father took advantage of what Meg said, waving in her direction. “Don’t you know how important this family is? How quickly she could rise in any job because of a connection to us?”

My mother scoffed, finally ready to interfere again. “Knowing she’s actually smart leaves me even more surprised that you’ve relented and decided to become someone’s little plaything until this baby pops out. I’m assuming a few months with a screaming kid and you’re just gonna abandon her anyway. Which is fine by me, I won’t have to pretend to be a grandmother for long.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

All I could think was how grateful I was that I had accompanied him to this dinner tonight. As I watched his chest heaving with fury, I could not imagine how he would have felt having to deal with all of this on his own.

“Ransom,” I tried to catch his attention, pulling him back to his seat. “Ransom, it’s okay,” I tried to appease him, but he was too fucking gone to care.

“No, it’s not okay, he pushed my hand away, getting up from his chair to lean over the table, both hands on top of it as he stared at his mother.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He yelled, making me flinch, although Linda hardly seemed bothered by it.

Then, much to my surprise, Ransom straightened up, running a hand through his hair as an emotionless chuckle escaped him. “No, you know what? You’re right. You’re not gonna be a grandmother. I’m gonna be a father, Harlan’s gonna be a great-grandfather, but that’s it. I’m not gonna keep taking your shit anymore, Linda, you know why? Even if this child wasn’t mine, I’d still want her and this kid.”

My heartbeat pumped out of control as he continued, “She’s not just someone who’s carrying my child. I care about her. And if you can’t respect her, than I guess I was right in keeping this pregnancy from you.”

I held my breath as Ransom apparently caught his, my head swirling with the different emotions running through me - my infatuation for this man, who had so fiercely defended me from his entire family, the adrenaline from witnessing such a vicious argument.

I truly believed this would be the end of it. I didn’t know where they could go from here - that was, of course, until Linda decided to attack him.

“Oh, and you think you’re going to be so great with it?” My blood boiled when her words turned against her own son so easily. Attack me and my dignity? That was okay, these people didn’t know me.

But seeing her attack Ransom was just too much for me.

“Do you think she’ll want to keep you around once she realizes she’ll be raising two children with you to weigh her down?” Ransom visibly faltered, like she had slapped him, and that’s when I had enough. “You’ll never be able to give her the emotional support that she needs and you know that.”

I rose to my feet at that, holding onto my lower back as I softly slapped Ransom’s back in an attempt to calm him down. “I got this, babe.” He was so surprised - and still so hurt by his mother’s statements - that he didn’t even try to stop me. In fact, I think he didn’t even realize what was going on until I turned to Linda and started talking.

“Do you really think that poorly of your son that you can’t believe he has anything to offer in a relationship?” Now she was the one who looked up at me with an expression that looked like I had physically hurt her.

“Is it that unbelievable to you, that someone would be able to like him for him?” She didn’t seem to be able to find anything to answer to me, and when I turned to Richard, I was also met with silence.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“Well, I do,” she announced, like it was the single most obvious thing, the simplest fact to deduce in the world, while I stood back watching her with my mouth hanging open. “I like him enough to be willing to open up to him even if one day he might leave me because to me, he is worth any possibility of future pain.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d never had anyone defend me like this, not even Harlan - not even my parents, when I was a kid and the bigger children decided to bully me.

No, back then all I got was a talk about how “real men don’t cry” and if my father ever caught me cowering from someone else again he’d give me a real reason to be afraid.

“And I do say possibility,” she continued, not having raised her voice for even a second and still to effortlessly able to catch the attention of everyone in the room, assure herself the ground to speak her mind without the fear of interruptions. “Because Ransom’s actions have never given me any reason to think that outcome is even remotely probable.”

“So maybe you think about your own opinions of your son’s character and see if they don’t reflect your own more than they reflect his actions.” She turned around after that, tiny hand encircling my wrist as she began to yank me in the direction of the front door.

“Let’s go.”

[dragynkeep]

Hi there, ironpines! (Love the name btw, I read a really good fic about ironwood being a father-figure to Oscar when RWBY and co. get to Atlas).

So this is probably going to be very long but I’ve really gotta vent about some stuff.

(Also, first ask. I honestly didn’t know how to do this for the longest time. Just got back into tumblr a bit ago).

1. I hate Jaune Arc (a lot of people do), but I want to know why. Do you think/believe he’s an author’s pet? Also, why the HELL did he kill Penny in the first place?!? Why not Winter, Nora, or Ruby? Why did he have to go to the island? Just- WHY?

2. In the first three volumes I really liked Team RWBY, but now….how did they get so skewed? What went wrong? How can Ruby be THAT arrogant that she point-blank says to Qrow: “we never needed an adult’s help.” Like- yes you did! If not for Qrow killing the Grimm in v4 they would have been continuously fighting Grimm. I’m the fight against Tyrian (one of my favorite characters and favorite fights) if not for Ruby getting in the way Qrow wouldn’t have been POISONED!

3. (This is the one I’m going to get cyber-ly killed for). (I also had just started RWBY when volume 5 was airing weekly.) The beginning of Volume 5, in my opinion was good. I liked the first five-six chapters, but when AU watched ‘Rest and Resolutions’ V5C7, I was so angry! Everything about the conversation between Ruby, Weiss, and Yang felt so out of character and out of place. It was so bad and the next episodes following that were not good either (only the raven v cinder fight was any good). The battle of Haven was a train wreck that I honestly have no idea how I even retained braincells after that. Like- why KEEP teasing Weiss v emerald if you aren’t going to do anything with it. Why tease Mercury v Yang if you’re not going to do anything new and interesting with the two (Mercury isn’t even a character anymore!)

4. I wish we got good rep. I really wish we didn’t get confirmation on LGBTQ+ characters from supplemental material (that’s not even canon). And I’ve gotta ask, why do you consider cannon? Cuz for me, the only things I consider actually CANNON to the storyline are the Red, White, Black, Yellow Trailers and the show itself (Grimm Eclipse just for the sake of more cool lore about Mountain Glenn and the fact of mutant Grimm). That’s it. I don’t consider the World of Remnants, manga (DC or otherwise, those were HORRIBLE!), anthologies, and the DISGUSTING novels.

(This is the last thing, I promise!)

5. I’m working on a quasi-rewrite RWBY fic and I didn’t know whether or not I should post the first chapter on my page or not. I just really don’t want the simps to come for my head (though it might happen anyway). But I’ve been writing this for about a year and a half now and I really want to post it but I’m so nervous about the reception and backlash. What do you think?

Thanks for answering me and indulging the fact that it’s okay to like something and still want it to be better (critics/the Rwde tag is my favorite because I can read opinions that I mused share but are too scared to put as a post).

Thanks, we picked Ironpines because we loved Ironwood and Oscar, and then our friends, being the good friends they are, immediately told us it was the ship name for them so now we can't have anything nice.

1) First off, yes, we absolutely think Jaune is an author's pet. We don't really go for self-insert anymore since everyone in RWBY was a self-insert, Monty clearly based them off his friends. But now, Jaune is absolutely an author's pet and has been since the start of the show.

Just look at Volume 1. Jaune literally had more of a storyline than Yang, one of the girls in the title. He then went on to have a dumb love triangle in V2, only to resolve it with Neptune without any input from Weiss, because why not, and then V3 was Jaune finally taking more of a step back for Pyrrha, who was long over due some character.

Until V4 where, rather than everyone mourning Pyrrha, we focused on Jaune mourning her instead. Nevermind that Pyrrha was Ren and Nora's teammate too, probably their only family since they're orphans, or how Ruby literally watched Pyrrha die in front of her. Nope, gotta focus on Jaune. Add that it stretches into V5 also, adding another storyline about his Semblance while Ren, Nora, and Ruby have to stand in the background and wait their turn, while Weiss literally loses all her braincells so she's injured for Jaune's development, how the confrontation with Cinder doesn't go to Ruby, the main protagonist, but Jaune.

Then we get that stupid statue scene in V6 that took over Oscar finally getting some development of his own. It's not even the whole team, because it's only Jaune that gets to meet the lady who totally isn't Pyrrha's mother, it's Jaune that gets the big teary moment, and how Ren and Nora have to stop and comfort Jaune because of course they have to.

I was glad that Jaune finally took a backseat in V7. I actually started to like him again, because he wasn't sucking screentime away from those who need it. But then V8 happened and now I want him dead.

I've said it countless times before so I don't wanna repeat myself, but Jaune is one of the last people that should've killed Penny. He shouldn't have killed her, he shouldn't have had the big tearful scene because another redhead died, he shouldn't have fallen into the void to join Team RWBY, but he did. Now there's no doubt in my mind that Jaune is a fucking author's pet, because the writers won't let him go into the background where he belongs.

2) There's not much to say about Team RWBY. They just suck now.

3) After watching V8, V5 is no longer my least favourite volume. That's how bad it was.

4) Yeah, RWBY's rep is absolute trash and it's because they keep putting it in supplemental material, and also because they look at the LGBT and only see L. The only MLM we have is Scarlet, and he's a catty fae gay stereotype that is so unlikeable and voiced by a creep. Nevermind the whole Fairgame queerbait controversy because this company can't stop themselves for five minutes.

5) I always say that, when you post work on the internet, whether its art of writing, you have to understand that you will get criticism back. It'll suck, especially when you've put so much time and effort into something, but that's the risk you have to take as a content creator.

The good thing is that AO3 has features that let you manage what you see properly. If people just want to hate without giving proper criticism, you can always remove it and ignore it, but I personally believe that people aren't entitled to criticism when it's only said nicely. Sometimes, people will get annoyed and say it in a meaner way, but that doesn't make the criticism any less valid.

Either way, decide based on how you think you'll react to it. If you don't want the stress of criticism, be careful, but if you think you can handle it? Then go for it, the world's your oyster.

[barkkletshunt]

Those Worth Fighting For Part four

Have you ever seen a fic update so fast? Four updates in two days?

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part five 

Part six

Part seven

Part eight 

“While I like the idea of them having a red, green, and gold colour scheme going on, don’t you think it would have too much of a christmas theme and take away from the magic of their wedding?” Marinette sat on the same couch as Felix did, across from Kagami and Adrien who, despite their careful appearances, looked frazzled. 

“But those are our favourite colours,” Adrien tried, but Felix held his hand up to stop his cousin.

“Your wedding is in late spring, if you think for a moment that christmas colours are appropriate for that time of year then you need to hand over your fathers fashion industry to me right now.” Felix sipped at his now cold cup of coffee. “If anything, we could do red and gold and have green accents if we used things like leaves and give it a more rustic feel.”

“But that wouldn’t go well with their general aesthetic. They need to look like a king and queen, not a cottagecore couple.” Marinette countered. “I think we could go with a green, gold, and cream theme. That way they both get one of their favourites while keeping with the posh style. Either way, no matter what gold has to be a part of it. That I will not budge on.”

“If we made Adrien’s tie green it would bring out his eyes more.” Felix hummed, looking over at his co-planner. “You have good tastes, Marinette.”

“Why thank you, Felix, your tastes aren’t so bad yourself.” She said back. 

The two planners had successfully gotten their way with the wedding with everything they had put forth. Marinette’s ideas were either on point with Felix’s or close to it so the planning was going a lot easier than either of them had expected. Both had spent enough time with the bride and groom to know their likes and dislikes and due to their fashion background they knew what they were doing. 

They were unstoppable, not that Kagami and Adrien even tried. They saw the fire that was lit behind their companions' eyes and knew better, and it wasn’t like they didn’t like anything their friends had said. In fact, the more the two spoke the more excited Kagami and Adrien felt about the upcoming event. 

“Why don’t we make the groomsmen wear gold ties, just so that Adriens tie doesn’t fade in with the rest of them.” Marinette rambled, showing Felix the designs she had tucked away in her portfolio that she refused to show Kagami. “If you wear green too your eyes will stand out and Adrien is supposed to be the one people are paying attention to.”

“Should the bridesmaids wear green then? If that dress design is anything to go by we don’t want Kagami to blend in with the other girls.” Felix hummed, sliding closer to Marinette without thinking about it. “Can’t have you stealing the show from the bride, you know.”

Marinette’s face grew warm at the compliment, even if it did match her unintentional flirting moments earlier. The added proximity didn’t help, but she could pull herself together. This was Felix, after all, and despite how nice he had been that evening she still needed to see more of him before passing a proper judgement on him. 

The two planners missed the looks between the future Mr. and Mrs Agreste. 

“Well, after the akuma attack today I feel exhausted. I think I shall turn in tonight, since the two of you have it covered.” Kagami said as she stood from her seat. 

“Did you want me to make you a coffee?” Adrien asked innocently enough, but was immediately shut down.

“No, if I have a coffee now I won’t sleep.” Kagami raised her brow at her fiance, wondering if he had caught her drift yet. “And you have business to take care of in the morning. Let’s leave the planning to these two, shall we?”

The blonde man abruptly stood up, realizing what she was getting at. “Oh, oh! Yeah! Of course! They don’t really need our input for any of this stuff anyways, and I’m definitely beat after that sentimonster. We should go to bed.”

The owners of the house bid their goodnights and quickly escaped from the room, leaving Marinette and Felix sitting there dumbfounded. 

“Have, have they always been that obvious in their plans?” Felix finally asked, breaking the silence that had stretched on after their friend's departure. 

Marinette shook her head, “I have only seen them like that once when they were trying to plan a surprise birthday party for me.”

“And how well did that go for them?”

“Adrien ordered the cake from my parents bakery over the phone, but didn’t realize that I was the one taking his order.” Marinette recalled the look of horror on Adrien’s face when he had come to pick the cake up the day prior, and had begged Marinette not to tell Kagami he blew it. “For someone so smart he can be really oblivious, you know.”

“I did live with him for two years, I am well aware of how he can be.” Felix snorted. He shifted positions so he was facing towards Marinette. “I think it actually turned me into a better person, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” Marinette mirrored his position on the couch. Adrien was an open book to her, she could ask him anything about himself and he’d answer her, and when she asked about his time in England he never said much about it. She couldn’t miss hearing about it from a second party, though. Especially when her friend was the cause of someone becoming a better person.

“Well, as I’m sure you are aware I was a terrible teenager.” Felix started.

“What? You? The man who deleted my love confession and mocked our friends?” Marinette jokingly pushed his shoulder. “I don’t believe it.”

Felix grinned, “I know, I know. I’m such a saint now. I wasn’t sure if you had even recognized me at first.”

“It was a bit difficult without those devil horns you used to wear.”

“Oh those? Those were natural. Grew them myself. Kind of miss them, actually.” 

The two laughed for a moment, enjoying their friendly banter that seemed to come so easily to them. 

“Okay,” Marinette giggled, “tell me how our sweet sunshine child managed to change the demon known as Felix.”

“Well, when he first moved in I was sent into a whirlwind of emotion.” Felix started, “I was still angry that Adrien had abandoned me when my father had died because his father wouldn’t let him call or text us, but I also knew how terrible it was to lose a father even if it was only to a lifetime imprisonment. I had so much baggage that I took it out on him. I think I made the first few weeks of his stay with us hell.”

The blonde man shifted, no longer wanting to look her in the eye as he confessed to his crimes. It didn’t take a trained psychoanalyst to see the regret he felt coming out and causing him to fidget. 

“It was when he transferred into my school and started to get bullied that I changed my tune.” Marinette was shocked. Adrien was so loveable and kind, how could anyone have bullied him? Then it donned on her. He was a terrorist's son. “People would shove notes in his locker with butterflies on it, or draw on his desk, and he’d just smile and say that they must have been doing it because of his fathers fashion symbol being a butterfly. Perhaps he wasn’t oblivious to it, but purposefully ignorant. No one would want to believe their father was the supervillian of Paris after all.”

“It was then that I decided to switch my targets from my cousin to those bullying him, and oh was I ever brutal. I had a few of them expelled for harassment, some I actually got physical with since they assumed I was Adrien. Either way, it was my school and I wasn’t going to let anyone insult my cousin. That was my job.” Felix’s brows pulled together. “It was the fights that got Adrien to step in. He reminded me that the emotions of people were complicated things, and that they were acting out more out of fear than actual hatred towards him. He told me what he actually needed wasn’t another bodyguard, but someone to lead his PR campaign.” 

Marinette remembered when Adrien’s image in the media had changed the first time, when he went from brilliant model to the heir to Hawkmoth's legacy. It had taken almost another full year of Adrien working harder than he ever had before to show the world that he wasn’t a monster, and it still took a live interview from Ladybug herself to convince the rest of the public that there was no way Adrien was involved in any of his fathers crimes nor was he a holder of a miraculous. It had been a wild ride from start to finish, but all considering it only took two whole years to get Adrien back in the world's good graces when the sunshine boy didn’t think he’d ever be able to live it down. 

“I spearheaded Adrien’s redemption. We donated to so many relief funds, I used our similar appearances to go onto talk shows to give a more calculated interviews. I did everything in my power to make people realize how inherently good Adrien is, and it worked.” Felix let out a long breath before turning a kind smile towards her. “But by the time all of that was done I had changed. I had become a person Adrien was proud of, and now I am here planning his wedding with his best friend. Whom, might I add, he talked about almost as much as he did his own girlfriend.”

“Now if you could have told me that, say, five years ago I would have been ecstatic.” Marinette set her portfolio down on the coffee table as she remembered how intense her crush for Adrien used to be. “But I am long over my crush on Adrien.”

“I am sorry about that, by the way.”

“Hm?” Marinette tilted her head to the side, not sure what he was talking about.

“Deleting your confession.” He explained. “It was wrong of me. I was jealous and petty and I’m sorry.”

Marinette wasn’t angry anymore, even if she wanted to be. Felix wasn’t the same as he was all those years ago and neither was she. It was silly for her to hold onto all that anger when he had changed himself so completely. 

“I am, however, not sorry you didn’t end up with my cousin.” He grinned. “Now I might have a chance.”

Maybe not so completely.

“In your dreams, devil boy!”

[burnedbyshoto]

Hi, can you write a headcanon or a scenario about Todoroki Shouto having a girlfriend and he introduced her to his parents. Like how would Endeavor react to know that his beloved son already has a girlfriend. Thank you so much 😊😘

todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: endeavor LOL, fluff?, shouto and reader are like 25 btwwwww

word count: 1,882

a/n: so this is probably going to be my last fic for this week… i dont know, im moving back up to college and i was lazy and didnt get the number of requests needed done before hand… anyways anon, i really appreciated this ask it was super fun and interesting to write about because it really depended on my viewpoint of endeavor and shoutos future relationship. anyways so sorry this is late!!!! I had to go to the hospital because I had an allergic reaction to something LOL

“Are you sure this dress is appropriate? I don’t want to feel overdressed!” 

You were studying at yourself in the mirror with the tenth outfit you had tried on today. Shouto, who had approved of your summer floral dress, was taking you to introduce you to his family–well, his parents as you already met his siblings–after a bit over a year of dating. You sighed as Shouto called out his admiration of your outfit and carried that you had to be leaving soon if you didn’t want to be late.

You knew that Shouto was nervous to be on time because his mother was going to be there. Todoroki Rei had been released from the psychiatric hospital a few months ago and was settling back into the world. Had it been just Endeavor, well you weren’t sure if Shouto would have even agreed to go. Their relationship had definitely matured since Endeavor retired from being a Pro-Hero, but Shouto has still not forgiven him for anything.

Mumbling curses about your indecisiveness, you slipped on a pair of white wedges and stared at your reflection. Your makeup was done, minimalistic jewelry in place, hair was styled in your favorite semi-formal way, and your outfit was cute. Smiling to your reflection, you grabbed your purse and walked off to where Shouto was waiting for you. 

Shouto stood leaning on the hallway’s wall wearing black pants that accented his long legs, a coffee-colored blazer that made you want him to wear the color more often, and a plain copper-colored t-shirt under the blazer. “Mm,” Shouto approved happily as you gave a quick twirl, “You look stunning.”

“You don’t look too shabby either,” You respond as Shouto twirls you into his chest, his lips immediately connecting with yours and you smiled into the kiss. Feeling Shouto’s fingers tangling into your locks. 

“Don’t you dare.” You warn as Shouto’s mouth trails down your neck, you did not need any hickies appearing moments before meeting Rei and Endeavor.

“Fine,” Shouto relents as he pushes you away from his body, a smirk on his face as he stares at you. “You have got to wear this dress for a date next time.”

“I’ll think about it.” You reply as you clutch your boyfriend’s hand with yours leading him out of the apartment and to whatever restaurant everyone had agreed to meet up at.

⋆✭⋆✭⋆⋆✭⋆✭⋆

You were smiling way too much. 

Not in a good way either, but a bad way. This dinner outing was terribly awkward.

Endeavor–Todoroki-san–was sitting directly across from you at the end of the table, Fuyumi next to him with her girlfriend sitting next to her. Natsuo was the furthest away from Todoroki-san and had even placed his girlfriend directly across from him. You glanced over at Shouto who was talking with his mother, Rei, who sat next to him since you felt awkward taking the spot you knew Shouto wanted more.

So there you sat in a cute floral summer dress in shocking juxtaposition to the very formal looking Todoroki family, hell even Natsuo’s girlfriend was more formal appearing and she was wearing a club outfit. But there you sat smiling away whenever Todoroki-san’s eyes met yours.

God was he intimidating even without the flames coming out of his hair and beard.

“So, y/l/n, Shouto tells me that you’re not a Pro-Hero.” Todoroki-san finally states after the Todoroki siblings momentarily paused in their feuding over what was the worst way anyone of them was teased for their white hair.

Your head snapped over to Todoroki-san, your voice suddenly carrying no sound as you attempted to explain what it is that you did for a living. “I’m a, uh, I’m a–” You said attempting to find the words you were seeking, and you felt Shouto’s hand lay reassuringly onto your lap. “I’m a lawyer over at Deku’s Pro-Hero Agency.”

It was a job you were mighty damn proud of, your boss, being Midoriya Izuku was a total sweetheart and was an impressive client with cases that hardly needed you to have excruciating amounts of evidence for. 

“And what might your quirk be?”

“Endeavor–” Shouto snapped, absolutely not okay with this questionnaire, it was a family dinner, not an interrogation on you after all.

“Recall.” You answer back suddenly not nervous, easing yourself with your nerves of steel to take on your boyfriend’s unyielding father. “I can recall anything and everything I’ve experienced with 100-percent-perfection, and can, in fact, present them to other individuals. It makes me an amazing asset to have, because most Pro-Heroes, as you may recall, deal with cases caused by altered communication.” You paused grabbing Shouto’s hand from your lap and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Having me as the head lawyer makes people completely honest unless they are not aware of my quirk because as Deku-san’s lawyer they can not lie to us, as I can always bring up said events in court.”

Todoroki-san pulls away from his intense stare at you and does what you believe to see as a nod. But this small interaction caused Shouto to immediately switch seats with you, letting you sit next to Rei who gladly struck up a conversation with you that lasted through the entire night with dexterity.

At the end of the dinner, you actually were smiling out of joy. You really did enjoy Shouto’s sibling’s interactions, there hardly was a dull moment. Rei had been lovely to speak to, and being able to talk to the women Shouto loved more than anyone in the world was something that made you genuinely delighted. Things were going great.

The eight of you at the table eventually finished up dinner and were getting ready to retreat home, you went around and hugged everyone at the table, except Todoroki-san, and was delighted to have Rei hug you tightly.

“Take care of my baby boy, will you?” She whispered as she held you close, and you wordlessly nodded. “My biggest mistake in life was not being strong enough for him, but I think you are more than plenty strong.”

You felt your heart skip a painful beat as you pulled away, but there was still a joyful smile on Rei’s face as she went to hug Shouto. As Shouto placed a hand on your lower back ready to walk off with you into the night, someone called out for you.

“Y/l/n-san,” Todoroki-san spoke, and you turn your head to look at the head male of the family who seemed to be wearing a different expression then the cold look he seemed to adorn the entire evening. “Would you accompany me for a walk before you leave with my son.”

The entire group seems focused on your response, and you felt Shouto rearing to tell his father off and say you didn’t have to accompany you anywhere. Only you placed a hand on Shouto’s stomach and smiled up at your boyfriend who did not think well of his father’s invitation before he could react. “I would like that.”

You give a quick kiss to Shouto as you followed Todoroki-san out the door and into the night.

⋆✭⋆✭⋆⋆✭⋆✭⋆

The two of you walked in eery silence for a long time, your hands fastened in front of your body, ready for any question coming your way.

“If Shouto had introduced a girl like you to me years ago, I probably would have flipped,” Todoroki-san spoke finally, and you glanced up to see your boyfriend’s father staring up into the sky. “I’m well aware you know about what type of childhood Shouto lived, and your opinion on me as his father.”

“You don’t know my opinion.” You say in response, unsure of what he meant by that phrase, but it was something you did not wish to have put into your mouth.

“It’s the same as Midoriya-san’s, Yaoyorozu-san’s, Iida-san’s…” He paused probably only having remembered three of the influential friends that Shouto had, and you laughed softly knowing that you did, for the most part, agree with those three’s opinion on Todoroki Enji, but where they wanted Shouto to forgive and move on, you wanted Shouto to do what he felt was best. Sometimes those Pro-Heroes were a bit too selfless.

“I am a bit different from them,” You say honestly, meeting Todoroki-san’s gaze as you nod your head, “Whereas Shouto’s friends believe he should forgive you, I think that Shouto should choose whatever he feels like doing. Be it one day he hates you, or the next he doesn’t, I will support him regardless of my personal opinions towards you.”

He lets out a dry chuckle that held zero amusement to it.

“That is fair.” He agrees.

“I know it is.” You respond.

“I know you may not believe me, and I don’t blame you if you don’t, but I am trying hard to make things work.” He says gently, as if not to alarm you.

“By hosting dinner with your children’s significant others, and going as far as worrying the entire table when you asked questions that most people at the very least wait until after a proper conversation to have?” You inputted and Todoroki rolled his eyes, and you could not help but feel the same energy you got when Shouto got annoyed being replicated by his father.

“I’m sorry about that, it’s hard to turn the switch off sometimes.”

“And again, my opinion doesn’t matter,” You repeat, “I will abide by Shouto’s feelings and opinions, not my own when it comes to you.”

You can now see the Todoroki clan waiting for the two of you by the restaurant’s entrance as you have circled back.

The two of you walk in silence as you near closer and closer.

Moments before the two of you are in speaking distance to the group, Todoroki mutters something to you that you can’t help but take as a win.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad my son found someone like you,” Todoroki grumbles at you, “You make him happy, even I can tell that, even if your quirks are highly incompatible. Please keep him happy and love him, for both Rei and I.”

You stopped walking as Todoroki continued on, and you watched as Shouto walked over to you, his eyes darting back to his father’s retreating body as his sister, her girlfriend, and her mother. Natsuo and his girlfriend crossing the street and disappearing into the night.

You smiled warmly at Shouto who grabbed your arms, quickly studying your form as he checked for any and all signs of fighting or annoyance. “What did he say to you?”

You don’t respond as you go instead for a bold kiss, your arms snaking around his neck as he kisses you back. You sigh contently into Shouto’s mouth as he presses you softly onto his body. Your head tilts to the side as you deepen the kiss for mere moments before breaking apart with a rosy-cheeked grin.

Looking at him, you Recalled the memory, or at the very least the end part.

“Please keep him happy and love him, for both Rei and I.” Todoroki’s voice echoed in the memory you presented to Shouto and despite any harboring negative feelings Shouto may have had he smiles fondly.

“You do that perfectly already.”

i know i am typically really critical of endeavor because,,, yes, but i decided while i kept my criticalness of his character, I chose another route besides his typical: “fuck your girlfriend shouto! reproduce asexually please” because if shouto is introducing someone to his fam they are perfect, sorry but i dont make the rules

bonus!

“What would you have done in the worst case scenario of Endeavor not liking me?” You asked Shouto as the two of you were getting ready for bed.

“Probably would have told him off among other things.” Shouto admitted with a shrug as he wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his chin on your shoulder.

“Telling him off and other things?” You question not all that sure what exactly your boyfriend meant by other things.

Shouto nodded pulling you in closer to his body as he chuckled, “My father is traditional, what better way of showing him that no amount of disapproval towards you will ever make me want you any less.” His lips gently touched the side of your neck with every word causing you to laugh.

“You spicy little rebel you.” You tease as Shouto smirks.

“Would you let this spicy little rebel show you to bed?”

“I approve of said action.”

And with that, he whisked you away.

[avecorviidae]

Fic: nor any more youth or age than there is now

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Rating: T Relationship(s): Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims Word Count: 6512

Ao3 Link

The rumour started with Mary Fleming, who volunteered with her son’s Primary five class every Tuesday, and who had become close enough with most of the P5 teachers that she was considered a mostly reputable source, as far as these things were concerned. She had mentioned it to Katy Hooper over tea, who had texted it to her playdate group, who had repeated it in scandalized whispers and concerned murmurings and oh-have-you-heard phone calls until the news had thoroughly saturated the entire village:

Mrs. Cunningham, the stern older woman who had taught Primary two for as long as most people could remember, had quite suddenly and without warning or reason, retired and left town. Being the only Primary two teacher at the school, this was something of a concern.

For a few days, the Primary two class was shuffled awkwardly between other classrooms, taken largely by whoever had enough empty chairs or floorspace to accommodate them. On Wednesday, they sat cross-legged on the colourful carpet of the nursery room, the sudden shock of being absent a teacher and the abounding well-my-maw-said rumours being quite enough to keep them occupied and mostly out of trouble.  By Thursday, the children had realized that they were free of the bounds of formal education, and attempted to turn poor Mr. Bone’s Primary one classroom into a Lord of the Flies recreation, leading to a few pupils being sent home early with a stern warning. On Friday, they were firmly instructed to sit quietly with the Primary sevens, who were watching a documentary that day. During said documentary, a wolf killed and ate a deer, causing Molly Brown to become inconsolably upset.

The situation was clearly becoming desperate.

In this part of the country, formally trained teachers were in short supply, and for the most part, it was a life term. A post was vacated when the individual retired, or, well, retired.

On Monday morning, the parents of the Primary two class were invited with a strained enthusiasm to join their pupils in the classroom to meet Mr. Sims, who had apparently agreed to take the job on extremely short notice, and who would be teaching the P2s for the rest of the year, or until the school could track down a more suitable, more permanent replacement.

Mr. Sims, perched delicately on an office chair at the front of the classroom, put one to mind of a particularly bedraggled crow. Small frame, narrow face, narrow shoulders, scar-riddled skin, and he peered at the gaggle of children in front of him with flat black eyes, long fingers fretting at a crease in his trousers. His hair, dark as the rest of him, hung in a limp ponytail at his neck, and was streaked through with grey that didn’t quite match the cowed, nervous youth of his face. There was a trepidation to the way he was braced, to the way he glanced, quick and furtive around the room, and it was reflected back in the way the parents watched him carefully, fingers twitching, ready to snatch away their offspring at the first sign of trouble from the odd, scarred little man. The children were immediately fascinated, to the point of being entirely enamoured, having never seen a grown-up quite so openly strange.

The head mistress was stood at his side, waiting with a mild impatience for the chatter to settle. The crease of concern on her forehead had, sometime over the weekend, started to become a permanent wrinkle.

She made brusque introductions, stiffly thanked Mr. Sims for stepping into the role, made some half-hearted assurances to the parents about an environment of stability, an attempt to smooth over the frazzled discontent that hummed through the room.

Mr. Sims coughed, blinked in surprise when he seemed to realise that the head mistress was done with platitudes, that he was, presumably, expected to speak for himself.

“Ah, right,” he mumbled, and pushed his glasses up his nose with two fingers. He cleared his throat, addressed the room at large, though his eyes were skittish, seemed to avoid lingering in one place for long. “As Mrs. McMillan said, my name is Jonathan Sims – though, I suppose Mr. Sims will do, for the classroom. My training is primarily based in academic research, not, ah, education, and while I will be unable to provide the proper curriculum and teaching that experience and time would have afforded my predecessor, I can assure you that I will attempt to fill this role to the best of my ability, and would welcome any input you may have over the rest of the year.”

Mr. Sims turned his attention to the circle of cross-legged little gawkers at his feet, then, and his voice gentled a touch when he addressed them, a rueful smile on his face.

“I know it must be strange to have a new teacher so suddenly, in the middle of the year. And I may not be very good at this. So I do hope you’ll all tell me if I do anything wrong.”

Directly under his nose, Finlay Robinson’s hand shot up into the air.

Mr. Sims blinked. “Yes?”

“Do you know the Queen?”

Another blink. “I- No?”

Finlay’s hand remained up. Mr. Sims nodded for him to continue. “Then why do you sound so posh?”

In one of the chairs at the back of the room, Mrs. Robinson went rather red. Mr. Sims just laughed quietly to himself, however, and replied, “Ah, I suppose that would be because of my grandmother.”

Molly Brown’s hand went tentatively upwards.

Mr. Sims looked at her with a slight apprehension. “Yes?”

“Is your Gran the Queen?”

<0>

Heather tended to get nervous, at the end of the day.

The playground was just – big. Not big the way it was during break, when her and Molly would chase each other laughing and squealing across the pavement like little wild things, but big in a way where the iron bars of the fence around the school loomed horribly, and as her class was slowly picked up by their mums and dads and teachers stalked around like wolves looking for straying soft things to hunt, Heather always became certain that she had to stand very—

very—

still.

Or else it would see her. And if it saw her, it would get her.

Last year, Mr. Bone had held her hand, at the end of every day, had let her stand close to his comforting largeness until Dad waved at her from the gates, and she could run the short and awful distance to his arms. Mr. Bone was bald, and very tall, and outdoors his head always looked very shiny, and she had been sure that as long as she was stood beside him, his big fingers tight around hers, it wouldn’t be able to see her.

Mrs. Cunningham had been smaller, hunched and unassuming, but Heather had thought that it might not be able to see through the drab brown folds of her skirts. But Mrs. Cunningham had told her not to be silly, to go and play with the rest of the class until she was picked up, to grow up and behave like a big girl. And the Primary ones got out an hour before the Primary twos, so she couldn’t hide at the side of Mr. Bone anymore, so it was going to see her. So she had gotten very good at walking to a spot beside the bins, trying to keep her footsteps soft, quiet, and holding herself in their shallow shadows, and keeping very, very still.

Mr. Sims was not too much like Mrs. Cunningham. He did not snap at them for talking a little during individual work time, and hadn’t even told off Logan for getting up to sharpen his pencil, even though he hadn’t raised his hand to ask, and didn’t hold a ruler to his open palm like a threat, like he was looking for any excuse to use it. But when he’d read them a story, Heather had watched him frown, mutter to himself that Bea and Arthur were silly for going exploring without telling their parents, and by the time the last bell rang, Heather was quite sure that if she asked to hold Mr. Sims’ hand, he would frown at her, and think she was being silly, and tell her that she was too big to need to hold hands in the playground.

The class lined up at the big front doors to go outside, and Heather stood at the very back. If everyone else went outside first, it would watch them, and might not notice her as she went to her spot by the bins.

Mr. Sims was waiting for her when she finally reached the doorway. She had been thinking about how she was going to walk, looking at her feet and practicing making them be quiet, so she almost bumped right into his legs. He was frowning, and she felt her lip wobble, a little. She didn’t want to cry, even if he called her silly. She was too grown-up for that.

“Miss Lewis?” he said. It was odd, to be called that. Last year, there had been another Heather in her P1 class, so she had been Heather L, and the other one had been Heather M, but Miss Lewis made her feel grown up, and she smoothed her palms down the front of her pinafore, suddenly embarrassed of the holes in the knees of her tights and the scuffs on the toes of her shoes.

She looked up at him. He wasn’t as tall as Mr. Bone, and he was leaning down towards her, peering at her over his thin glasses. She didn’t want to start crying. She didn’t want him to think she was silly.

“May I ask who’s coming to pick you up?” Mr. Sims asked softly, just like how the pupils were supposed to ask, like Miss may I go to the bathroom—

“My dad,” she said, softly, back. Out in the playground, she heard someone squeal. She didn’t look over Mr. Sims’ shoulder, sure she’d see it looking for her, even though she’d never seen it before. Mr. Sims wasn’t as big as Mr. Bone, no, but his jacket was big and thick and rough, with soft leather patches at the elbows, and all of him looked there enough that she thought it might not be able to see her hiding behind him.

“Your dad,” he said, and it sounded different the way he said it, fancy. Like the Queen. “Well, Miss Lewis. Would you—do you need to—Damn, how to… Would you prefer to wait with me outside, until your dad gets here?”

Heather realised quite suddenly that Mr. Sims knew about it too. Knew that it was going to get her, that it couldn’t see her when he was there. She nodded, and gripped the leg of his trousers as tight as she could, and felt all shaky in the knees with fear and relief as she walked outside with Mr. Sims, his hand near her shoulder, not quite brushing her jumper.

She looked up at him, and he was watching the playground, frowning, but not angry. Not afraid, either. So she copied him a little, since it couldn’t see her if she looked for it now, and looked around at the big game of tig that always went running around at the end of the day, and at Stuart and Duncan wrestling by the big wall, even though Mrs. Cunningham used to shout at them for getting their uniforms dirty, and at Molly, who was skipping at her mum’s side, skirt and pigtails bouncing, and at Tom Mackenzie, who was picking grass out of where it sometimes grew up from between cracks in the pavement, looking up now and again at the big front doors, waiting for the S3 class to be let out so his older sister could walk him home. And it—

wasn’t—

there?

She looked up at Mr. Sims, suddenly, not sure why. He looked back down at her, and smiled, then. “Better to be a watcher, than the watched, I suppose,” he said, very quietly, and she wasn’t sure he was speaking to her, not like he was when he then told her, very firmly—

“It doesn’t like to be seen. And I can see it. You’re safe, while I’m here, Miss Lewis.”

And she had the funniest feeling that she’d known that was true, even before he said it.

She felt his hand nudge her shoulder lightly, and he nodded towards the gate. “I believe that’s your father, now.”

Dad was there, smiling broadly and waving like he did every day, and she smiled back at him, even though she was still feeling a little wobbly, because otherwise he’d worry, and think she’d had a bad day, and try to take her for ice cream, and she would feel bad, because she’d had a good day, she was just scared. He held out his arms, open and waiting for her, because she always ran right into him, running quick enough until she was safe with him, until it couldn’t get her anymore. But if Mr. Sims was watching—

She let go of Mr. Sims’ trousers, and took two careful, tentative steps forward. Still, it wasn’t there. She looked back over her shoulder at Mr. Sims’, and he was still watching her, still there. “Have a good afternoon, Miss Lewis,” he said, mildly, but he was smiling a little, still, and she smiled back, and turned around and skipped into Dad’s arms.

<0>

Underneath the desk, Robbie pressed his knee to Emma’s. He felt her press back, and she smiled at him, but it was strained, nervous.

“It’ll be fine,” he told her, with a confidence he wasn’t sure he felt. “Your wee brother has Sims, right?”

Emma shrugged, nodded. “Yeah, likes him well enough. Better than that hag Cunningham, anyways. But that doesn’t mean he’s—”

Sims shouldered into the room just then, arms full, and Emma’s mouth snapped shut. He was smaller than Robbie expected, honestly. Then again, he’d only really seen him in the hallways, trailed by twenty tiny wee five-year-olds, so he had probably looked tall just by comparison. Between the tweed and the glasses and the greyish hair, he had a bit of a librarian vibe, but up close, he could see all of the scars that Emma’s mum had been talking about, after all the P2 parents got to sit in and meet him. You could just about write off all the pockmarks on his face and arms as some properly rough acne, if you were ignoring how big they were, but one of his hands was a shiny pink mess of skin, like one big blister scar.

He was probably in a nasty accident a long time ago, Mrs. Mackenzie had said to Tom during tea, after the third or fourth question about his new teacher. It’s not polite to stare at that sort of thing. Just you act like he looks completely normal, alright?

Emma’s mum was a practical lady, and Robbie quite liked her. It was good advice, and he should probably take it to heart. Or at the very least, he wasn’t planning on being too obvious about trying to get a better look at Sims’ hand.

Sims tossed a glance at the room as he set his things down on the desk. “Sorry, everyone,” he said, with a tight smile. “Short notice, I know, but apparently Mrs. Sinclair has come down with something, and my class is on a field trip, so I was the only one available. I have some, er, notes for your class – apparently you’re working on a midterm project?”

The class made some unenthusiastic assenting sounds, which Sims took as confirmation. “Well, very good. I’ll just leave you to work on that, then, once I’ve taken attendance.”

Robbie felt Emma go stiff at his side. He hated this, properly hated this, the resigned dread on her face as she prepared herself to be embarrassed. He remembered how often she’d looked like that last year, when they were still sneaking around with it, him helping her change into a pinafore in the toilets in the mornings, trying to ignore it when her dad and Mrs. Sinclair and that fucking hag Cunningham had tried to suggest that she get a haircut, the way she winced every time someone called her the wrong name.

Sims went down the attendance sheet with clipped professionalism, quick and brusque, and Robbie was so nervous on Emma’s behalf that he almost forgot to say anything when his name was called. They got to the Ms, and Robbie found Emma’s hand under the desk. Her palm was a little sweaty, and so was his, but she grabbed on tight and squeezed, and Robbie wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that, to her soft fingers between his.

It was Andrew Macintyre right before her on the sheet. Sims nodded at him when he called out a here, looked back down. “Ti—Hm.” Robbie watched Sims frown, cut himself off. Robbie wasn’t exactly sure what happened, what changed about Sims’ expression, except that his eyes seemed to go a little unfocused for a few seconds, before he blinked, in a properly weird way. “No, I don’t believe that’s correct.” He looked up and around the class. “Miss Mackenzie?”

Emma went a little pale, her fingers flexing in Robbie’s, but after a few seconds, she quietly said, “Here, Mr. Sims.”

Sims looked over at her, nodded, businesslike. “Right. And your name was…?”

“Emma,” she answered faintly. Sims just nodded again, checked her off on the sheet, moved on with the list, calling out for Toby MacLeod.

It felt like him and Emma must’ve let out a breath at the same time, slumping back into their chairs, her hand still in his. All that worry for a few seconds’ worth of talking. What a nightmare.

“Tom must’ve told him,” Robbie whispered to her. “Mentioned that he had a big sister, or something.”

“Don’t know why he would’ve,” Emma whispered back, but she was smiling, all faint giddy relief. “I don’t really care, yeah?”

Robbie smiled, squeezed her hand, smiled some more when she squeezed back. “Yeah. Miss Mackenzie.”

“Oh, shut up, Rob.”

<0>

Jen always went to the Co-op after Molly’s swimming lessons on Saturday, even though it was always pushing seven by the time they finally got home and started making tea. Easier to take care of the shopping while they were already out, rather than make another trip into town.

Molly had wandered off to pick her crisps for next week’s lunch, so Jen was alone when she saw the man by the dairy, squinting at a tub of butter, and it took her a moment to place him as Molly’s new teacher. She didn’t think she could be blamed for not recognising him at first; whenever she picked Molly up from school, he always looked much the same as he had during the parent meeting, put-together and buttoned up. He clearly hadn’t put quite as much effort into dressing to go to the shops, his hair pulled up in an untidy bun, neat jacket replaced with a faded sweatshirt that seemed to be about five sizes too big for him.

Ah, she thought, a moment later. Of course. The true owner of the sweatshirt seemed to have made an appearance in the form of a blond man, taller and more broadly built than Molly’s teacher, walking up behind him and pressing himself close against his side, poking at the butter in his hands. It looked rather a lot like a golden retriever bothering a magpie.

Jen had been ready to leave well enough alone, but that was the moment that Molly came skipping up behind her, already calling out. “Mr. Sims!”

Both men startled, but the teacher – Mr. Sims – seemed to recover quickly when he caught sight of Molly, bending down a little towards her. “Ah, hello Miss Brown. How are you?”

Molly beamed. “Good! We just went swimming at the baths. I’m doing back stroke now, and the teacher says I’m pretty fast.”

Mr. Sims nodded along well enough, seemed genuinely interested in Molly’s little story, but Jen noticed he was shooting quick, nervous looks between the three of them, seemed caught between stepping closer to the man standing beside him, or pulling away.

It was a fair enough worry, and maybe ten, even five years ago, he would have been right to have it. The village had been a different place, back then. But these days, just about everyone knew that Helen and Mary up the road had been waiting out their husbands so that they could spend their widowed years together, and Jen had her suspicions about Hugh from the corner store, and frankly after everything with the Mackenzies’ oldest, everyone had become a good deal more comfortable with quite a lot, lately.

So Jen put a hand on Molly’s shoulder, held the other one out to him, smiled warmly. “Mr. Sims, right? Jennifer Brown, I’m Molly’s mum.”

Sims took her hand firmly, handshake as brief and professional as his strained smile. The feeling of it lingered on Jen’s palm, though, the slick-smooth of scar tissue, and the distinct impression that her fingers had slid into the grooves of his marred hand perfectly, like a key slotting into a lock.

“Jon, please,” he said, “at least outside of the classroom. Good to properly meet you, Ms. Brown. We won’t keep the two of you, though. It is rather getting on.” It was a clear dismissal, as bluntly polite as the English ever managed to be, and Jen didn’t take particular offence to it. It was, after all, getting on, and chatting with her daughter’s primary teacher and his mystery man in a Co-op was not her idea of an ideal Saturday night.

“Of course. Goodnight, Jon,” she said, hand on Molly’s shoulder already gently nudging her towards the tills. “Come on, Molls.”

“Good evening, ladies,” Sims said, and nodded primly down at Molly. “See you on Monday, Miss Brown.”

Jen supposed she understood, now, why the class was so taken with the man. She had no fondness for poshness and stuffiness, but Sims wasn’t necessarily posh in that way that demanded poshness in return, and sniffed up its nose at you if you dared not to have an Oxbridge degree and speak in perfect RP. It was more a quiet, self-imposed dignity that reminded Jen of her own grandmother, like the way that he held himself, conducted himself, was important to him, and it made you think just a bit about how you were holding yourself, made you want to rise to meet it. Molly’s shoulders straightened a little under Mr. Sims’ attention, and she walked to the tills with a look on her face like she felt like a well-mannered wee lass, like a proper Miss Brown, and Jen snorted to herself quietly, glanced over her shoulder at the man himself.

His boy was saying something close to his ear, smiling, and he was softer-spoken than Jen might’ve expected for being the size he was, just the sound of his voice carrying a bit, a hint of a tease in his tone.

Sims’ laugh carried far more, deep and full, and he pushed the man’s shoulder gently, a gentleness that kept in his voice when he said, “Oh hush, Martin.”

“Mum,” Molly said, tugging at the trolley insistently. The limits of her put-upon properness had apparently been pushed by her appetite, and she kicked her heels and whinged. “Come on. What’s for dinner?”

<0>

Contrary to what some of his mates might have attested after seeing him a few pints in down at the local, Colin did, in fact, possess a sense of shame. So it was red-faced and sheepishly that he ducked back into the Primary two classroom after his fourth or fifth failed attempt at putting Ally down for a nap.

Maybe it had been overambitious of him and Vera, to assume they’d be able to both go to the kids’ sports day, hand off the babe and the nappy bag throughout the day depending on whether it was Cath with the P7s or Stuart with the P2s who had a race next, no need to pay one of the neighborhood girls to nanny, with the added bonus of getting wee Ally used to being around a lot of strange people. Not that Ally was a pet that needed to be socialized; Vera liked to tease him for that, the way he sometimes talked about her like she was a feral kitten that needed accustomed to handling. But the point still stood.

After Stuart’s class had finished with their last egg and spoon race, the teacher – Sims? – had herded them all, sweaty and exhausted, back into the classroom, and they were all sat around chattering and playing in informal groups, working their way through the impressive pile of snacks that the volunteer parents had brought in. He’d told them to do as they liked when one of them asked if they had to still sit in their usual seats, so a few of them were in wee clusters on the floor, half-watching the film that one of the other parents had managed to set up on the old projector. Colin appreciated Sims’ attitude, overall. Not that a good work ethic and a bit of discipline weren’t a good thing to have, but kids that age weren’t really made for sitting still and working quietly, he didn’t think, and the wee ones seemed quite happy amongst themselves. Unfortunately, it meant that they were making far too much noise for him to be able to get Ally to sleep.

Fool that he was, he’d sent Vera off to Cath’s relay race alone, having thought that when the afternoon rolled around and Ally started to yawn and scrub at her eyes with chubby wee fists, Colin would be able to give her a naptime bottle, bounce her on his shoulder for a bit, and she’d drop off straight away, just like at home. Instead, she had gurned and whined around her bottle, cried and wriggled when he tried to rock her down, and for the last hour, she’d quite solidly refused to close her eyes for longer than it took her to blink, and she seemed properly angry about needing to do even that much. It seemed like every time he got her to relax for a few minutes, someone in the class laughed a bit too loudly, made her startle and blink and try to wriggle out of his lap to go see what all the fuss was about. So he’d kept trying to bring her outside and walk her up and down the hallway where it was quieter, but it was chillier out there, and his footsteps echoed strangely, so she hadn’t much liked that either.

Sims glanced up at him as the door clicked shut behind him, and Colin gave him an apologetic grimace. Sims hadn’t complained or shot him any dirty looks yet, but Colin couldn’t imagine that anyone much enjoyed having a fussy baby in their room.

To his surprise, Sims stood from his desk, shooting him a sympathetic smile. “Want to hand her off for a bit?” he offered quietly, nodding to where Ally was still squirming, propped on his hip. “She might need a change of pace, to help settle her down.”

Colin wasn’t the sort to hand his baby off to just anyone, really, he wasn’t, but Ally was exhausted, and it was making him exhausted, which she was feeding off of, and all in all, he was desperate enough that he all but dumped her into Sims’ arms.

He took hold of her a little awkwardly, jostling and shifting her with the bewildered caution of a man clearly unfamiliar with the weight of a moving, heavy baby, and Colin hovered anxiously, waiting to catch her if Sims—dropped her? Turned her upside down? He wasn’t sure what his worry was, exactly, just that he was worried.

Sims got her settled eventually, though, one hand propped under her bum and the other resting on her back, and he murmured, “All right, hello, little one. Let’s see if we can’t give Dad a break, hm?”

Sims lowered himself carefully into his desk chair, shifting Ally on his lap, and she stared at him, momentarily distracted from her awful mood by the new man with the funny voice. Sims kept a steadying hand on her wee back as he leaned forward, fussing with some of the papers on his desk. Colin watched as he nudged aside a stack of worksheets covered in scrawling crayon, and plucked out a manila folder, stuffed with papers and pockmarked along the top with paperclips and binder clips. “I think this one is relatively tame,” he said, rather matter-of-factly, presumably to Ally. Ally, by all appearances, was listening to him very intently.

Ally only started to fuss a bit when Sims leaned back in his office chair, the open folder propped up on his knee in one hand, and Ally shifting to tuck close against his chest under the other. She made a small, angry noise as he tried to coax her to lie down, and he tutted, said with a stern, gentle firmness, “Yes, I’m aware I won’t be quite as comfortable as Mum, but do try to sit still. I prefer not to be interrupted, once I’ve got going, and it doesn’t take kindly to interference after the introduction.”

To Colin’s great and unending shock, Ally settled with a little huff, her cheek resting on Sims’ brown jumper, one little fist coming up to clutch at the collar of his shirt, poking out from the neck of it. Sims patted her back primly, said, “There we go, thank you.”

Colin was always one to admit when he was outclassed, and was quite willing to go find himself a seat and defer to Sims’ apparent magic touch with the wee ones, but then Sims cleared his throat, and began to speak.

“Statement of Callum Thompson, regarding an uninvited party guest. Original statement given February twenty-first, 2001. Record recalled by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, retired. Statement begins:

I didn’t invite her. I’m sure of that. I know my mates, and I know my mates’ mates, and all their birds and sisters and that, and I didn’t know this bird, so she weren’t invited, right?”

Sims… told a story. Colin didn’t really know how else to describe it. Put on a proper voice and all, this Callum character speaking high and thready, Sims’ crisp, proper public-school accent giving way to something a lot harsher, more “street”.

It was about some girl that showed up to the kid’s house party uninvited, acted a little strangely while she was there, and for all that he talked about her, the odd twist of her joints, the stare that set his teeth on-edge, he never seemed to actually getting around to describing what she looked like. It was like, anything properly tangible about her, her hair, her eyes, her clothes, just slipped off the mind, oil-on-water. It gave Colin the proper shivers, the way a good Steven King used to when he was younger, and he blinked himself out of a daze when Sims stopped, coughed lightly, said, “Statement ends.”

Ally was fast asleep against his chest, and Sims had one hand stroking absently down her back, eyes still skimming the folder in front of him. “Poor girl,” he murmured into Ally’s wispy hair. She didn’t stir from her doze. “She must have been quite lonely. Still, no harm done to anyone, it seems, and nearly two decades on and outside the purview of the Institute’s resources, there’s not much to be done, hm?”

Quite suddenly, and all at once, Sims seemed to remember that the rest of the world existed, and he blinked owlishly up at Colin. “Ah, seems as though she finally wore herself out. Did you want to-?”

Colin couldn’t help it—he laughed, just a bit, at how sheepish the guy had gone, now that he’d snapped out of his wee trance, and that he was trying to hand off the little one, even as he was still patting her back, curled around her protectively, sitting carefully still so as not to jostle her.

“Nah, she’s all yours, pal,” Colin said, grinning. “Just you get comfortable, and I’ll come save you when she starts crying, alright?”

Sims sighed, smiling back. “Doesn’t seem that I have much choice in the matter. Do try and make sure the class doesn’t stage a mutiny while I’m incapacitated, Mr. Ferguson?”

“Deal, Sims.”

<0>

Jon didn’t take nicely to Walt Whitman, liked to say that if Martin was going to subject him to the nineteenth century Americans, he could at least have the decency to make it Dickinson. Martin would then usually make a case for Emerson, which would make Jon recoil in only partially-feigned offence, and in the ensuing rant about the damned transcendentalists, the argument would usually be dropped.

Privately, though, despite the somewhat overenthusiastic patriotism of the man, Martin had a soft spot for Whitman, for the loping rhythm of his words, for the way he talked about people, about love, almost as a thing that he was, rather than just a thing that he felt. And it was always Whitman he thought about when he saw Jon, these days, Whitman’s insistent and unapologetic love springing to mind when he caught sight of him amongst the sea of bright blue uniforms as Martin slipped into the playground. He was stood by the school doors as he usually was, Heather Lewis tucked close to his side, holding his hand. It was Whitman that best put words to this nurturing thing that had taken root in Jon, turned him soft and watchful over his little brood, and Martin smiled softly to himself, heard the quiet click of a tape recorder in the back of his mind. Maybe he would remember to write that down, but no harm done if he didn’t. It was enough to watch, he rather thought.

He remembered, all of a sudden, one of the first times he’d ever properly seen Jon, storming through the research bullpen in the Institute, crisp white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off the sharp lines of his forearms, his wrists. His hair had been shorter, then, slicked back away from his forehead, tucked no-nonsense behind his ears. He’d been all angles and scowls, the kind of look that had barely brokered a friendly tap on the shoulder from a colleague, let alone any kind of gentleness towards a child.

Here, though—

Well, Jon had changed, had let himself be changed. Everything about him was soft-touch, these days, the gentle maroon of the cashmere jumper, and the loose hairs that strayed from his braid and fell around his face, and the easy delight of his smile as he caught sight of Martin. So much about him was gentled, yielding to the herd of little ones that tended to crowd around his legs, yielding to Martin as he stepped into Jon’s space, head tilted back to kiss him with a murmured, “Oh, hello, you.”

“Hello, yourself,” Martin said, pulling back just enough to take hold of Jon’s other hand, the one not already occupied with Heather.

“Hello, Mr. Blackwood,” she said, quite politely, considering she’d just had to watch her teacher snogging someone, and he smiled, inclined his head to her. Jon had been grumbling the other night about the trials of persuading the little ones to zip up properly when they went out to the playground, but Heather, at least, was quite solidly bundled up, wearing a puffy anorak over her uniform and wool tights underneath it, topped off with a cozy hat that had a rather silly pompom on the top. It had been getting chillier, Martin supposed, though he was less inclined to notice the cold until his fingertips went numb, so he had just taken to keeping his hands in his pockets – or Jon’s, as it were.

Jon, too, was bundling up a little more, and he grinned when he saw that he was wearing the scarf Martin had finished knitting last month. It was an awful, hideous thing, knobbly garter with more than a few holes where Martin had dropped a stitch or two, only actually making it to completion under the careful eye of Mrs. Robinson, who had sewn in all his ends and frogged back a few of his particularly egregious mistakes. Nonetheless, Jon had it wrapped snugly into the collar of his peacoat, mouth and windburnt pink nose tucked into the chunky wool, away from the worst of the wind. Mrs. Robinson had given him a pattern for some matching fingerless gloves, and judging by his progress so far, they would be equally as ugly, and Jon would quite as equally insist on wearing them.

Jon’s class drifted off piecemeal, calling out to him as they went. There was a steady stream of, “Bye, Mr. Sims,” “See you tomorrow, Mr. Sims,” as they trailed off out of the front gates, holding hands with parents and grandparents and each other, rucksacks and lunchboxes swinging, and Jon called back to them, wished them a good night, reminded them about spelling lists and worksheets and whatever whatnots they had been working on that day. As the older forms were released, one of Jon’s went off swinging between two of the older teenagers, and all three of them cheerfully and dutifully chorused, “Good afternoon, Mr. Sims,” as they wandered by.

“Robert, Emma, Tom,” Jon recited, nodding to the three of them. Heather went next, skipping off towards her father, waving at Jon and Martin from the gate, and Jon waved back, with a smile that was all fondness.

Mrs. Robinson had been… unsubtle, with her knitting lessons. He always seemed to find himself with skeins of big, chunky, soft wool, and when she went digging in her folders upon folders of ancient, yellowed patterns, the ones that found themselves spread on the coffee table for Martin’s perusal had a bit of a theme. Garter stitch booties, baubled newborn hats, lap blankets.

Urge and urge and urge, he thought, a touch wistfully. Always the procreant urge of the world. Maybe Whitman had had a point.

Still, it wasn’t a question he’d asked, yet. Not a question he knew how to ask, of himself, really, let alone of Jon. For now, he rather thought he was content to wait. Content to be content, to help watch over Jon’s little flock until they were bundled up and sent home safe, and after, to find their own way up the winding road home.

[goodluckdetective]

Fic: smile, you’re trending

Ship: Jon/Martin

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567242

Warnings: Canon typical violence, alluded past child neglect, alluded past police brutality, horror, off screen gore, brief mention of body horror, mentioned past character death

Tags: Angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt comfort, protective Martin, Lonely!Martin, one shot, character study

Characters: Jon, Basira, Martin

Rating: PG-13

Length: 9K

Summary:

Post 179 but not episode centric

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see.  

For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Author’s Note:

Formally “a matter of perspective” and then I realized that was an episode title and felt very silly. This is the tumblr version because I forgot to post a version here, I only posted the link, whoops.

Big thanks to Impatiens_capensis on AO3 and lamella who served as editors to this piece so it can beheld without taking psychic damage. Their input was a massive help and I cannot thank them enough for their time. Big thanks to namiofthesea as well for advising me on the small details of beauty youtube. Your cursed info was essential.

Fic below the cut:

Jon knew they couldn’t die in this new world they inhabited, but he wasn’t quite sure about the specifics when it came to being harmed.

His new powers were useful despite being unwanted, but they had their limits. Hypotheticals were the biggest one. He could tell what path was safer to take, but not if an Avatar might change their mind to follow them. He knew Basira’s gun would always have bullets in it, but he didn’t know if that would apply to any other weapon she picked up, or if her gun would always work against what chased them. And he knew they could not die, at least not yet, but he didn’t know what would happen if someone tried to kill them.

“So if I shot you,” Basira said as they took a brief rest to light a fire between a domain of the Stranger and the Vast. She’d met up with them just outside of London after their brief split with a few new scars and a heavy tread to each step. But she was alive and that was something to celebrate. “Your wound would just heal?”

They made camp in a domain of the End, a giant graveyard that while unpleasant, wasn’t the worst place to rest. There was a fallen tree that made a good enough bench to sit on for Martin and Jon, and Basira sat across from them on a rather large boulder.

“Given past experience, that seems the most likely,” Jon replied, ignoring the look Martin gave him at the comment. They had discussed his attempts to make an anchor before he went to Jared, and Martin turned out to be fond of all ten of his fingers. After the incident with Daisy, Martin fussed for a full day as it healed up, even offering to carry him across a few domains. Across from them, Basira looked nonplussed. “The best guess I can go on is my leg and that managed to heal up within the day. But I can’t be sure if that will be the case everywhere.”

Basira scowled at the mention of his leg. It was a painful reminder for the both of them. Jon’s pant leg was still stained with blood and rips from the incident. “Because it’s a hypothetical?”

“Something like that. That or the Eye thinks Knowing will take away all my fear of it and doesn’t want to spoil the fun.”

“It’s spoiled enough fun already if you ask me,” Martin said, just under his breath. Jon allowed himself to smile and reached over to squeeze Martin’s knee in response. They weren’t big into public displays of affection as it was, but with Basira around they’ve tried to keep snogging to a minimum. It might be the apocalypse, but awkwardness apparently lived on.

Basira ran her thumb across her chin, deep in thought. She was less outright hostile to them after they met back up in London , but there was an edge to her that told Jon she still wondered if he was worth trusting. “And we can’t die either?”

“No, at least not for good. At least not now.” Jon paused after that and closed his eyes. Since Daisy, he knew more about the laws of this new world, how it shaped and bent around emotional logic. The specifics on how that logic changed from place to place was what he struggled with. He tried to Know the specifics, reaching out for that endless pool of knowledge but he came back empty handed with the taste of battery acid on his tongue. “I don’t know anything more than that.”

“Another hypothetical?”

Jon looked up at the sky. “I think more trying to keep the fear of not knowing fresh.”

He explained what he meant by that later, when Basira was asleep and he felt less watched despite the thousands of eyes in the sky. Martin was a good listener and patient when Jon struggled for the right words. After being a mouthpiece to others’ horrors Jon still found it difficult to voice his own.

“You think after everything, I wouldn’t be able to feel fear anymore but… I can,” Jon said, lying on his back with his eyes closed. He could still see the eyes in the sky, he could see everything around them, but if he focused very hard on a domain of the Vast, he could sometimes pretend the stars from that sector were the ones actually in front of him. Back before Basira joined them, he would sometimes list the constellations to Martin who in turn would tell him the mythological stories behind each one. “I still do. I don’t think I’d be able to be the Archivist if I couldn’t.”

Martin was next to him, side to side, his hand holding Jon’s tight, thumb brushing across his knuckles. Somehow he managed to remember how to be gentle despite everything. “You don’t seem scared.”

Jon turned to him, opening one eye to look at him properly. Martin looked tired, bags under his eyes from lack of restful sleep, but he watched Jon with rapt attention. It was calming, seeing those brown eyes focused and fully present. One of Jon’s worst memories of the Lonely was Martin staring at him with pale empty blue irises that looked so close to that of Peter Lukas.

Jon forced a wry smile on his face. “Would you believe I’ve become a fantastic actor?”

The raise of one eyebrow that Martin gave him in response was easy to interpret without Knowing. Jon sighed, and closed his eyes again, rolling closer towards Martin. Martin’s arm reached around his side in a loose embrace and Jon made a mental note to move within 10 minutes or his arm would fall asleep.

“Fair enough,” Jon said, voice somewhat muffled by Martin’s shirt. “I suppose it’s that a big part of fear is the unknown. I am scared of the pain fire can cause, but the fear of dying from it or being burnt by it permanently: that’s gone now.”

That was true. The entire time Jon faced down Jude Perry, the fear in his bones was only that of pain, not what might come after. It was such a contrast to the fear he’d first felt facing Jude, that he’d been almost power drunk on it, reveling  in the fear coming off of her in waves that Jon himself no longer felt.

Jon didn’t want to ever admit it out loud, but sometimes it was intoxicating to be the predator instead of the prey.

“That takes some of the edge off, knowing what is coming, at least for me. No, it’s the fear of what I don’t know that is still sharp. And that’s what the Eye wants, I think. The fear of what comes next when all you know is that there will be a next.”

“After all this, it’s still feeding on you,” Martin said, rubbing Jon’s back with the hand under Jon’s side.

“I don’t think it ever intends to stop.”

Martin was quiet before he pulled Jon in closer for a proper embrace, resting his chin on the top of Jon’s head. It reminded Jon of lazy mornings in the cabin, back when they thought things might actually be alright. Comfort might no longer exist in the world, but if there was anything close to it left, the sensation of being loved and protected was the next best thing.

“Think if we find a domain of the Desolation, we can dig up a rocket big enough to fire into one of those pupils?” Martin mused, his hand still rubbing Jon’s back.

“It wouldn’t-“

“I know it wouldn’t do anything, Jon; I mean solely for the satisfaction.”

Jon did consider it and he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. He Knew the eyes in the sky wouldn’t even blink if they tried it, but picturing it anyway was indeed satisfying. “I’ve never lit fireworks before.”

“Neither have I.”

“I don’t know if the Eye will allow me knowledge on how to prank it.”

“Good thing we’re likely clever enough to figure it out ourselves. And if not, Basira can probably put it together. She might even like it.”

“Maybe she will,” Jon tried to picture Basira smiling under a display of fireworks. She hadn’t smiled since Daisy and Jon found he missed it. Despite their current antagonism, Jon never wanted her miserable.

Daisy wouldn’t have wanted that either. She told Jon once that Basira and her would go for pubs on weekends. Instead of drinking, they would play trivia and laugh whenever they got an answer horrendously wrong. Jon Knows what that was like, he can even tell you the smell of the peanuts on the floor mixed with spilled beer, but he wished he could have seen that laughter for himself.

“You aren’t responsible for the world, Jon.” Martin whispered into his hair.

“Are you sure you're not an Avatar of the Eye with that insight?”

“No. I don’t know everything. I just know you.”

Jon opened his eyes and looked at Martin before craning his neck up for a brief kiss. It hurt his neck to do it for too long, but the kiss was sweet and reassuring. He moved Martin’s arm so he was no longer lying on top of it and smoothed his hair back.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Martin did. As he rested, twitching with nightmares he never remembered, Jon thought about what he was still scared of. The Web for sure, the strings he couldn’t see. Jonah, for what he did to him and what he could still do. He feared for Melanie and Georgie’s safety and if they hated him as much as he thought they should. He worried if Basira would ever be okay again, if he ruined everything he touched, if she was right to sometimes look at him like he was something dangerous.

And Martin. He feared Martin’s devastated expression if they killed Jonah and this hell still stood. He feared the Lonely, coming back and telling Martin that being alone was better than being with a monster. He feared losing Martin’s hand in his, the sound of a soft snore at night, and the whistling as they walked when the landscape was particularly horrendous and they needed a distraction.

Love was the only thing that could prompt such overwhelming fear, Jon thought. That was why it was so powerful a feeling: no one would dare to risk that horror of loss otherwise.

No, Jon Sims was still scared of so much. It was hard to quantify all that fear: Jon sometimes felt he could drown in it. Martin helped keep him afloat and in turn Jon kept him from being lost in his own quest devastation. They were each other’s safe harbor.

“Lord, I’m becoming a poet,”Jon said to himself, amused. He glanced at Martin who began to mumble under his breath about the cold. Carefully, as if not to disturb him, Jon grabbed his discarded jacket from next to them and laid it over Martin. It didn’t stop the muttering but there was less of it than before. Small miracles. “I suppose there are worse fates.”

With that, Jon began his watch as his comrades slept on.

______________________________________________________________________

The thing was, Jon never considered what would happen if he ran into another Eye Avatar.

The domain they walked into was one Jon chose as the most safe. When it came to domains, the Desolation and the Corruption were best avoided, so when Jon found himself picking between the two and then the Eye, he went for the Eye. It was a smaller domain, a former multimedia office turned into multiple hallways and rooms of endless monitors. It seemed the Eye had a fondness for the digital age.

The domain belonged to a former internet influencer by the name of Irene Hatchette. In her mid-twenties with a relatively popular makeup series, she fed on the fear of exposure. Her relationship with the Eye began as a child by tattling on her step-sister before the took the same scheme to school where she would steal her classmates cell phones and told everyone what she found, while implying even more to let people come to their own worst conclusions. In university, she learned to make fake accounts and emails to lure people into sending her things she could publish widely out of context, and as an internet star, those fake identities triples as she used each to speak to her rivals, invade their fan groups and personal pages for information she could sell to gossip magazines or twist for her own use. Once, she had to spend months pretending to be a therapist to get scoop on someone’s past hospitalization involving horrendous burns, which she dug up medical photos of by calling the right stupid hospital tech about changing “his corrupted password.” Once she published the pictures all across the internet, well, the rival stopped being a problem. It was business, sure, but there was a thrill to it too, much like pinning a still living butterfly to a corkboard to put on display.

Before the Change, she found rivals would now just tell her things behind her new identity of the week, their greatest insecurities without months and months of building a fake persona. It was like they wanted her to know, like they wanted her to tell everyone about how little they deserved what they had, and she took full advantage. It was a minor power, but a useful one for her line of work. She’d started going after just regular people before everything started, wrecking them with perfect pieces of information when she found someone who deeply feared being seen. Now her entire domain was dedicated to the practice, a full multimedia center for her to broadcast whatever she wanted.

The statement Jon gave after he walked in followed the format of an online video tutorial script. When Jon told them this was a domain of the Eye, Basira decided to stay behind to listen to the statement. Martin plugged his ears and hummed a song Elias used to complain about them playing in the Archives. When the statement was done Basira stared at him, looking like she smelled something rotten.

“What?”

“I may have nightmares of you saying “remember to like and subscribe” in that tone.”

Jon couldn’t blame her. The instructions to “make sure to peel away the skin so you can expose their heart to the viewer! It’s important to be authentic: well it’s important for them to be authentic. Your job is just to watch ,” was particularly vivid. He was glad he never got into social media with all the mess happening in the Archives if this was even a little what it was like.

The dozens of television monitors and screens around them show a different person’s secrets, twisted into a show.  The man who edited his photos to hide his ache scraped of his skin with a rusty razor on one screen. A woman who claimed she lived in luxury was buried by her piles of bills in her crumbling apartment. On a monitor right behind Basira, another man removed each tooth from his mouth by hand. The like counter in the corner shot up with every howl of pain he made.

“Another Eye Avatar?” Martin asked them after Basira gave him a recap of the statement.

“Yes,” Jon said, pulling his gaze from the screens.

“You know, it’s surprising we haven’t run into one before now,” Martin said. “Unless you’ve been keeping us away from them?”

“I haven’t.” That was something worth considering later, Jon thought. Martin was right: it was unusual this was their first one.

“So this domain is what?” Basira asked as they headed down the halls and through a room full of even more televisions. They had to walk slow from the hundreds of cords and wires that littered the floor. “The fear of being exposed?”

“Something like that,” Jon said. “Imposter syndrome too. It doesn’t have to be a real secret to be preyed upon.”

“And the Avatar?”

“In the media room. She shouldn’t be a problem: she’s setting up a new stream,” Jon said, glancing at one of the monitors in the room that had a countdown on it. He didn’t envy the poor soul who was about to grace the captive audience.

Most of the walk through the domain was quiet, nothing but the hum of technology and the noises coming from each screen. It was a small place, just hallways of computer monitors cataloguing fear to a delighted audience. If they hadn’t been interrupted, they wouldn’t have been there for more than an hour relatively speaking.

Later, Jon would suspect Jonah to be behind what followed. Or perhaps the Eye was his blind spot, the one place where he couldn’t quite see. Regardless, he only knew the Avatar was coming right when she appeared at the end of the hallway, phone in one hand, headset around her neck. She was small, smaller than the three of them, with pale skin and a slender build. She looked mostly human. Only two things were off: there was an artificial light to her, almost like that of an edited photo. That and her eyes were a brilliant bright green.

“So you’re the Archivist,” she said. She had an American accent (came over for Uni for a degree in business, able to afford cost of London with her parent’s income, learned secrets were the best weapon for attention by ratting out her step-sister and- focus, Jon, not now ), blonde hair curled up into ringlets and nails sharpened to pointed tips. When she spoke, there was a sneer to it that reminded Jon of his wealthier classmates at Oxford who wanted everyone to know how many zeros graced their bank accounts. “I was expecting someone… older.”

Jon heard the tape recorder in his backpack click on. He could tell Basira and Martin heard it too by the way they stiffened. Something was going to happen here and the Eye wanted to watch.

“We are just passing through,” Jon said. He knew what she wanted now, and he cursed himself for not figuring it out sooner. He should have known an Avatar obsessed with her self importance would take offense to anyone she deemed ‘competition.’ “I’m not here to intrude on your ‘production’ here.”

“Then why walk in like you own the place? She said. “And what’s with the extra luggage?”

“Luggage?” Martin scoffed. “That’s the best you could do, really?”

She ignored him. “I’m just saying, walking in without an introduction is rude. I mean, don’t you know who I am ? You know who everyone is.”

“I know who you are,” Jon said. “And I swear we are just walking through.”

“And if I don’t let you through?” The Avatar took a step closer. Basira pulled out her gun, aiming straight ahead.

“Don’t move.”

The Avatar didn’t look phased. She tilted her head to the side, curious. “Or what you’re going to put my down like your Partner?”

Static grew in Jon’s ears. He turned to Basira. “She’s baiting you.”

“I know that,” Basira snapped, through gritted teeth. The Avatar didn’t move, staring at them with bright green eyes. It wasn’t the same effect as being stared at by Magnus but it was similar, an itch under the skin of being terribly seen.

“Does he know that you thought about shooting him instead for a second?” The Avatar said. “You thought he could be lying, about not being able to bring her back. Maybe killing him would have fixed this. But you picked his word in the end. Sided with the other monster—”

“If you think you can pick me apart, you thought wrong,” Basira’s aim was steady, but Jon could tell she was tense by the grit to her jaw. “I’ve already lost everything. There’s nothing left for you to put on your screen.”

“Jon, I know we’re trying to move away from Kill Bill but we might have to this time,” Martin whispered, his hand on Jon’s shoulder. Jon nodded watching as the Avatar took another step towards them.

“I know.”

A shot rang out as the Avatar took another step in their direction. Jon watched as it passed through the Avatar, the image of the creature only glitching from the attack. Basira shot again and the second bullet was just as ineffective as the first.

“Shit,” Basira said, jumping back. Looking down, Jon saw the cords that lined the hallways twist up and reach for Basira’s ankles, wrapping around one with a tight grip. She yanked her foot loose with another pull but he could see the other wires begin to writhe beneath them like maggots feasting upon a corpse. Some of the cords plugged into monitors disconnected from their respective screens and rose up coiled like snakes. Electric sparks spit from the plugs, more dangerous than any venom.

Jon watched the Avatar take another step, the gaze in her eyes one he’d seen in Elias’ and on his own when he passed reflective surfaces. She was hungry.

Martin and Basira would look like the perfect meal for the Eye.

Jon straightened his shoulder, grabbing his tape recorder which was still recording, focused on the static in his ears and the endless gaze of the eyes above that were watching, always watching. He stared at her, drinking in all the information he could, about where she came from, what she feared, what she had done. The tape recorded whined. “ Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon —”

The Avatar paused mid step. Jon could see some strain to her face as the Eye looked down at her. But unlike the other Avatar’s he’d done this too, the strain looked like an annoyance rather than imbolizing. It didn’t make any sense: she wasn’t stronger than the others he’d faced so far. Then how—

Then he Knew. This Avatar was of the Eye, Jon destroyed the rest by using the power of the Eye against them but in this space that power was hers as well. How could you destroy someone with the power of Knowing when they were already known?

“Jon? What’s wrong?” Martin asked. The Avatar’s smile grew wide, all teeth as she stared at Basira. Basira who was not entirely steady with how her hands shook.

“Run,” Jon said, grabbing both of their hands and taking down a hallway at the same moment the Avatar ran at them at full speed.

It was a short chase. The many cables made navigation difficult when walking, let alone running. As the Avatar passed a monitor, she stuck her hand in it, pulling out a large piece of glass with a very sharp end. Perfect, Jon thought, for gouging out his eyes.

“See that guy: I heard even his mother didn’t like him. I mean, how shitty of a person to you have to be for that to happen? You know there has to be a reason behind it, right?” The Avatar’s voice was different then earlier, an airy sort of tone to her voice was layered with false concern.The monitors chimed in unison, showing a picture of a woman who had Martin’s eyes but none of the warmth of his expression. Comments with wild speculation ( he’s a liar, no he’s a fraud did you see his CV, no it’s because he’s petty about the smallest things it’s so annoying, or maybe he’s just stupid he never even finished university, I can’t believe he put his own mother in a home and barely visited how heartless-)  popped up beneath it, blocking the image except for the woman’s empty eyes.  “I could never do something like that to my Mom.”

Chirping noises of notifications and comments rang from the monitors covering the walls, high and shrill as more responses rang in. The noise consumed the hallway, painful in volume and pitch. Jon looked to Martin who was keeping his gaze away from the screens and focusing on the floor.

“And her-” The Avatar continued. “I feel so bad for people who have to work with her, it has to be so hard. I mean, she just strikes me as so self righteous. Look at me, I’m the law, I know best for the whole world. I mean, maybe she’s just trying to help, but like, she’s also such a hypocrite, you feel me? I mean, did you see what she said back there? If that’s how she greets her allies, I’d hate to be her enemy.”

The monitors changed again to that of Basira, pointing her gun at Jon in the forest as another loud shriek of chimes came from the monitors. Another round of comments appeared (she was just in it for the power anyone can see that, no loyalty whatsoever too did you hear what happened to her partner, I bet she’ll find someone new to blame next time she always does nothing can ever be her fault) . Basira turned around and fired another shot, this one going through the Avatar and hitting one of the monitors behind her.

“Keep running, a left and a right and we’ll hit the exit-” Jon said. He lagged behind the other two; his running abilities still the worst of the three. All seeing Eye powers did not provide sudden physical fitness. That wouldn’t matter once they were out. Outside her domain, she wouldn’t have the advantage. They were so close.

"Hello Jon.”

That voice from the monitors, in just the right intonation and tone that Jon heard from his own mouth on the worst day of his life, caused him to misstep. He tripped over a bundle of cords, falling down with a loud thunk. They wrapped around his legs as he fell, securing him to the floor.

“Jon!” He heard Martin shout from ahead of him. He began to struggle to his feat but before he could, the other Avatar was upon him, the glass shard held high right above his face.

“What makes you the king of this new world?” the Avatar growled, her image flickering like that of a hologram, each pixel looking to be made up of a different colored eye. The concerned tone she had from earlier was gone, envy dripping from every syllable. “You don’t even want the power. It’s wasted on you!” She stabbed down and Jon barely dodged the attack by craning his neck to the left. A cord came up from the ground and wrapped around Jons’ neck, not tight enough to choke him but tight enough to hold him still.

“You weren’t qualified for the job you had, you never were and now we’re supposed to lay our hands off because you were the key to the door? That’s all you are: a shitty old key. A piece of metal! He made you that way, made sure every scar and mark was another notch in your useless body to force open a door.  Why do you get to be in charge when all you do is open people up to their own nightmares?”

The fog consumed the hallway before she could finish her sentence. A small wave rushed in across the tiled floor under Jon’s hands, replacing the endless path of wires and cords. The taste of sea salt coated his tongue, and when he waved his hand in front of him, the Avatar was gone. All that remained was mist and empty space.

Jon’s stomach dropped and the chill that entered his body wasn’t just from the cold. He stumbled to his feet and looked around. All he could see was Basira, running towards him in a full sprint.

“Jon, are you hurt?” She reached out as if to inspect his neck but he turned away. Now wasn’t the time.

“Basira, have you seen Martin?”

She shook her head. “No. Last I saw he was running at you. What happened?”

“I think Martin did.”

Basira frowned. “He’s still tied to it.”

“He always will be. That’s how it works: the trauma doesn’t just leave you. It just gets quieter.”

“This isn’t quiet, Jon.”

“No, it’s not. Can you see enough to not get lost here?”

She nodded. Jon turned to head into the fog.

“I’m going to find Martin.”

He didn’t stay long enough to hear her reply.

______________________________________________________________________

It took around five minutes of searching to find another figure in the Lonely. He could see them just barely at first, a lone person curled up on their side in the endless mists, but as he gets closer he can make out a better shape.

The figure in the shallows isn’t Martin. It’s the eye Avatar. Her makeup is gone, washed off her face from the waves and she sits curled into a ball expression blank. Around her the fog curls up into figures of people Jon has never met, staring down at her with a blank expression. With each roll of the tide she fades more and more.

“This is my apology video,” the Avatar said, voice so soft it was barely audible. “I’m not actually sorry, no one is when they make these, but this is what people want me to be sorry for so I have to pretend to be. That’s all my life is, pretending. It’s probably the thing I’m best at.”

Jon tried to take a step away but he found himself frozen. This statement was different from her first one and the Eye wanted to drink it in.

“I don’t know who my real father is: Mom always told me it was a famous celebrity or something but I’m pretty sure that’s a lie. She’s the one who taught me how to lie; she was the best at it. Before she married my Step-Dad, she talked so much about how she always wanted to be a step-mother and how happy she was that I’d have a sister. I knew she was lying; she never wanted me, and she didn’t want Odessa. But she wanted my Step-Dad and that’s what mattered—”

Jon watched as she continued to speak, the fog around her shifting and forming into rooms and people she once knew. He listened as she talked about how lonely she was in the big house they moved into, how her stepsister helped but never replaced that void of parental attention she craved. She talked about how when she was ten she realized confessing to her mother how Odessa broke a treasured vase made her mother shower her in praise for being a good for, how joyed her mother was to tell her stepfather how much his daughter was a liar. Her voice began to echo as she recalled how she began to tell her stepmother every secret Odessa trusted her with for those scraps of praise, how it made her feel terrible but not as much as it made her feel adored. How when her stepsister found out and stopped talking to her, she was forced to read her diary for scraps of intel.

“Mom convinced my step-dad to send her to a boarding school for troubled kids when we were fifteen.” the woman who was once Irene Hatchette said as her story wound to a close. “And then I had no secrets left to steal. So I watched the housekeepers and my classmates and my teachers and then my competition because nothing was worse than being ignored. And now everyone can see me on their screen except they don’t see me at all, not really. That’s fitting I guess. I can see everything but no one can see me. Isn’t that funny, guys? I think it’s funny.”

Another wave washed over the ground and the Avatar vanished leaving nothing but an imprint of her silhouette in the sand behind her. That would soon be gone with every wave that passes. No record that she ever existed would remain.

“God,” Jon said. Statements of Avatars always got to him. They were always the strangest mix of evil and pathetic.

It scared him to think that his would likely be the same.

He didn’t have time to dwell on that thought. Instead he looked around, really looked, and Martin was there, only a few meters away looking down at the space the Eye Avatar once occupied with a blank expression. The fog swirled around his feet like a cat, cozy and content, not feeding at him but waiting at his beck and call. It made Jon’s stomach turn.

“Martin.”

Martin looked up. His eyes were a glassy white blue, the color of sea foam. Jon was beginning to hate that color. “Jon.”

Jon walked towards him stopping right in front of Martin. He reached out for him on reflex and then pulled his hands back as one passed through Martin’s side. “Time to stop this. She’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?” Martin’s voice had an edge to it that told Jon that he knew exactly what Jon was talking about. Like he was making a wry joke. Martin had always been petty and snarky but in the Lonely those twisted again in the mists to make him cruel.

“... fair enough. But time to let the Lonely go. This isn’t—”

Jon cut off. This isn’t you, that was what he wanted to say. But that wasn’t quite true. Martin had such an affinity to the Lonely because it was a part of him, just like Jon’s thirst for knowledge had always made him a part of the Eye. Martin would always find himself feeling alone in a crowd, Martin would always have a bitter edge that came with years of cold air for comfort. To deny that would be wrong.

But Martin’s loneliness had also encouraged his depth of empathy, his unwavering compassion and his helping nature. It was the reason he reached out to others who looked lost, and the reason he brought a fresh cup of tea to his grumpy boss each morning because he always seemed so isolated. Martin would always be tied to the Lonely, yes, but it didn’t have to be who he was.

Jon reached up a hand to cup Martin’s face. He was cold to the touch, eyes the same pale empty blue that reminded Jon far too much of Peter.

“This isn’t who you have to be,” Jon said, swiping his thumb across Martin’s cheek. Then, stronger. “This isn’t who you want to be.”

For a moment, nothing changed. The fog lingered, swirling at their waists and there was no sound but the rush of an empty ocean and a ticking clock. Then Martin closed his eyes and the fog receded, blown away by a gust of wind. The ocean smell faded, the sound of the ticking clock was replaced by the hum of multiple monitors.

When Martin opened his eyes in the monitor filled hallway, they were brown once more.

______________________________________________________________________

They fled the domain quickly after that, spending little time after finding Basira to  escape. When they made it outside, they all stopped to catch their breath, a wheeze coming from Jon who was still no good at running.

“Are you alright, Basira?” Jon said between gasping breaths.

“I’m fine. What the fuck was that?“ Basira gestured to Martin. Fog still clung to his ankles and he exhaled more every breath. While now solid, the edges of him blurred like a mirage. He was glaring at Basira, that cold edge to him still apparent in his expression.

“Me, saving our skins.”

“By summoning the Lonely?”

“It was the best idea I had. She was hurting Jon! Not that you’d care about that.”

“That’s not—” Basira cut off shaking her head. “Since when could you do that anyway?”

“Basira—” Jon started but was soon cut off by Martin.

“I don’t know, I’d never tried it before!”

“Martin—” Jon didn’t get to say anything more than that before Basira responded.

“Do you even know how it works? What if it just consumed you instead? Or Jon?”

All hopes Jon had for this conversation ending civilly died with that question.

“I would never hurt Jon. Not like you planned to. We all heard what it said back there.” Martin almost growled. When he spoke next, his voice echoed. “Why are you looking at me like that, Basira? Thinking you put down the wrong monster again?”

“Enough!” Jon’s shout was enough for Basira and Martin to both take a large step backwards. “Martin that was uncalled for—” Jon kept talking as Martin began to argue. “And Basira, I’d appreciate it if your first reaction to Martin saving our lives wasn’t outright suspicion. We’re all tense with what happened. We need to cool off.”

Basira turned away first, walking towards the street where some burned out cars were. Martin watched as she went and ran his hand down his face.

“Shit,” he said, the echo in his voice still present but not quite as obvious. “You should probably go talk to her. I’ll go sit over there and check our supplies.”

Jon grabbed his wrist as he began to walk away. Thankfully despite the blurring edges to Martin’s form, he was still solid enough to touch. “Do you need me to come with you?”

Martin shook his head. “No. I just need a bit of time to… think.” His eyes were still brown, and Jon felt his pressing concern fade. “I’ll keep in sight just in case. Deal with Basira first. I don’t want her splitting off again: it’s too dangerous. Even if I’m pissed with her.”

“Okay,” Jon said before pressing a kiss to Martin’s cheek, just to feel the cold skin warm a degree. He was worried, but he also trusted him. With that, he let go of Martin’s wrist and walked over towards Basira who was glaring at what was once a car.

“What Martin said  was uncalled for.”

Basira nodded. “It was.” She brushed some dirt off her pants before turning to look at Jon. “But I get why he’s pissed. Given what she said back there.”

Right, that. Jon hadn’t forgotten what the Avatar said about Basira’s opinion on him. “So it’s true then?”

“Don’t you know that already?”

“I told you I wasn’t looking,” Jon said, irritation bubbling over. He’d assumed as much, he wasn’t oblivious, but he’d never looked to know for sure. Having it confirmed wasn’t a surprise but hearing that Basira assumed he was looking stung more than he cared to admit. He couldn’t do this right now, he thought, and turned on his heel to go after Martin.

“Wait, no, Jon—shit this is not how I wanted this to go.“

Jon stopped at the tone in her voice: still stern but not hostile. Instead he waited, still staring back at the empty building where they came from. Did Basira look at him and just see a monster just like the Avatar they had escaped from? A man obsessed with information that he could wield like a knife and rip people open?

Did Basira see him and just see another Elias?

“You don’t talk about yourself much,” Basira said.

“Neither do you.”

“No, I don’t.” Basira was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. “What that woman said—about you being a key to a door—true?”

Jon clenched his bad hand, thumb brushing over the burn scar there. A key notch, that was what the Avatar compared it to. He hated how right the comparison felt. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried,” Jon snapped, curt. “You didn’t listen.”

He was surprised by how angry he sounded. He thought he was used to this by now, resigned to not being listened to. Basira wasn’t the only one who did it: she was just another person in a long line who decided Jon was better worth blaming than hearing out. And to be fair, she had plenty of reason to, after some of the things he did. She had more reason than most.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“I’m listening now,” Basira said, her voice sure and steady. Jon took a deep breath through his nose, burying down the anger under layers of guilt that left it at bay. He turned to look at her. She hadn’t moved any closer or farther away. Her hands were at her sides, open palms facing her knees.

“And why is that?” Jon’s voice was quiet. Basira was silent for a few moments and when she spoke next, it was with a hesitance Jon rarely heard from her.

“You said with… Daisy… it was the first time Jon heard her say Daisy’s name since everything happened. A pang of grief and hurt washed through him as he remembered two versions of the same woman: the one who held a knife to his throat with hungry eyes and the one who sat with him in his old office and taught him exercises to stop the phantom pain in his bad hand.

He missed the friend he had and he feared the monster who hunted him. Neither canceled out the other.

“You said that I couldn’t hunt a monster I refused to see.” Basira said, drawing him out of the memory. “I think the same might apply in reverse.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t find a human when I’m determined to see a monster. So I’m listening. If you want to give it a try.”

She looked sincere. Part of Jon was afraid this would go like it always did, that he would finish this story to be told he only had himself to blame. Yet, the opportunity of a different ending is enough of a temptation to give it a try. So he does.

He explained Elias’ plan and how he fit into it, the ways he was kept in the dark, the marks he needed to have the perfect notches for the door Elias wanted to open. When she asked about the marks he goes over each, some quicker than the others, sparing the least amount of time for the boy and the book. It wasn’t like a statement, he didn't linger in the emotion of it, but it bleed through in his tone when he wasn’t careful. The whole explanation couldn’t have taken more than 15 minutes but it felt like hours.

When he finished his story, Basira spoke first.

“So you were 8 then? When it started?”

Jon’s voice was not steady when he answered.“If you consider the first mark the start then yes.” For a second he could feel the smooth paper of the book under his hands, and the gasp of breath as he ran away from the house that would haunt his memories well into adulthood. All of his past traumas are like that now, as an archive he feels each memory as vividly as it first occurred, but the Web remains the worst one to revisit.

“Daisy was 11,” Basira said.

“What?”

“She didn’t talk about it much,” Basira continued. “I don’t know the details, just that she was young.”

Jon instantly Knew without trying. He saw the creature on the top of the stairs, he felt the fence dig into his back and leave a scar there that will become Daisy’s nickname, he tasted the fear she felt seeing every new report of Calvin’s escalating violence. All the trauma flooded his head in a matter of seconds.

“Oh,” Jon said, when it was over. “I didn’t know.”

“She didn’t like to talk about it,” Basira shrugged. “I assume she didn’t know about you and the Web either.”

“No. I—”Jon’s mouth felt oddly dry. “I...I hadn’t told anyone until a few months ago. Unless you count the tapes.”

Jon didn’t count the tapes. They listened but they never responded, an impassive audience. Not like Martin who upon finding Jon frozen in front of a spider web outside their cabin, pulled him gently inside, made him a cup of tea just warm enough to drink without burning him and said “It’s not your fault what happened. I promise, it’s not your fault.”

“I don’t hate you, Jonathan Sims,” Barisa said. Jon turned his gaze down to his shoes. The blood on his pant leg from Daisy’s attack makes his stomach twist.

“You should.” He thought about the Avatar back in the building, how she’d peeled open his biggest regrets and laid them out for display. How pathetic he was, to have ruined everything so badly.

Basira took a step closer, still far enough away to give Jon space but close enough that Jon could see the mud and tar caking her shoes.

“I think I’m the one who gets to decide that,.” she said. “I am angry; Ithink I might always be. You dragged me into your mess and you’ve hurt innocent people. That doesn’t just go away.” She took another step forward, close enough to reach out if she wanted. “But it doesn’t make you a monster either.”

“What does it make me then?”

“What I wish Daisy got a chance to be; someone who decided to make a different choice before it was too late.”

“Who says it isn’t too late for me?” Jon looked up at Basira. She raised her hand up over Jon’s shoulder but didn’t touch, waiting for a sign the gesture was welcome. Jon gave a slight nod, and she held his shoulder gently and gave it a light squeeze.

“It might be. But I’d like to think you’re the one who gets to decide that.” She removed her grip from Jon’s shoulder and took a step back, giving him space once more. “You should probably talk to Martin: I doubt either of us is feeling friendly right now.”

“I’m sorry for what he said,” Jon said.

“You still apologize too much,” Basira said and a small hint of a smile passed her face. “I’m going to do a weapons check. I’ll join you after.”

Jon watched as she got down on her knees and began to open her pack. In another life, he thought, they could have been friends, joined by their mutual love of books and mysteries. He didn’t think that was a possibility now, after everything that happened. This world was not conducive for new friendships.

After this conversation, however, maybe they might find something close to it. Not quite friendship, but understanding at least.

With that thought in mind, Jon went to follow Martin.

______________________________________________________________________

He found Martin sitting on the ground next to a half-rusted bike and a few empty plastic bottles. He looked less faint around the edges, more solid than when they left, but when Jon got closer he could feel the chill that still wrapped around him like a blanket.

“Martin,” Jon said, sitting down next to him. Martin’s gaze was fixed on his shoes but when he spoke there was no echo to his voice. That was good.

“Jon. How’s Basira?”

“Pissed at you but otherwise better than expected. We had a talk.”

The chill intensified, just a fraction. Jon Restrained the urge to shiver. “What kind of talk?”

“The good kind. I think we’ve reached an understanding, if that makes any sense.”

Martin nodded and the chill went back to how it was when Jon first arrived: enough to be noticed but not enough to demand a jacket. They were silent for a while, Jon making sure he was close enough that their arms were touching. Just enough to provide a weight of presence.

“I’m sorry. About Kill Bill.”

“What?”

Martin still didn’t look at him, twisting his fingers together. He did that when he was nervous, one of the gestures Jon could now read without any supernatural knowhow. Normally he would reach out and with slow movements, drag one of those hands free for a kiss. Martin looked too upset for Jon to try it now.

“For trying to encourage you to go all avenging angel. Back when we first left the cabin and all. I’m sorry.”

Jon was rarely shocked by anything these days, but this threw him off guard. He thought they covered this a long time ago. “Martin you don’t—”

“No, no, I—” Martin breathed in deep and Jon was elated that he couldn’t see the other man’s breath. Back when Martin first escaped the Lonely, a winter fog followed every inhale for at least a few days. It made it hard for Jon to take his eyes off him, so scared he was that he might disappear.  “Back then, I thought it would be good to get rid of them—”

“I know—”

“Let me finish.” Martin untangled his fingers to hold up his pointer finger. Jon stopped speaking at the gesture. “I thought it was good to get rid of them, that we could maybe help people or something.” His shoulders slumped, and Jon could read shame in the slant to them. “But I also thought it would feel good, for the both of us. To not be chased around for once by things we can’t stop, to finally turn the tables on the things giving us nightmares for years. Let them know what it’s like. And when I wasn’t the one doing it, it kind of was. Not entirely, but just enough to feel right.” He kicked one of the empty plastic water bottles forward. “But back there… When I did it myself, I just felt—”

He finally looked up at Jon and Jon’s heart twisted to see the stricken expression on his face. “I just felt terrible Jon. That woman was objectively evil: she used people’s darkest secrets against them for clicks on the internet and her own amusement. The fact that her childhood was shitty doesn’t change that. But when I was there making her feel just as lonely and isolated as she deserved to be, all I could think about was how I sounded exactly like… exactly like… him.”

Jon didn’t have to ask who Martin was talking about. Instead he reached forward and placed his hand in Martin’s squeezing tight. A reminder that Jon was there, that Jon was listening, that Martin was not alone, not anymore.

Martin kept talking, squeezing Jon’s hand back, “I’m not saying we’re the same: Peter threw people in the Lonely for tribute and I only did it to save you. Our reasoning was entirely different even if the end result was the same. I’m not Peter Lukas because of that.” He said that with more confidence, the tremor from earlier gone. “But I think doing that, while it doesn’t make me more like him, it doesn’t make me better either. It makes me—”

“Feel worse?’

Martin leaned against Jon, resting his head on Jon’s shoulder. It was awkward with how much taller Martin was, but not unpleasant. “Yeah. So I’m sorry, for not getting it.”

Jon thought back to the power he had with Jude and with Jared. How the rush of finally being in control would fade to a rush of shame. “It’s hard to understand.”

“That doesn’t mean I couldn’t have tried sooner.”

“You’re not like Peter, you know,” Jon said. “Not even close. Not now, not then.”

“Thank you.”

They sat there for a few moments, quiet in each other’s company. Martin still ran cold, but he warmed up with the contact. Jon listened to his heartbeat, the reminder the Martin was still alive, that he still had a heart, that he hadn’t lost him to death or the Lonely’s endless waves. Jon was not a lucky man but for as long as he lived, he would be thankful he had just enough luck to have this, even if  just for a little while.

“So you’re not going to cast Elias into the Lonely then?” Jon asked after a period of quiet. Martin shrugged, the gesture causing his hair to brush against Jon’s chin.

“I don’t even know if it would work; I think he’s too self absorbed to be lonely properly.. If your thing doesn’t work and I have no other choice I’ll give it a go, but otherwise I’m thinking the traditional route might be best.”

“Oh?”

“I have two hands and the institute probably has some loose pipes in it still. I was thinking I could take a page from his book.”

Jon snorted. His worries about his powers not working on Elias faded to the back of his mind, a matter of concern he could examine later. There would be time to think about the implications of what happened with the Eye Avatar. For now, some banter would suffice.

“How’s your swing?”

“Not bad but I’ll make sure to practice on the way there. I can see how I do against some stop signs.”

“The domain of traffic laws won’t see you coming.”

They both laughed, quiet but strong. When Basira came over to join them, Martin stiffened but with a look from Jon he kept his mouth shut. Knowing the pair of them, Jon thought, they would respectively apologize to the other soon enough. All it would take was some time.

He wasn’t sure how much time they had left, with Elias waiting for them at the end of it. The Eye could only tell him so much and it had no intention to tell him how this would all end. If the world could be saved, if they could survive this ordeal would remain unknown until it happened, leaving Jon to marinate in the fear of what could be.

For now, Jon was content to stay in the dark, the man he loved humming an old song with his head on his shoulder and Basira quietly watching them with something that was close to fondness. The man who understood him best and the woman who was making an effort to try. It wasn’t the worst moment to be in, at the end of the world.

It was something almost like peace.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [2/8]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 3500 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one.

Chapter 1 here.

Once they'd crossed the Waking Sea by ship, Adaar convinced Josephine to ride in the wagon with Vivienne—who could both entertain her and protect her, should it come to that—and rode slightly behind their little party on horseback, watching the open plains around her with unease. She'd never been wound so tight in her entire damn life. Which was saying something, after the last several months.

It was just...she had been the target then. Her, and all the idiots who tagged along with her, who had magic or steel to protect them.

Not Josephine. Josephine was supposed to be safe. Tucked away in their lofty mountain fortress, where the worst that could happen to her was a particularly annoying noble with an axe to grind.

But who knew, with the House of Repose, if even Skyhold would be safe? It was a sleepless thought, one that had kept Adaar awake every night since they'd left Val Royeaux.

Cassandra appeared ahead, guiding her horse around the wagon. "Nothing," she said in response to Adaar's raised eyebrow. "It's not a good location for an ambush, Inquisitor. The House of Repose surely knows better."

Despite that, she rode with only one hand on the reins, the other resting on the grip of her sword. Her shield hung ready from the saddle. Not one to be caught by surprise, Cassandra. Adaar had always appreciated that about her.

"They will wait until we're in the mountain pass, if they plan to attack at all," Cassandra continued.

Usually, Adaar appreciated Cassandra's pragmatism, too. Right now, however, it was about as welcome as a kick in the stomach.

"If," she repeated, holding desperately onto hope. She wondered if she could convince Josephine to lie down under one of the wagon benches the entire way up the mountain. "You don't think they will?"

Cassandra hesitated. "I do not know. I believe Josephine knows better than us, but I also believe that her judgment is clouded. I will feel more certain once we have Leliana's input, but by then, the mountain will be behind us."

"So prepare for the worst, then?"

"It has not failed me as a strategy so far."

Perhaps Adaar could persuade Josephine to put on a spare set of armor. Anything that might prevent an arrow from piercing the oilcloth covering on the wagon and driving straight through her chest.

"Forgive me for prying," Cassandra said, interrupting Adaar's catastrophizing, "but I do not think I have ever seen you this agitated. You always make light of danger."

And Cassandra hated it. In the beginning, she'd usually had a choice word or two about how Adaar ought to take all this more seriously. The comments had eventually tapered off as Adaar did her job and did it well, despite her habit of taunting demons, rogue templars, ancient magisters, and whatever else had ears.

"That's when the danger is coming for me," Adaar said, "not someone…" I care about, she thought, but decided against it. "...else," she finished.

Cassandra shifted a little in her saddle. "Have you…" she began, then paused, mulling over her words the way only Cassandra could. She didn't mull, actually; she deliberated.

"Have I what?" Adaar prompted.

Cassandra shook her head. "Never mind. It is none of my business."

"No, no, go on," Adaar said. Cassandra could hardly make things worse at this point, after all. "I've certainly badgered you enough with my invasive questions. It's only fair."

"When you put it like that." Cassandra wore a trace of a smile now. "You are...fond of her."

Adaar pulled a face. "Yes," she said, which had the merit of being both true and not incriminating.

Cassandra snorted. "I would never have suspected that you could be as recalcitrant as me," she said, very dryly.

"Every day is an opportunity to learn new things," Adaar told her, grinning.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Very well. Are the two of you involved?" Before Adaar could recover from Cassandra's bluntness—really, she ought to have braced for it—she went on. "I feel as if Leliana would have complained of it to me if you were, but perhaps there are things in this world she doesn't know."

Adaar laughed. "First of all, no, there aren't. And second of all—no. We aren't."

"I see. My mistake—it seemed very much as if…"

Adaar cleared her throat. "I don't really think it would be proper, would it?"

A crease appeared between Cassandra's brows. "Because you are the Inquisitor? I didn't imagine you thought yourself that far above us."

"No, no, not that." Adaar fiddled with the hilt of her belt knife. "She's a noble. Until all this...business...I was a mercenary. We just don't fit."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cassandra's frown deepen. "Does she think so?"

Adaar recognized the early signs of Cassandra's stubbornness, and dug in her own heels, too. "Don't know. Haven't asked."

"Then how do you know that you don't fit?"

"Call it an educated guess," Adaar said, exasperated.

"If you are a simple mercenary, then it would hardly be an educated guess."

Despite her annoyance, Adaar chuckled. Cassandra's frown twitched toward a smile again. They rode on in companionable silence for a moment as Adaar considered.

"Even if she does feel the same," she ventured, "could her...society...ever accept me? Nobles strike me as snooty." It was the most toothless word she could think of. Nothing compared to how they really were. How she knew some of them to be.

"You aren't without rank," Cassandra pointed out. "It's unusual—"

"Savior to some, damned heretic to others, yes."

"But it affords you some status," Cassandra pressed. "Besides, the Montilyets are minor nobles at best, given their troubles."

"Someday—and I hope it is soon—the Inquisition will not be necessary any longer, and then I will be what I always was. And once this is all done, she will only have risen." 

Adaar could see Cassandra marshaling her arguments. Bless her. They had become friends, despite all the business at the beginning, and Cassandra was loyal to her friends.

But Adaar didn't want to argue, not about this. She didn't want to get her hopes up. She got them up every time Josephine looked at her, anyway; she didn't need more encouragement.

She didn't need hope to turn into expectation. She'd really be in trouble then.

Luckily, because they were friends, she knew exactly how to put Cassandra off the topic entirely. She sighed, adopting a mopey, lovelorn air. "It's no good, Cassandra, though I appreciate your optimism. It just isn't meant to be."

Cassandra gave an indignant huff, exactly as expected. "Long though I have loved silly romance novels, I have always thought that they were unrealistic. I see that you are determined to live one out page by page, however."

"It's a good story, isn't it?" Adaar said, shooting a smile sideways at her. "A quick, loveable rogue—nice woman, really, despite her spotted history—pining after a lady of means. Her feelings all the more pure for knowing they can never be returned—"

"I think you are determined to be star-crossed," Cassandra continued, radiating disapproval.

"Is that so?"

"It is," Cassandra said. "I'll leave you to your pining."

Adaar laughed; Cassandra dug in her heels and sent her horse back to the front of the wagon, leaving Adaar alone.

It was sort of funny, when she was bantering about it with Cassandra—laying it on real thick, too—but as the quiet grew around her, the humor faded. She had hoped, long and hard, that this infatuation would simply melt away, that she would someday cross Josephine's path without light and warmth filling her up inside and spilling over, but by all indications, she was more deeply entrenched than ever.

A pity, and a shame, that it had taken her near thirty years to find someone she liked as much as she liked Josephine. Given the state of the world, she doubted she had another thirty years in which to find someone else.

She rode up behind the wagon and dismounted. A few quick steps closed the gap again; she left her reins loosely looped around the back post, then heaved herself up and through into the covered compartment, a welcome stillness after the gusting winds of the plains.

Vivienne looked up with a smile. "Good of you to join us, my dear. I'm sure Cassandra can handle the watch."

"Actually," Adaar said, though it was always daunting to order Vivienne around, "would you mind taking the rear? I just need a bit of a rest, then I'll head back out."

If Vivienne thought this unnecessary, she didn't voice it; she simply inclined her head with a duchess's worth of grace and brushed past, out into the cold, leaving the wagon empty except for Adaar and Josephine.

"Inquisitor," Josephine said in greeting, with a dip of her head.

"Ambassador."

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence held. Adaar sat opposite Josephine, moving with the rattle of the wagon. Astonishing how little room there was for her legs in a space like this. Josephine didn't look uncomfortable in the least, one ankle tucked behind the other, small book open on her lap, dark blue skirts perfectly arranged. It was a simple dress, comfortable for travel, paired with boots rather than slippers.

Simplicity suited her. Finery suited her. What didn't suit her?

Oblivious to her internal dramatics, Josephine asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," Adaar said, automatic. "Doubt they're going to come out of the fields and try anything in broad daylight."

She shut her book. "I meant...is everything all right, between us?"

Adaar cast her a puzzled look. "Of course."

Josephine let out a relieved breath. "I'm glad to hear it. I did not like arguing with you, and we have not spoken much since…"

Adaar cleared her throat, rubbed the back of her neck. "Sorry. I've been preoccupied."

"Yes. With protecting me." Her eyes were very soft, warmed by her small smile. "Thank you."

"Of course," Adaar said again. All the other words seemed to have flown out of her head. All those reminders not to turn hope to expectation had fled with them.

"I have devised a plan," Josephine said, straightening up a little. "The du Paraquettes cannot overturn the contract at present, lacking status as they are, but if we can raise them to nobility again…"

"Would they agree to that, do you think?"

"Let us hope I can convince them. But if we could restore their status, I imagine that they would agree. It seems a fair trade."

For a moment, Adaar's hopes lifted. If these people could just be given status like handing out candy, then maybe… 

"Didn't realize you could elevate people just like that," she commented, in what she hoped was a casual manner.

"Certainly not just like that." Josephine toyed with one frayed corner of her book, frowning, eyes a little unfocused. "I will need to offer someone...maybe several someones...a few favors. But it can be done."

Adaar could imagine how much more costly the favors would be for a Vashoth. She set the idea aside. "I don't love the sound of that."

Josephine waved this away. "No different than the capital I've traded for the Inquisition. Simpler, even. It will only cost time."

"I guess you would know. I personally don't have much experience trading in these intangible debts."

"Do not sell yourself short," Josephine chastised. "You've brokered many deals for the Inquisition."

"With much smarter people pointing the way."

"You forget that I stand at the war table with you," Josephine said, lips quirking in a smile. "I know what cleverness you are capable of, whatever modesty you hide behind."

The praise warmed her a little. "Still, I know nothing about turning ordinary folk into nobles. I'm afraid your cleverness will have to suffice for this one."

Her head tilted, hazel eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But turning ordinary folk into legends? You know something about that. Surely that is the greater challenge."

She really knew how to cut through all of Adaar's admonishments to herself. A handful of words in Josephine's mouth was as deadly as one of Adaar's knives.

"I would hate to always be the target of your honeyed tongue," she said, with a slightly helpless grin; she hoped it looked careless rather than besotted. It was the best she could manage. Truth, disguised as jest. "My insides are all a-flutter."

For a moment, it looked as if Josephine might press the topic further; then she sat back, a more somber set to her mouth. "It will not be easy," she said. "But it can be done. Despite the arguments I imagine Leliana will make."

"Well, tiebreaker," Adaar sighed, some of the tightness in her chest easing. "I outrank her."

Josephine inclined her head. "Thank you." 

Her fingers ran down the edges of the book's cover again, and Adaar noticed the feather charm dangling from the marked page. She remembered the letter she'd sent with it from the Hinterlands, the bruised wrist she'd nursed while she'd written it. She could hardly believe such a paltry little thing had made it out of Haven when they'd fled.

But Josephine had rescued it, somehow, for some reason.

It was a small space, easy to reach across and touch the dangling feather. Josephine's fingers paused in their tracing.

"You don't have to…" Adaar paused, tried to get her words in order. "I know these are useless trinkets."

Josephine looked up, eyes meeting Adaar's. "I happen to like them. Besides, it makes a pretty bookmark, doesn't it? Hardly useless."

They were treading dangerous territory. Adaar should not have leaned forward. It would be so easy to close the remaining distance, touch her fingers to Josephine's cheek, tip her chin up…

There had been other moments like this, and every one of them, Adaar could have sworn that Josephine was expecting just that. Waiting, her lips slightly parted, her eyes focused so intently on Adaar's. Hoping.

But she shouldn't. Couldn't.

She sat back. "Well, then," she said. If her voice was too loud for the space, if it pushed out all chance of intimacy, that was for the best. "I won't question your tastes, which I know to be very fine." 

She told herself that she was imagining the flicker of disappointment in Josephine's face. Easy to do; whatever Adaar thought she had seen one moment was gone the next, as if it had never existed.

"You have a knack for finding pretty things," Josephine said. "And in the strangest places."

"Maybe it's hereditary. My dad was the same way. By the time my parents made it to the Free Marches, he'd picked up all sorts of things on the road. Cleaned up some of them to sell, but kept a fair amount of the rest." She managed a chuckle. "Drove my ma up the wall, the way she told it, but I liked the things he found. He always remembered exactly where he'd picked it up. Or he was a convincing storyteller, I suppose."

"Another inherited trait, I believe," Josephine said with a smile. "What happened to it all when you left the farm?"

"I left it with Jana—the neighbor I told you about, the one looking after the place. It's probably all still sitting in a crate in the corner of the root cellar. I took one thing with me, but in the interest of not jingling with every step…"

Josephine smothered a laugh with her hand, as if the idea delighted her. "A different combat strategy, certainly. What did you take with you?"

Adaar reached into her coat and pulled a tiny journal from one of the interior pockets. She flipped to the center and retrieved a folded piece of paper, then unfolded it and handed it to Josephine.

It was a drawing. A sketch, really, of a miniature hourglass, a chain threaded through one end. Not the original sketch; no, she didn't dare carry that out into this dangerous world with her, not after what had happened to the object itself.

"It's pretty," Josephine said, "though I admit, not what I expected."

"It's just a stand-in, unfortunately. I lost the hourglass at the Conclave." She cast a miserable look at the paper in Josephine's hands. "Dad had it made from little pieces and materials he'd picked up on the way south. Sand from the shores of Par Vollen. Wood from a tree he liked as they passed through Antiva. A little gold embellishment from the melted-down remnants of the first gold coin he ever scraped together."

Josephine's face had fallen. "I'm so sorry."

Adaar shrugged one shoulder. "He wouldn't hold it against me, but...I kept it safe through so many jobs. Guess the Fade was just too much for it. Still feels weird, not wearing it."

Josephine looked to the paper again, her eyes moving from one detail to the next. "Why an hourglass?"

"My name means time, in Qunlat."

"Adaar? I thought that meant cannon."

"No, my given name—Herah."

"Herah," Josephine mused. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken Adaar's given name; her heart lurched to hear it in Josephine's voice.

"Because I ran out their time under the Qun," Adaar explained. "But gave them more time, somewhere...else. Somewhere free, in their opinion. The sand ran out, but then the hourglass turned."

Josephine was smiling, widely and warmly, as though truly touched. "That's a lovely sentiment."

"Yeah," Adaar said, but her agreement felt a little hollow. She accepted the paper back from Josephine. "What does it mean when the hourglass breaks, though?"

Josephine pondered that for a moment. The wagon rocked, and Adaar listened for any indication of a disturbance, but there was only the wind, rustling past; the horses, their steps heavy; Cassandra's muttering up ahead, if she wasn't mistaken.

"Perhaps it is as your parents said," Josephine said at last. "Your time with the Valo-kas ran out, but your time elsewhere began."

"That's a nice way of looking at it."

Adaar tucked the paper away again, safe in her coat. The original sketch—the one with her dad's notes, written in Qunlat before the painstaking translation—was safe in her Skyhold loft, hidden away.

If Skyhold fell, after all, she had probably fallen with it.

"Speaking of Jana," Josephine said, "have you heard from her recently? I know that you were concerned about Duskfield."

"I got a letter from her just before we left Skyhold. Seems as if all is well there, for now."

Josephine's lips pursed in thought. "If you'd still like to check in on them, I'm sure I can find some business in the area—an excuse to make the trip."

"I would, but...when this business with the House of Repose is done, maybe. So that you're free to—well. If you still wanted to come with."

The offer hadn't been made so long ago, but it had been made without any firm plans. They'd both been low at the time, vulnerable. Maybe Josephine hadn't been serious, or had thought better of it since. But she smiled, and the strength of it creased the corners of her eyes.

"Of course. I would love to see where you grew up." She tapped a finger against her lips. "It is a little hard to imagine you tending a farm, though it sounds like a peaceful life."

"It was," Adaar sighed. "I might even go back to it someday."

Josephine cast her a surprised look. "Really?"

Adaar shrugged. "Assuming I survive all this, then...why not? Settling down never held much appeal to me before, but after the last few months, I think it would be a relief. The mercenary life would seem like a demotion after the Inquisition, and it's probably best for everyone if I fade into obscurity, anyway."

Josephine chuckled. "Well, when you put it like that. So long as you promise to visit me in Antiva during your retirement. The Montilyet vineyards are renowned, you know."

"I suppose I could crawl out of my hermitage for that," Adaar said, grinning. "Assuming this wine is as good as you say."

Josephine raised one eyebrow, as if challenging her. It was hard not to lean in again. There was so little space in this cursed wagon, and they were already too close.

"There is plenty of it to sample at Skyhold," she said. "And we have other business to handle when we return, aside from my personal affairs. A working dinner may be in order."

Well, at least there would be a pile of convoluted requests to keep Adaar's head on straight. And a table between them, for good measure. "By all means," she replied. "You have full reign over my calendar. Pick a day, and I will be there."

"Perfect," Josephine declared, like she'd won something. Adaar wished she knew what.

Go to Chapter 3 -->

[liw-the-melancholic-apple]

How it may have gone - Humble Beginnings

A fic taking place in the marauders era. While the political climate seems to head to a conflict, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter are still just teenagers. Dealing with typical teenage problems.

But this year their little group grows. Who would have known that more prefects would be a good thing?

Masterlist

Nine: A hard night's day II

The common room slowly came to live and I vaguely answered the question as to where I’d been that night a couple of times but mostly ignored what happened around me. Until all four girls stood in front of me and ordered me to breakfast.

“Let me get dressed. I probably look like I feel. I’ll meet you in five minutes.”

“You promise?”

“I’d take an oath.” They left and I went upstairs. Looking at my closet I landed on black Jeans, a black and grey flannel and a black cardigan. I redid my hair into the topbun and put on some make-up after brushing my teeth. Just to cheer me up a bit I popped on my favourite ring.

I didn’t quite make my five minute promise but I got up to the Great Hall as quickly as possible. When I entered, though, I considered turning back around and asking Mimi for that toast and jam she had mentioned. They all sat at our table. Milla next to Remus and Peter, who bumped elbows with Nica. Nica talked to Blair who sat across from her and in between Chloe and James who stole some bacon from Sirius’ plate. Why?

I sighed internally and very slowly walked towards the Hufflepuffs. Maybe if I walked slowly enough they’d be done eating and I could not feel that badly. But since I didn’t move at the speed of a flubberworm, I arrived at the table before Peter had started his second course. I sat down next to Mag and across from Toby, keeping some distance between me and the Potter-posse and Crick.

“Morning, you look terrible!”, Magnus greeted me and won a slap against the shoulder.

“Charming.” He grinned at me and handed me a cup and the pot of coffee. “Thanks.”

I mindlessly grabbed a raisin roll and a chocolate muffin and started plucking them apart without really eating.

Nica waved at me.

“Huh?”

“Ugh, if you’re sure you don’t want to come to Hogwarts and spy on those two lovebirds?”

“I am. Got homework and detention.”

“Right! What d'you get?”

“Caring for the plans in the greenhouses one hour a day. Not too bad, actually.”

“You could do both tonight, you know”, Peter said trying not to spit out his sausage and fried egg.

“Not if I want to sleep at some point.”

“Sleep is for the weak! Live a little, Goods! So what if you don’t have all your homework? Nobody will die from it.” Hoarse voice, cheery tone, friendly, casual, not a trace of hostility. Was he kidding?

“Consider me weak then.” I pushed an enormous piece of muffin in my mouth and nearly suffocated.

“It will be so much fun though, shopping and following them around just the right amount”, Blair tried to change my mind.

“I hope you’ll have much fun. But I’ll sit this one out.”

“You’ve sat everything out, since the year started, Tea!”

“Was I talking to you?”

“No, but since we’re friends again, I reckon I can take an interest in your wellbeing again. You’ve spent five weeks in isolation, Black’s right, you should live a little.”

“Thanks for the input.”

“Have I done something?”

“No Crick, course not, sorry. I snuck off to the kitchens yesterday and fell asleep there, I’m just grumpy. Which is another good reason to stay here, by the way. Get some decent sleep.”

“No changing your mind?”

“None.”

The group went back to loudly planning how to spy on Remus and Milla which had those two groan, roll their eyes and giggle. I stayed out of most conversations and focussed on the destruction of yet another raisin roll. My untouched coffee had gone cold by the time the others got up.

“Coming?”, James held out his hand to help me off the bench.

“Sure”, I sighed and took his hand.

He held me back from the others a bit.

“You should have come with the others last night.”

“I was making up with Crick.”

“Before that I mean. You should’ve come outside with them.”

“To do what exactly?”

“Listen to Sirius explain.” I didn’t answer.

“He did explain all of it. Granted, it took him forever which is way too long, but he did. And I think you should have heard it. Maybe even before the others.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m glad he feels… Forget it. It’s fine.”

We arrived outside and pulled out our cigarettes while Milla and Remus waved and made their way to the village.

“This is going to be great!”, Sirius triumphed.

“It better be. We’d have one hell of a mess on our hands, if it isn’t”, Blair answered.

“Don’t be a spoilsport. It will be great, they will come back coupled up and we won’t have to listen to Remus whine about her anymore.”

“Does he do that?”

“What? No, of course not, never, don’t know why I said that”, he recovered very unconvincingly.

I took a last puff, threw the fag on the ground and went back to the foyer.

“Where do you think you’re going?”, Nica shouted.

“To bed! You are off in a minute anyways, aren’t you?”

“We’re giving them an hour head-start. Come back!”

“I’m knackered Chloe, I’ll have a lie-down.” Spoken and disappeared.

“All is not well with you.” Crick had waited for me.

“I’m really tired. Maybe some other time?”

“If you want to talk, I’m here, yeah? Even if some idiot breaks your heart.”

“Noone did. And I wouldn’t come to you with that. I’m not a sadist.”

“You could, though.” I hugged him a little longer than usual trying to express my gratefulness, appreciation and how bad I still felt, then I left him standing in the foyer and went to bed.

Felix had come up to the dorm and woken me up with a weird expression on his face, informing me that Sirius stood in the corridor waiting for me, bothering everyone who went in or out, asking them to get me for him. Groaning I got up and dressed again. I reckoned that I didn’t have a choice to avoid talking to him. After all I had just accused him of ignoring me for no apparent reason, it would be childish to do the same to him.

Breathing in and out two or three times I stood in the common room before opening the door and stepping onto the corridor.

“Goods, hey.”

“Hi.”

“You seemed…discontent this morning.”

“How late is it?”

“Just about lunch time.”

“Bloody hell, I slept for a while, then”

“Yeah, you did. I’ve been here four hours and most of your hosuemates proper hate me by now. Felix was really annoyed when I asked him to get you.”

“He’s thirteen, he’s always annoyed.” I tried a smile. It felt weird.

“Listen, you want to grab a bite and have a chat? I reckon I owe you one.”

“I’d rather not, Sirius. I’m pretty sure I know all I need to know. It’s fine. Kind of.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, yesterday cleared a couple of things up.”

“It did?”

“Yes. Just leave it, yeah?” I turned to either climb back into bed or confront my mountain of homework.

“Goods, I want to talk to you, hold up!”

“You want to talk to me? You want to talk to me? I’ve wanted to talk to you for five bloody weeks. And I’ve tried and sensationally failed, haven’t I? Can’t always get you want.”

I knocked against the barrel.

“Goo…Jette! I’m an idiot, okay? I know. But you deserve a conversation.”

“Damn right! I deserved one first day back from Christmas. Or the day after that. But I didn’t get one. I got death stares and ignorance like I had bloody murdered someone.” I stepped back from the door and lowered my voice again as more and more of my housemates went to lunch.

“I’m sorry”, Sirius hissed. “Which is why I’d like to explain it to you.

“What’s there to explain?”

“All of it!”

“You okay?” Felix and Marvin had just climbed out on the corridor.

“Sure”, I answered.

“You don’t look it.” He turned to Sirius. “She hasn’t had an easy couple of weeks, right? And she’s not good with waking up. Don’t upset her anymore, mate.” He looked into Sirius’ face all earnest and protective and I didn’t think I either ever respected or loved him as much as in that moment.

“I really don’t intend to upset her. I’m trying to apologise and make things right.” What I saw of Sirius’ expression was melancholic.

“You’re a stellar brother, Felix, you know that? She’s lucky to have you.”

“She really is”, I agreed kissing Felix on the cheek and sending him away.

“He’s looking out for you”, Sirius sadly smiled.

“He better be. I’ve done enough of that for him for years. Should’ve seen him in his first year. Lost little idiot.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Same thing with Reg…” The smile vanished from his face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. But I am. So, please have lunch with me?” I sighed deeply. I contemplated for a moment. I walked towards the stairs.

“Thanks, Goods. I appreciate it.”

“Hang on! Should you not be in Hogsmeade spying on Remus?”, I suddenly asked when it occurred to me that he had so looked forward to that little mission.

“Oh, the rest are covering that. Thought this was more important.”

We went up in silence, both wondering where this talk would actually leave us. Sirius pulled me to the very empty Gryffindor table. It was the emptiest of all four of them, only first and second years, Sirius and I. My own table next to it was a little more populated. Obviously the snow and cold kept some people form the village. Most Slytherins were apparently battling the weather and most Ravenclaws had decided to stay in.

Staring at the bowls and plates in front of me I realised I still wasn’t hungry although I barely touched my breakfast apart from brutally mutilating it. Unwillingly I piled some salad on my plate and decorated it with a bit of chicken breast. Sirius took half the total amount of chicken wings and drowned them in ketchup. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. He thoroughly enjoyed his food and I forced myself to finish mine. When a third of his plate was cleared he looked up from it and turned to his left, facing me. His face was covered in ketchup, he didn’t care or didn’t notice. I handed him a napkin.

“What did you mean when you said that yesterday cleared up things? I mean it might have for the others because they didn’t know what you knew, but what on earth did it clear up for you?”

I bit my lip and hesitated. He jumped his shadow, I should, too.

“The girls said some things, when they wanted to come pick me up to go upstairs that just…made me understand things better. No need for you to repeat it.”

“Come again?”

“They said that you had told them all about it because there was no need to keep it a secret from your friends.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s that, then.”

“What?”

“Well, I took the hint. That’s why I didn’t join you guys.”

“What hint?”

“Are you serious?”

“Always.” I couldn’t help but chuckle. Should’ve known better than to use that word.

“The way they found out is identical to the way I found out. Not asking for it but hearing it anyway. And you tell them all about it because they’re your friends.”

“Right…”

“Well, that told me all I needed to know.”

“I’m clearly missing something. Mind just telling me what you know.”

“Ugh…” I pushed my plate away and rubbed my hand over my face probably messing up my make-up.

“Do I have to?”

“Please. You seem to think that that means more than it does and I’d like to understand that.”

“It’s not that difficult: They are your friends, so you tell them what’s up when they hear about your housing situation. I’m not your friend, so you don’t tell me. I get that. So,I guess I can go?”

I got up and walked outside to the courtyard. Sirius caught up with me at the first of the icy steps.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“What else should I believe? When I found I seized existing for weeks.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But what. Look, it’s fine, really. I don’t fully understand what I’ve done wrong but nobody can be liked by everybody and you don’t have to be friends with me to be friends with them. You just have to accept my presence. As long as you can do that…”

“Will you shut up?”, Sirius interrupted my babbling. “That is not true. None of that is true, yeah? You are my friend. I took a bloody punch for you. By a guy who’s built like a small mountain troll. I do not do that for people I dislike.”

“But…why… how…what?”

“I would have talked to you last night anyways, Goods. James, Remus and Peter set me straight. They were furious. Don’t ever doubt their friendship; I think they were ready to drop me for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Maybe not dropped me completely. The point is that I’m an idiot and you’re my friend. If you still want to be. Seeing how I’m an idiot…”

“Yeah, I want to be your friend, why d’you think I blew up at you.”

“Fine. Friends. Good Merlin. Thought that was obvious after we rescued you from Cricket…”

“So, did I but then you ignored me…”

“Said I’m sorry, haven’t I? Can you just let me explain?”

“Only if we go back inside, I’m freezing.”

He smiled and led me back into the castle and the prefect lounge. We didn’t talk on the way up. I didn’t know what to say anyways, I was rather confused.

In the lounge Sirius ignited the logs in the fireplace and I found some left over bottles of butterbeer.

“Nice!”

“I’m all ears”, I said after the first sip and gave Sirius my undivided attention.

“Right. Okay. Where do I start?”

“Where did you start yesterday?”

“Answering all the question the girls had”, he laughed.

“I have a question but I don’t know whether I want it answered.”

“Go for it.”

“When I realised you lived with James although your parents are alive and well I kind of assumed they… chased you out of their house. That right?”

“Sort of. I mean, you could say that. Look, I’ll go a bit far back in the story to answer that, yeah? That might be easiest.” I nodded.

“Here we go: My parents are pathetic, vile, racist people who love their so called blood purity and hate everything that isn’t a pureblood wizard or witch. I didn’t get that when I was young and I don’t get it now. And I’ve always let them know that I neither understand nor agree. When I was younger they didn’t make a big deal out of it, kept repeating their credo to me and hoped with all the traditional pureblood education I’d get the hang of it in time.

That changed when I started Hogwarts, got sorted into Gryffindor and befriended James, Peter and Remus. A bloodtraitor and two halfbloods were not who my parents wanted me to spend my time with. When I came home for Christmas they told me they were disappointed and expected me to use my position in Gryffindor House to spy on all those unworthy of magic so they could use that information in the Ministry to get unpure blood banned from Hogwarts. I refused. I told them I liked the blood traitors and halfbloods I knew and stuff like that. That’s when it started.” He paused and took a sip of his drink. He didn’t start talking again.

“The violence?”, I asked in a whisper. Truly, I wanted him to say no.

“Yeah”, he answered just as quiet. He took another sip of his bottle. “At first it was just a well-placed slap across the face and some yelling about how I was not serving my name. But the more they forced their views on me, the more I rebelled against them. Didn’t help that James and his family are normal purebloods who showed me how it could and should be done right. That made me even angrier at their ideals and twisted darkness. So, basically I escalated the rebellion and they escalated the repercussions. Slaps became punches, one became five and then ten and then don’t ask me how many, telling me I wasn’t serving my name turned into calling me a disappointment, a disgrace, a waste of space. You know…”

“I knew I didn’t want an answer to that question.” I felt a lump build in my throat and my eyes water. I usually wasn’t such a cry-baby.

“Oh, it’s no big deal…

“Yeah, it is! How could you even say that? It’s the biggest deal! They are your parents, they’re supposed to protect you and love you and tell you everything’s gonna be alright and be proud of you and support you. They’re not supposed to harm you, Sirius! Or break you down mentally. It is a huge deal.” While I spoke the lump in my throat grew and got audible, my voice cracked a bit. Sirius looked up at the sound of that.

“Woah, no crying! It’s alright.”

“It’s not alright! It’s amazing you’re not some whimp or an elitist arsehole or the worst person ever, fucking miracle that! You deserve so much better! Don’t tell me it’s alright! It’s not. Not even a bit.” By now tears were streaming down my face, clearly alarming Sirius.

“Goods… I don’t know what to do, now. The other girls didn’t cry. What do I do?”

I didn’t answer but leaned over and hugged him tightly. Sobbing like a toddler at the idea of the terror that he’d been through for the past five years. After a moment or two he hugged me back, rubbing my back, going “shhhhh” all the time.

“You know it’s not alright, yeah?”, I asked when I had calmed down enough.

“I know it’s not normal. And I know they’re wrong. But I am alright. Because I’m with the Potters now, and I got a family that actually functions and very good but sobby friends. So, please don’t feel sorry for me.”

“Of course I feel sorry for you!” Sirius let me go and pushed me away, his eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. I was confused. What had I done now?

“I knew it! This is exactly what I told them and they all went ‘no, she’s not like that, she won’t look down on you.’ And I believed it! I don’t need your pity!”

“I don’t pity you”, I forced myself to sound calm and neither shocked nor offended. “I am sorry for you.”

“Same bloody thing!”

“Not at all. You are my friend. I respect you and I care about you. That means I want you to be happy. I want you to be well. I want you to be unharmed. I want you to be as whole as possible. So, when you’re not happy, when you’re not well, when you are harmed, when you’re being broken, I feel sorry for that. Not because I look down on you but because I’m hurt on your account. You honestly think, I’d cry for you if I didn’t respect you? If I didn’t care?” I still forced myself to remain calm but it took all I had.

“You don’t think I’m a pathetic loser?”

“Sirius, why would I?”

“Cause you have such a perfect family. All of you. You all managed to be yourselves and believe in the right thing and make your parents proud. Why would you not think I’m an utter failure?”

“They are the failure! They failed you! And if you think any of us would judge you for what you’ve been through, then we have, too. But not you. Not you.” I closed the distance between us and forced him to look at me by pulling up his face with both my hands.

“You have done nothing wrong. And we all know that. You’ve stood up for what you believe in to terrible and horrifying people and you’ve come out a strong and kind person. We know that and we see that and we respect that, so much. But we still hurt for you. We’re still sorry you had to go through it. You got that?”

“I got that.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” I let go of him and returned to where he’d pushed me.

“Is that why you didn’t talk to me. Because you thought I’d judge you, I’d laugh at you?”

“Honestly, after that speech I’d rather not say…”

“As long as you don’t think it anymore.” He gave me a weak smile.

“Not anymore.”

“Good.”

“Want to hear the rest of it?”

“The rest of it?”

“Like how I ended up at James’.”

“Yes and no.”

“So, my parents had a dinner discussion about werewolves, one night. It was during the summer holidays and there had just been an article in the Prophet about how there is a German organisation that has set up a full-moon-camp for werewolves. If you’re affected you sign up and then they take care of you over the full moon. The idea is for families to not be as affected or whatever. Great initiative. Obviously my parents hated it.

They told each other how it would be a great idea to set the whole camp on fire on a full moon night just to ‘end that pest’. Now, I don’t know what you think of werewolves but I tend to think they shouldn’t be liquidiated for existence.”

“Agreed. Most days they are just normal people and when they turn, they’re not themselves anymore. I’ll be honest: I do not need to run into a werewolf during a full moon. There’s a reason they are classified as one of the most dangerous creatures, but I’m mainly sad for them. The people I mean.”

“Well, my parents would hate you. Even more. Anyways, I told them pretty much what you just said. Which… didn’t fly with them. And because they had spent the entire time I was with them by screaming at me and using me as their personal punching ball – don’t look like that! – they decided I would be given one more chance to return to their noble and ancient ideals. So, they made me. Literally. They made me do what they wanted me to do. Brought in a stray mixed blood dog and had me kick it.”

“When you say made me…”

“Imperius.” I had to find every last bit of strength to not cry again. There was a very good reason that curse was an unforgivable one.

“And when that didn’t have the desired effect they rounded the evening out with a Cruciatus. I was knock-out for about half a day, then I wrote to James and flooed over there. Never looked back.”

“Thank God for Euphemia and Fleamont. I’m glad you’re out of there.”

“So am I.”

We drank up our butterbeers without another word and silently agreed to go back out to the courtyard after a while. Before we opened the door of the prefects’ lounge I hugged him again. Practically buried my face in his neck, one arm around it, one around his waist. I didn’t cry, I didn’t say anything. I just stood there wrapped around him, trying to stop his hands from shaking, which hadn’t been still since he told me about his sorting. I hoped he’d understand what I was trying to convey.

“You smell like something very familiar but I can’t put my finger on it”, Sirius said after half an eternity. Difficult to say if I had succeeded in my mission.

“Coconut”, I answered.

“I like it.”

“Thanks.”

“You can let go now, Jette. I’m good. We’re good.” I let go and smiled at him. He opened the door and we left.

[venacoeurva]

Aftermath, Chapter 10: A Familiar Coldness

You can read this on AO3 here.

If you are new to this fic, you can start from chapter 1 here. And PLEASE read the tags and the notes at the start of each chapter for content warnings, I am not responsible for your mental health, you are.

This chapter is rated: T (mostly for language)

Terra considers the main personal topics of the month, Isa is angry and kind of a mess(again), Lea is disappointed in Isa (again), and night lights are an important part to a home. This isn't a very action-packed chapter, mostly fleshing out a pathway to future events and to get some of Terra's perspective and concerns before more Isa perspective-centric chapters.

No trigger warnings for this one unless you don't like someone having a panic attack, otherwise it's fairly mild.

            The clouds began to cover the world in a blanket of snow, sky a dark gray and quiet as everyone went to their homes.

           There were a few persistent things on Terra’s mind as he power-walked back home, them being what Xemnas was up to, was Vanitas acclimating to not having to fight all the time, and if Isa was fine with being called Isa now or if he was just running with it because everyone called him that. It seemed like he’d ask at least him and Lea to call him something else if he wasn’t for being called that, though. He’d have to ask.

           Vanitas was still very much a work in progress, as much as any teenager who was originally existing only to become a weapon and was beaten in combat every day. The pain he felt with every Unversed’s demise only made it harder on him. He still mostly avoided everyone sans Ventus, who he was very clingy toward despite proclaiming how annoying he was. His days still comprised of trailing warily after Ven while holding on to some article of clothing which was usually a sleeve or wristband, being angry, and having panic attacks before going to his room for hours. He was very sensitive to being seen crying. So yeah, he had a while and needed to work on a lot to even be remotely functional.

           If he was mature enough and comfortable, he could sit down with Isa and discuss their abusive upbringings and find solidarity, but Vanitas definitely wasn’t at the point of discussing that. It wasn’t like Isa was open to just telling anyone about his childhood, either; he’d probably just shut off his feelings again and Saïx-mode would activate.

           Speaking of, Saïx mode hadn’t been seen in quite a while. Maybe he was coping with emotions better now, or just better at suppressing them to the point where it wasn't like there was an on-off switch on him.

           And then there was Xemnas. It also wasn’t hard to tell he did not like Xemnas—he represented the darkest point of Terra’s existence. He was his own body moving and doing without much of his input, and now he was basically a copy of him with a different personality that budded within his body prior! Xemnas was a walking effigy of trauma for him.

           Now, he could sympathize with Isa as to why he was apparently somewhat fond of him, though. What he did not understand was how those feelings coexisted so easily with his plans to casually murder him. Saïx was an enigma, and he would use the useful and discard the impractical if the situation called for it—that was about the best reasoning he could come up with. Also, abandonment issues and patricide.

           As time went on, more memories from his time as Xemnas and Xemnas as a separate entity came back to him, and the more he began to comprehend their interactions as well as the thoughts and feelings of the people within his body at the time. He could see the branching off as their heart recovered and Xemnas gained his own sense of self. It seemed only natural for him to do so while his heart formed even if he was going to be strong-armed as a vessel if he didn’t want to comply. Whether he was reluctant or not was debatable, but he has his own motives outside of that whole issue.

           Some information was helpful socially, like he remembered that Isa couldn’t lay on his stomach and feel something on his back or else he’d panic and get violent and he had always hated people touching him before he could see them. In retrospect, that made a lot of sense why when he was affectionate he’d be consistently looking at whoever the recipient was or initiated it himself. Prior to remembering this, Terra wasn’t sure if Isa disliked the latter purely because of his jumpiness after moving into the apartment—partially because of what he went through and because his mental breakdown put him in a pretty bad place. That was an easy assumption to make, to be fair.

           Other things he could recall were that Braig was very picky with what brushes he could use to tame his hair (no wonder it always looked so silky and free of snarls), Lea would drink basically anything caffeinated but really liked macchiatos and energy drinks that should probably be banned and he was double-jointed, and Vexen could reach incredibly high octaves if you scared him badly enough. The man could be an opera singer or could join a choir.

           Regardless, it would be so strange to see Xemnas separate from him, to see someone who was basically an exact clone going about completely independently from him and Xehanort. This wasn’t to say Terra anticipated seeing him; he would greatly prefer he instead melt back into nothingness and everyone could just move on like before he made his not-so-grand return. It wasn’t like he could state this out loud, as it was fairly harsh, but he knew that sentiment could be read from him enough already. Maybe that’s why Isa felt so distant on a personal level; he didn’t feel like he could talk about any of it with him, now. Too much bias and Isa got a sense that discussing him was basically taboo. That kind of hurt.

           He knew Isa was in a strange place emotionally, he was showing signs of slipping into a depressive episode again, and he remembered now that Xemnas…well. He knew Isa couldn’t know that—not now. It wasn’t even his place to say it, it was Xemnas’, but he felt responsible in keeping it from him as long as he could if he didn’t already know. There was no benefit for anyone, it would just cause more problems.

           He had to wonder if that would bite him in the ass later.

           The fluffy snow bounced off him as he continued on and wished the climate was a bit more tropical or arid. At least a hot shower would feel wondrous. Then he’d make dinner after that—it was his turn—and take a nice nap.

           He unlocked the door and stepped in, slipping his shoes off by the mat. He heard Lea in the kitchen, voice low. Freezing where he stood, he listened in.

           “…I mean, I’m glad you’re doing better but I don’t think you should act like here is the perfect place to cap your recovery off.” Lea sighed.

           “How am I doing that?” Isa asked, irritated, “And do you even know what the full extent of what I need to recover from is?”

           “Just—why? You were doing so well and getting used to people and all that then you start cutting other people off again!”

           “Any improvement from being an antisocial hermit seems like a big one, Lea. It’s plateauing right now since I can function for the most part but I still have incredibly low energy and my depressive symptoms aren’t as manageable knowing I can feel. There’s a burnout in improvement once it’s survivable, and mine happens to be a long but not intense one.”

           Isa sighed and continued. “Just because there’s still feelings, too, it doesn’t mean I’m going ahead with it. There’s no guaranteed chance of that. It’s not like he’s the only one, either, and you know that. We simply grew up too much for our relationship to stay romantic and functional, so can you stop blaming this for the reason why I’m not dating you again?”

           “How am I using that as an excuse?” Lea sputtered. “I mean, duh, I’m a bit salty he’s an option for you and not me, but that’s not…”

           “Why can’t we hold a conversation without this happening?” Isa hissed, half at Lea and half at himself. “Why do you come over like you’re not going to let your jealousy turn into an argument?”

           “It’s not jealousy! I’m just worried because, y’know, maybe developing feelings for your former superior who is also kind of nuts is a bad thing.”

           “You have some gall to act innocent when you’re part of the reason that’s even an issue now.”

           Lea growled, "Seriously?"

           Isa stood up, hands slamming hard on the table. “It was your idea to go into that castle, dumbass! And then after that horror show and we were proper traumatized, you just decide to fuck off and abandon me!”

           “Your interests weren’t for the better good, by that point, and they weren’t just about getting out! You were emotionally torturing these kids because you saw them as weapons and the fact I was friends with them when we thought we couldn't feel anything. And—and don’t act like I never went back for you! I care about you, but not enough to jeopardize other people I care about.” Lea snarled.

           “Well too bad you didn’t stay and we would have gotten the job done before any of that would have happened!” Isa roared, a familiar vibration in his voice that signaled that maybe it was time to step in.

           Terra loudly closed the door and could hear them turn in their seats.

           “Just me.” He called.

           “Ah, hey, dude.” Lea grunted as he casually got out of his seat and walked into the living room, attempting to make his expression as relaxed as possible.

           Isa didn’t follow and could be heard sipping something out of a mug with the intensity of a thousand suns.

           “Sorry for not being able to catch up with ya, I have places to be.” Lea stated and slipped past Terra.

           “Are you sure…?” Terra quietly muttered as he watched him close the door behind him.

           He walked into the kitchen to see Isa sat at the table with a rather peeved expression and clenched fists.

           Folding his arms, he gave him a sympathetic smile. “I, uh, walk in on something? There was yelling.”

           “He’s got the wrong idea, and I wish he’d stop being caught up in the fact I’m not attracted to him anymore. Just because I don’t want to date him doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. That, and he shouldn't get to act like he never caused me pain just because he came back and because I did things wrong, too.”

           “It can take a while to process being rejected, especially if it’s someone you used to date and thought you had a chance with again. Plus, a lot has happened with you two--sort of, uh, hurting each other.”

           Isa rubbed his temples, shaking his head.

           “I can see why you’re kind of reluctant to have him over if that happens every time.” Terra added and went to get a glass of milk.

           “He clings to the past too much, and I think he’s jealous but won’t admit it flat-out.”

           “I’m sure that’s part of it. He’ll get over it and be bearable to talk to…probably. I think he expected you two to go back to being on really good terms when, well, too much changed and he got out of the pessimistic mindset from earlier and ended up with some hope.”

           Isa groaned and sank in his chair, taking another drink.

           “He acts like I was the one who abandoned him first.”

           “Give him time to cool down and probably a mediator.” Terra reassured, turning to him. “What are you hungry for?”

           “I have no real preference. I think I’m going to nap this off. I’m getting a migraine.” Isa uttered.

           Terra watched him aggressively shuffle to the couch and lay down. He turned back to the counter and looked over his options. They had a nice new rice cooker, so they could at least have rice to put something on. Maybe stir-fry? No, he wasn’t going to attempt that. He could just bake some potatoes; those kept well for a few hours after being made.

           Tying his hair back, he shuffled to the pantry and pulled a few big potatoes out.

           How and why did one of the major issues right now end up being relationship drama? He should be thankful for that, but still, why? hopefully that would resolve soon.

           “It’s getting pretty dark out.” Isa groggily stated, looking up from his place on the couch and out the big window above it. “I think that snow storm is coming in.”

           “At least the weather can decide what it wants to do. By the way, some baked potatoes are in the oven when you want them.” Terra said as he walked by with a laundry basket of his clothes to put away.

           “For a few days.”

           Terra resumed, walking into the bedroom and sliding open the drawers on his side of the dresser. He set the basket down and flipped the light switch up. The shadows in the corners dissipated and he sat on the floor to fold some pants.

           He pursed his lips, deep in thought (and annoyance) about the weather and how uncomfortable it would be to work out in that world if he was going to. It wouldn’t be as bad if the gardens didn’t get so icy.

           He stood, and the room went pitch black.

           The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, stomach twisted, and electricity shot up his spine. Blood rushed through his ears and the primal fear set in. If he could have seen the room, it would be spinning.

           Frozen but his heart beating out of his chest, Terra softly gasped. He felt absolutely trapped, suffocating in the inky dark. Oh no, not again. He expected to feel the pain of a heart ripping forcing its way into his chest, the blue moon glaring balefully down, and watching himself split into two people in succession, but every memory pounced on him at once.

           He squeezed his eyes shut so that face wouldn’t be staring at him, but he couldn't quash the images flashing under his eyelids or the feeling of what it was like to fade. Oh, god, he couldn’t breathe. One hand on his chest and the other on his throat, trying to force himself to breathe normally, damnit! His balance was off, head light, and he felt like his legs weighed tons.

           “Terra. Breathe.”

           A hand slowly pressed onto his shoulder.

           He blinked, shivering and wrenching his eyes upward to make some sense of where he was.

           “Terra,” Isa murmured as he knelt down, a small flame dancing on his hand, “the power went out.”

           “The—oh…”

           Using water for electricity was fairly cheap and generally stable, but they had to adapt with the wind, magic, sun, and coal after the fall. There were quite a few blackouts and brownouts already. That was the nice thing about The Castle That Never Was--it didn't have outages.

           Isa wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him up onto quaking legs and letting him lean on him. If there's one thing he learned about Terra, it's he reacted well to tactile stimulation when panicking or anxious. It was unusual compared to other people with similar issues to the two of them, but the fact he went a decade with dulled senses and a lack of stimulation made sense of why he found comfort in being touched and being able to feel it fully. Isa was the same way, but he just didn't like being alone in that state.

           “It’s warmest in here, so let’s sit on the bed while you calm down and I'll get the extra blankets.”

           Isa patted his shoulder and led him around.

           “I didn’t think the dark would do that to me.” Terra grunted and sat. "I thought it was the moon."

           He gripped the covers under him and took a few slow but deep breaths. Maybe it was both?

           Isa sat down next to him. “We could always get one of those dusk-to-dawn nightlights that are hardly bright but are noticeable and have a battery for when the power goes out. We, or I, could go get one today while picking up some other things once you calm down more.”

           He dug into his nightstand for a flashlight, adding, “Maybe the power will be back on by the time we get back.”

           “Or maybe tomorrow. Look outside, it's snowing pretty hard and I'm sure a lot of places have no power. But I just…can’t believe I’m afraid of the dark.” Terra groaned, tired and sulky.

           “To be fair, it’s so dark out and the blinds are closed, it was very abrupt." Isa clicked the light to life. "There's usually some light pouring in from outside, even at night.”

           “It’s such a lame thing to be scared of, though, even if there are valid reasons!” Terra sighed, standing back up now that he could get his bearings and it didn't feel like his lungs were going to implode.

           Isa patted him on the shoulder again and stepped past to go to the living room. “Terra, I’m scared of walking down stairs with someone somewhat close behind me. Yours makes sense after everything you went through and because it's so much harder to avoid the dark.”

           “So does yours…” Terra quietly retorted as he slowly followed after him.

           Just because it's been so long and you don't remember what...

[akaluan]

For the made up fic title - Signal Fires

((I… don’t even know? At all? Valdemar with the Bleach chars as a natural part of the Valdemar world. I guess if something doesn’t really make sense, ask and I’ll answer, but uh… pretty heavily Valdemar AU.

My brain is strange.))

Uryuu spotted the lights of the town through the darkness and felt relief; his journey was almost over, he was almost /home/ again. Even Swallow seemed to agree, snorting and picking up the pace without his input, her tack jingling faintly.

He didn’t bother reining her in despite the late hour. The road was new, without a pothole to be seen for Swallow to step in, and the barracks-town was right /there/. They both wanted the comforts of home, and Swallow could keep this steady pace for a lot longer than it would take them to arrive.

The small secondary entrance swung open as they approached, and Tatsuki leaned out. “The prodigal son returns,” she joked, eyeing him and Swallow carefully in the lantern light. “We didn’t expect you back for another week.”

Uryuu grunted and ducked his head, not bothering to dismount as Swallow stepped through the smaller entrance and turned immediately towards the stables.

“That bad, huh?” Tatsuki asked, closing the gate behind him and darting forward to catch up. “Do I need to get Orihime?”

“No,” Uryuu said. He dismounted at the stable doors and began to untie his gear while Tatsuki pulled one of the doors open, tossing his bags to the side and gathering up his weapons.

“Uhhuh,” Tatsuki said, eyeing him again as she took Swallow’s reins. “Well, if you’re certain. I’ll take care of Swallow, you go relax.”

Uryuu gave Tatsuki a curt nod of thanks and turned, grabbing his bags and stalking towards the barracks. It was such a relief to be home — his /true/ home — and he was looking forward to getting a proper night’s sleep and seeing the rest of the company in the morning.

Except he’d barely set foot in the training yard before a bell-like chiming caught his attention. Uryuu groaned and dropped his packs on one of the benches, followed by his bow and quiver of arrows. He knew that sound, and knew what it likely meant for him.

“Getsu,” Uryuu greeted the Companion once the other was in view. The pure white ‘horse’ nodded and stepped closer, pacing a circle around him while Uryuu buckled his sword in place. “Tatsuki already gave me the once over. I’m /fine/.”

::I will be the judge of that,:: Getsu told him sternly. ::You are back early and out late. You might be physically fine, but that is likely it.::

Uryuu grimaced. “Mother hen,” he muttered. “I’d rather sleep right now, thank you ve— /OW!/”

Teeth clamped down on his right shoulder strong enough to hurt, and another Companion tugged him backwards. ::Nah, ain’t lettin’ ya stew. C’mon minion, to King wit’ ya!::

“Why are the two of you /like this/?” Uryuu snarled, struggling to keep his balance as the second Companion kept pulling him back by his shoulder. He looped an arm back in retaliation and grabbed hold of the Companion’s mane to take some of the pressure off of his shoulder. “This is like the /exact opposite/ of what the damn Valdemarans say you Companions are supposed to be like— /Zan let me go, you damn asshole!/”

::Nah, cause then you’ll jes run,:: Zan told him smugly. ::Aww, look, we’ve got an audience!::

Uryuu /glared/ at the curious onlookers, not that it did much good. Some of the newer recruits ducked away, but the regular members were quite used to sights similar to this. Luckily, Zan dragged him out of the training yard and over to one of the watch towers without much delay.

“Traitors, all of them,” Uryuu grumbled, stumbling forward and almost slamming face-first into a closed door thanks to Zan letting go and giving him a strong shove. “I have no idea where the Valdemarans /ever/ got the idea that you Companions were paragons of Good. Ugh.”

::Probably because very few of them are as stubborn and fractious as you and Ichigo,:: Getsu replied, amused.

“I’m not even a damn Herald!” Uryuu cried, spinning to point accusingly at Getsu. “You’re just /always around Ichigo/ even though you aren’t his, or /anyone’s/ Companion! Everyone just /assumes/ that we’re bonded!” The smugness radiating off Getsu was frustrating, but at least in this Uryuu wasn’t alone. Nearly every Herald Uryuu had ever met ended up feeling the same about Getsu eventually.

::I am free to go wherever I please,:: Getsu declared haughtily.

“Yelling only encourages them,” Ichigo said from behind Uryuu. “I thought we went over this.”

Uryuu made a noise of protest and turned to glower at Ichigo, who stood in the now open doorway, an amused expression on his face. “Then move out of the way and let me in. I don’t want to deal with these two pests anymore.”

::Aww! Y’know ya missed us, minion!::

Ichigo chuckled and stepped back, letting Uryuu into the tower and closing the door behind him, then starting up the spiral stairs towards the outlook on top. They settled together, shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the crenelations and staring off into the darkness around them.

Ichigo didn’t press him for answers, and had likely had words with Zan and Getsu, because neither of the Companions mindspoke to him either.

Uryuu slowly relaxed, turning away from the countryside and sitting down on the roof, his back against the low wall. “Ryuuken wants me to quit.” Ichigo’s disgusted noise had Uryuu chuckling weakly. “He says its high time I retire and take up my rightful place.”

“Didn’t he—?”

“Yeah,” Uryuu agreed grumpily. “Made his way as a merc until grandfather finally died, and only /then/ came back home.” He scowled down at his hands, running his thumb over the heavy callouses. “Even had some woman picked out for me to marry.”

“Not surprising,” Ichigo mused. “Contract?”

“Not yet.” Uryuu shrugged and shifted position, leaning against Ichigo’s leg. “Nice enough woman, I guess. At least from the two days I had to speak with her, before I had another fight with Ryuuken and stormed out.”

“Think he’ll try to set up a contract?”

Uryuu scoffed. “I have no doubt. Think Getsu will let me pretend to be his Herald for a while? Then Ryuuken can’t say a damn thing.”

“Sure he can,” Ichigo said, bending down enough to rest a hand atop Uryuu’s head and thread his fingers through Uryuu’s hair. “He’s not /from/ Valdemar, what does he care about Heralds and the laws surrounding them?”

Uryuu grimaced at the reminder. He’d clearly been living in Valdemar too long if he just took for granted the way many people reacted to Heralds. “Well, I’m out of ideas then.”

“Eh, just tell Captain. She’ll sort him out before a day is over.”

He winced at the thought and rubbed at his temple. “That is probably the worst idea you’ve ever had, thank you for that. I’m not interested in inheriting so soon.”

Ichigo chuckled and tugged lightly on Uryuu’s hair. “I’m sure she’d help you handle it. Find you a good accountant and someone to govern in your stead. Just leave it in their hands and be an absentee lord.”

He groaned and slumped against Ichigo’s leg. “Please stop talking, I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Alright, alright,” Ichigo murmured softly, combing his fingers through Uryuu’s hair. “No more talking about shitty situations. So, want to hear what Tatsuki’s been getting up to?”

Uryuu made an absent noise of agreement and let Ichigo’s voice drown out the anxiety that returning to Ryuuken’s home always invoked.

(He didn’t know what he’d do without his friend.)

[justaramblingromantic]

And this too, shall pass.

Characters/Pairing: Kobayashi Rindou and Tsukasa Eishi/EiRin

Type: Canon-divergent AU, Post-series, Peerless-verse, Freestyle

Word Count: 1860

A/N: Erm. My muse is disrespecting the hell out of me. I am so angry, this was supposed to be a happy fic, gdi.

In the aftermath of it all, he was…confused.

Yes, losing had been an incredibly upsetting blow, and maybe he was still reeling in shock at the moment because it had been so long since he had last lost a match on the field…yet somehow, the dull ache of this defeat had only felt passingly insignificant in light of the other bigger thing that had been callously wrenched from him as a result.

His belief.

Everything that he had so firmly believed in, all that unwavering conviction that he once possessed in choosing this path to walk had crumbled and dissolved like wet, shifting sand in the face of the relentless tide that was the opposition, sweeping him so far out into the faithless depths of the unknown, leaving him aimless and without compass to ever find his way back again.

He did not understand it at all; were they wrong, after all? Was he so wrong, for believing in and fighting for the ideal that he had honestly, wholeheartedly, thought was right?

He had always been one to be straightforward and unhesitating when it came to his goals. Everything that he had done in the course of his life had been for the sake of achieving his dreams, and he went after them with relentless, hounding tenacity and focus. Discipline, dedication, drive. They were all he knew to be. Some people called him ‘selfish’, but such was the only way he knew to stay true to himself.

Even then, the road was never easy, but the goal had always been ever clear. All he had to do was keep his head up and keep heading unerringly towards the light, no matter how many times he stumbled, no matter how many times he fell. Making Tootsuki, making the Elite Ten, making First Seat…they were all stepping stones and milestones that would eventually lead him to his purpose in life.

But this time, for the very first time, the guiding light that beckoned at the far horizon had winked out abruptly, the ground beneath his feet that he was always so certain of had vanished, and he could not see, and he could not regain his balance. Blind and disoriented, there was no more path to follow. What to do. What to do now?

He was so lost.

They called him knight, but what use was there for a knight with no clear cause to champion, no proper purpose to pledge loyalty to? It had felt like a sharp stab of betrayal, to realize that Azami was wrong, to understand that he himself had only been made used of and deployed about like a pawn in an elaborate game of chess by the man he had so deeply respected and regarded as a close friend and mentor, and it left such a dark, bitter taste in his mouth, because with this undeniable confirmation, all the victories that he had gained on the man’s behalf and had been so proud of now felt pervaded by taint and wrongness.

His confidence was badly shaken. He did not know what to think anymore. And now, there was also disturbing unease and uncertainty roiling turbulently in his heart, because if the ideology he had always supported so staunchly was corrupted, then what should he do now? Should he carry on obstinately even while knowing that his beliefs were riddled with flaws, or should he abandon his ideals, these same ideals that he had known and embraced for as long as he remembered?

Both possibilities pained him equally, for different reasons.

If he abandoned his ideals, did that mean all that effort and passion that he poured into achieving his goals over the years…were they all for nothing? Was he going to have to let go of all that staggering amount of work and sacrifice and start building from ground zero all over again?

The thought was enough to make him flinch.

…But if he stubbornly persisted with what he had now, still insisted on going down this path for the sake of self-preservation, because cooking for the sake of himself was the only thing he had ever known…what would become of him eventually?

There was a vague idea that he had once entertained, when he was still very much in awe and admiration of his mentor, the latter so cynical yet so incredibly worldly and sophisticated. The man had been dazzling and charismatic with his visionary ideals and grandiose philosophies, and there was something intrinsic about him that really appealed to Eishi too, like a nod of recognition from one prodigy to another. They were the same type. It was so comforting to know that there existed someone in this world who was so much like him, who faced the same challenges and frustrations that he faced and it had given him so much hope when it seemed like Azami had actually found a solution to this existential issue that he had been circling round and round and struggling so hard to deal with but to no avail.

So of course he had jumped at the chance to offer his services when his mentor had requested for it. To make a difference, to see to fruition this grand new world that they had always talked about. He wanted so much to make that difference, and was willing to throw himself tirelessly into supporting a resonating cause where his thoughts and inputs and ideas were actually valued and appreciated for their weight and worth, and not just simply because he was a genius and thus automatically commanded respect regardless of what he did and said.

…As if that one simple word was all it took to define everything he entailed, easily glossing over all the complications and challenges that he has had to surmount just to bring life to his masterpieces, the intricate dishes that he had slaved and struggled so hard over to produce.

Towards the end, the term genius had felt more like a grievous insult than praise…and the culinary paradise that Azami had always talked about had sounded more and more like an ultimate utopian dream…

Unfortunately, a dream, ultimately, was just a dream. Something unsustainable.

Eventually, it was time to wake up.

It was very quiet now.

The deafening roar and cheers from the spectators of the Regiment Shokugeki were no more, and the stands were all empty, the humongous competition hall echoing, filled only by the ghosts of past battles. The long steel counters and state-of-the-art, industrial-grade kitchen appliances on the arena were pristine and gleamed silently beneath the powerful stage lights, all the utensils immaculately washed, dried and kept neatly in their places, silently waiting to be used again by fiery cooks who would put everything they had on the line to achieve their dreams, fighting tooth and nail for their prides and ideals.

Somehow…he had become jaded too, it seemed.

Still in his chef uniform, he had aimlessly wandered back out to the hall after all the others had left. He was one of the last ones still here…but he was not alone.

She had wordlessly followed him, keeping him company even when he was hardly in the most sociable mood right now…but then again, she wasn’t making any attempts at conversation, either.

She was just there. Giving him all the space he desired, but an undeniable presence at the edge of his senses all the same, a silent sentinel.

He sighed, lifted his face and looked up, and was promptly blinded by the stage lights.

Blinded by the brightness, how ironic.

But it was true, wasn’t it. The light from high above him was so all-encompassing, he could barely see anything else.  

He closed his eyes, just stood there and let all the stillness and quiet wash over him. It was almost peaceful.

…But then, eventually, the lights started to go out, silently, one row after another, until they were doused in semi-darkness. It was late; the technicians backstage were leaving. He slowly reopened his eyes. He could not help but think it symbolic, a curtain call.

He turned his head to gaze at his quiet shadow. It took a while for his vision to focus, gradually adjusting to the dimness. She was standing at the edge of the stage, hovering by the side entrance. Even as their eyes met and held, she made no move to approach him. Like him, she too was in uniform still.

He wondered what she was thinking.

She had never wanted to be a tool to be used to further Azami’s ambitions, and he also knew how much she quietly disliked the older man. Still, she had joined all the same, for him.

But doing that had changed her a little, too. She was quieter, more restless and fidgety, sometimes a bit distant, as if distracted and lost in thought. And other times, she just watched him, her expression inscrutable…like now.

“Are you still afraid?” he asked quietly, his voice hollow, finally breaking the silence. The rest of the question hung unsaid between them.

Of me?

The question was almost ridiculous. Her, afraid? She had always been fearless.

But even so, after all these years, he would be blind not to correctly read her demeanor…and he was never clueless when it came to her. She was wary. Guarded. Reticent.

He wondered to himself which was worse; for her to learn to fear him, or for her to be utterly disappointed in him.

She slowly started forward, treading almost soundlessly until she was before him. She tilted her head back a bit, looked at him unflinchingly.

“Should I be?” she responded evenly, her gaze holding his, her expression uncharacteristically somber.

He was silent.

“…I’m sorry.”

She huffed, a glossy sheen growing brighter in her eyes, and stumbled closer.

“Stupid; what are you apologizing for,” she muttered. And then she reached over, grabbed her best friend by his scarf, and pulled him into her arms. He was taller so he ended bending over a little to accommodate her forcefulness, but her embrace was firm, unhesitating. And so unreservedly warm.

She held onto him so tightly, as if anxious that he would disappear.

He stiffened, not sure what he was supposed to do.

“I was never afraid of you,” she mumbled after a long pause, her voice cracking.  “I was afraid for you. Stupid.”

Oh. Oh.

His hands clenched with silent relief by his sides. It was awhile before he could convince his fingers to uncurl. He hesitantly reached up…and wrapped his arms gingerly around her. She did not protest his action. All the tension in his entire being leeched away, and without it, he slumped wearily into her, his face turning, buried into her hair, eyes squeezing shut, drained.

There was no one more disappointed in him than himself.

He trembled, shoulders shaking.  

She seemed to understand his grief, even without him having to say a thing. Her hand came up, fingers sliding haphazardly through his hair, blunt nails scratching at his scalp. Blindly, instinctively offering comfort.

He tightened his arms around her, struggling to breathe.

There was nothing else to hold on to anymore.

[supercitycarnival]

Hi! Any chance you could write a Supercat #58 as a post-breaking-off-engagement sequel to your #26 fic, please? Thanks.

Oh my goodness. @statuepuppie, I can! I totally can. Love it. Here ya go.

58. You smell like a wet dog.

Read Part 1 here.

*****************

Kara hovered high above the city. She watched all the lights twinkling from cars and buildings below. The wind swirled around her, blowing her hair every which way. She didn’t mind. The cool air felt good.

Trying to hone in on emergency noises around the city, Kara found her mind jumbling. All the sounds seemed to mix together. She couldn’t focus. She’d been up here for over ten minutes, listening.

Tapping the comm in her ear, Kara asked, “Alex?”

“I’m here,” Alex quickly responded.

Kara sighed, then admitted, “I don’t think I’m up for this tonight.”

There was a short silence before Alex answered, “No worries, Supergirl. We’ve got the city covered tonight. Get some rest.”

“Thanks, Alex.”

Kara tapped the comm again, turning it off. Maybe flying for a while would get rid of her melancholy. Floating back down among the skyscrapers, Kara took her time. She couldn’t miss the CatCo building towering above downtown. Kara looked away, averting her gaze.

It had been a week since Kara told Cat about her engagement to Mon-El. Cat had been distant ever since. Kara hated it. In the months since Mon-El’s departure and Cat’s return, she and Kara had been getting closer. Spending more time together, staying at the office after hours, texting at night, casual touches. Kara had been on the brink of finally confessing her alter ego, hoping to deepen their relationship, though she knew Cat already knew.

Now Kara had made all the months of progress mute with a hasty “yes” that she’d said without thinking. But the joyful smile on Mon-El’s face, and the way he picked her up and spun her around, made her think that this was her shot at happiness. After all, Cat was an unattainable dream.

Kara flew passed CatCo, pushing the thought from her mind that Cat was probably there right now. Weaving between the buildings, Kara came to the outskirts of downtown. The blaring sirens were left behind the farther away she flew from the city’s center.

Suddenly another sound came to her ears. A sound that made the superhero even more alert than the sirens. The unmistakable sound of a small animal crying out.

Kara adjusted to follow the sound. Landing at the grate of wide circular storm drain, Kara peered into the darkness with her sharp alien vision. There, in the dark, a small puppy was whining. Kara’s heart wrenched at the sight.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Hey, it’s okay, come here.”

Slowly, the puppy waded through water that was halfway up his tiny legs. Kara stuck her finger through the slats in the grate, offering her scent to the little puppy. He licked her fingertips and Kara was instantly smitten.

Curling her hands around the slats, Kara pulled the grate apart with a metallic screech that startled the puppy. He tucked his tail between his back legs, cowering.

“No, no,” Kara said. “It’s okay. Come here.”

The puppy came close again and Kara carefully picked him up. He was barely big enough to have to use two hands. His white coat was dirty and his ribs were visible. Kara held him close, allowing her natural Kryptonian warmth to soothe the puppy. He nuzzled into her and Kara chuckled softly. She was giddy with puppy love.

After fixing the grate, Kara wrapped her cape around the puppy. She, slowly rose into the air to head home. She couldn’t wait to show Mon-El.

********************

Landing gingerly on the fire escape outside her living room window, Kara came into the apartment.

“Mon-El, look!” Kara said, enthusiastically.

From his place on the sofa, Mon-El turned around. His happy smile at seeing his fiancèe faded when he saw the small package she was cradling.

He furrowed his brow questioningly. “Is that a dog?”

“Better. It’s a puppy,” Kara sing-songed.

Expression turning to disdain, Mon-El commented, “It’s filthy.”

Trying not to be hurt at his obvious disapproval, Kara said, “I’ll give him a bath and he’ll be perfect.” She stroked her thumb over the top of the puppy’s tiny head lovingly.

“You smell like wet dog,” he told her, turning his nose up as he stepped closer. Leaning over, he peered at the baby dog in Kara’s arms.

Frustration mounted in Kara’s gut. Why did he have to blow off everything she liked? Her beaming smile gone, Kara walked past Mon-El and toward her bathroom. After retrieving a towel, Kara wrapped the puppy up. She took the pillows from the sofa and made a pallet on the floor, gently setting him down while she got a bath ready in the kitchen sink.

Mon-El watched as Kara moved around the apartment, collecting things for the bath.

“You’re not keeping it, are you?” He asked.

Turning to him sharply, Kara hissed, “Yes.” She took a breath to stay calm. “Yes I am.” She turned back to the sink. “And it’s a ‘he’,” she muttered.

Sighing dramatically, Mon-El sat back down. “You don’t have time for a dog.”

Finally unable to stand his know-it-all attitude, Kara snapped, “Why do you have to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Shut me down.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “Do you do it on purpose?”

Not understanding, he asked, “What are you talking about?”

Kara huffed. Her voice grew stronger. “Do you care about anything I care about?”

“Kara, of course I do?” He stepped closer and reached out to put his hands on her shoulders.

Taking defensive, backward steps, she requested, “Name one thing on this planet you care about.”

Mouth open, Mon-El searched for a response. “I… I care about you. That’s the important thing.”

Kara shook her head. It seemed like they went around and around the same mountain. “No, it’s not. You can’t use me to vicariously become something you’re not, Mon-El. You say that you want to be good, that you want to be a hero, but you don’t take any steps toward that.”

“That’s not true,” he protested. “I’ve fought with you in the field.”

“Yeah, to impress me. Not to help anyone.”

“Kara…” Mon-El trailed off, unable to think of an argument.

Kara scoffed. “You can’t even defend yourself because you know it’s true.” She looked down at her engagement ring. “You don’t even care about me enough to get me a real diamond. Did you just get the easiest thing?”

“The ring isn’t important, Kara,” he tried to counter.

“You’re right. It’s the thought that counts,” she said coldly, knowing he hadn’t put much thought into the ring. Her Supergirl courage fluttered inside her. She needed to stop using Mon-El as a crutch, a short track to happiness. If she moved on with this engagement, Kara would be forever doomed to feeling unimportant and pacified. She couldn’t take his lack of passion, or his self serving attitude any longer.

Pulling the ring from her finger, Kara told him, “This is over.”

Shocked, Mon-El asked, “What? Why?”

“I can’t spend my life making you feel better about yourself while you make me feel terrible about myself.”

“You don’t mean that.” He tried again to reach for  her, and again, Kara back away from his touch.

“I do,” she said adamantly. “You need to go. I’ll bring you your things at the DEO.”

They stood there in the kitchen staring at one another. Kara willed herself to stay strong despite his deceptive sweet eyes. Mon-El silently and slowly moved toward the door.

Holding out the ring as he past her, Kara said, “Don’t forget this.” She dropped the ring with the fake diamond in his hand. With that, he was gone.

********************

A couple of hours later, Kara was lying on her back on the sofa. The puppy was curled into her side, sleeping contentedly under Kara’s soft petting.

She had given him a warm bath, washing the dirt and grime from his coat. She was surprised at how white his fur turned out to be. After feeding him all kinds of yummy people food, Kara played with the puppy on the floor until they were both tuckered out.

Now, sitting on the couch, she was flooded with relief. A burden was lifted from her shoulders and she felt lighter than she had in awhile. And, she couldn’t get her mind off one person.

Kara kept telling herself to wait and tell Cat tomorrow at work that she’d broken things off with Mon-El, but the pull of her phone was too strong.

She reached over the puppy to pick her phone up from the coffee table. Opening her text thread with Cat, Kara scrolled up, smiling as she recalled some of their conversations in the past few months. Scrolling back down, she realized how little they’d corresponded since Kara’s engagement.

Taking a deep breath, Kara typed, I broke off my engagement.

Her heart raced while she waited for a response. She didn’t have to wait long. I’m sorry, Kara. I know that must be painful.

Deciding not to admit that, in fact, it wasn’t painful in the slightest, Kara said, Well, things are already looking up. I got a puppy.

Picture please.

Grinning, Kara opened her camera and turned it to front facing. Holding the phone away, she snapped a photo of the sleeping puppy with her smiling face in the corner of the frame. She sent it.

Cat replied instantly. Perfect. Kara’s grin widened, hoping Cat was talking about her. What’s his name?

Haven’t picked one yet. Kara paused, deciding to see if their former closeness was still intact. Wanna help?

Absolutely. Are we thinking something happy-go-lucky like his new mom, or something more regal?

Kara chuckled. This was more like it.

She and Cat texted for almost an hour, deciding that Cat would have meet the puppy before being able to offer proper input. Kara went to bed feeling energized, hoping the night would pass quickly. She couldn’t wait to see Cat the next day.

********************

TBC (for one more part)

[kpopscenarios4u-blog]

We've Got This, Jagiya

Word Count: 5,476 Requested by: anonymous Themes: Fluff, Slight Smut. Triggers: Hospital Setting, vomiting, rambling about abortion A/N:I couldn’t bring myself to split this one up into parts, I’m sorry. If you make it through, I’ll bake you kookies. I wanted to try the interactive fic button, so let me know if it works for you and if you’d like to see if used all the time. It’s such a great add-on created for scenario writers. Anyway, enjoy this fluffy fic.

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', myHandler); function myHandler() { var v = document.body.innerHTML; var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; v = v.replace(/\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, input); document.body.innerHTML = v; } // ]]>

You had been dating Kim Namjoon from BTS for a little over a year now and the two of you often found yourselves fantasising about your future and having children, even more so after you had announced your relationship to the world and had been met with, mostly, positive wishes and comments. As a popular solo artist, your schedules were often so busy that you missed periods here and there, but it had never gone for three straight months. Once you began to get extremely sick, you decided to bite the metaphorical bullet and take a home pregnancy test. You’d bought it quite late at night, hoping that not many people would be out but still wearing a wig and glasses. The elderly woman at the counter hadn’t recognised you as you paid for three tests - you had to be sure, alright? - and no one bothered you as you smuggled them home. Over the course of a week, you had taken all three and all three had given you the same answer. You were pregnant.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea overcame you and you rushed to hurl whatever was left in your stomach into the toilet. Your heaving was so violent that you didn’t notice Namjoon enter your apartment until he was knocking at the bathroom door. “Jagiya? You’re still sick?” His voice oozed with concern. For the last three months you had been so sick with a stomach - well you supposed you should refer to it as it’s proper name now that you knew what was wrong - morning sickness so terrible, that you’d spent weeks at a time in the hospital. Several of your schedules had to be canceled, which made you feel terrible but your fans, and even some of Bangtan’s fans had been so lovely and understanding that it helped lessen the guilt. “G-go away…” You sobbed, trying to catch your breath. How were you supposed to enjoy what was supposed to be such a wonderful time in your life when you were so sick and miserable. It was difficult to even keep down water. “Nice try, I’m coming in.” You tried to kick out with your leg to stop him from opening the door, but it was too late. Namjoon’s eyes softened as he saw you crouched so pathetically on the floor. “Oh baby girl… He sighed, and moved to hold your hair back as another wave of nausea hit you. He crouched behind your and held your hair with one hand as he rubbed your back with the other. “Let it all out, baby. You’ll feel better.”

“How do you appear whenever I’m sick?” You groaned, retching once more. “Do you have this place bugged?” “If you have the energy to sass me, then you must be feeling better Y/N.” Namjoon joked just before you heaved once more. “Hey, Y/N, maybe I should take you back to the hospital…” He murmured, his worry growing. As much as you hated to admit it, not wanting to see another hospital for as long as you lived, he was right. “Alright.” However, if he was to go with you, he might end up hearing from someone else that you were pregnant and you didn’t want that. “Could you do me a favour first?” He looked conflicted, worried that you might start being sick again. “I’m fine, I feel better for now. Can you pass me that white stick on the sink?” You knew Namjoon too well, as he couldn’t help but glance at it as he passed it to you. It took him a second to realise what it was but when he did, his jaw dropped. “I-is this…” He stuttered, bringing the pregnancy test closer to him. “Are y-you?” Chewing your lower lip, you nodded. “I’m pregnant.” “Then the stomach flu…” “Morning sickness…” You nodded, studying his expression and growing worried. Had his talk of wanting a family just been a way to make you happy? Was he changing his mind now that he was actually going to be a father? “Abortions are illegal in Korea.” You told him, rambling a little, looking down at the ground. “And if I were to go to America to have one, I think it would be difficult to find anyone to perform one unless this wasn’t a healthy pregnancy - but other than the morning sickness being so bad, I don’t think the baby isn’t healthy - as I’m probably about 12 weeks and that’s pretty late. You can get it done up to 18 weeks in some states but it becomes riskier for the mother if you leave it that late. Besides, I don’t want to have an abortion. You can leave if you want, I can do this on my own--” Namjoon finally registered that you were talking about abortions. “If you abort my baby, I’ll never forgive you, Y/N.” He said, his eyes narrowing and his voice dark. “Hey, I said I didn’t want to have one. Were you even listening, Kim Namjoon?!” You growled back, getting defensive. “I want to keep this baby.” “So do I!” He argued back. “Then why are you arguing with me if we want the same… Wait, you want to keep the baby?” “Jagiya… Of course I do. I just, I was trying to let it sink in while preparing myself for you to be pulling a sick joke.” “I couldn’t joke about that. You know kids are important to me. Granted I thought we’d be starting a family a little later in life.” You laughed gently. “You’re going to be a daddy, Joonie.” If it were possible, you wished to ingrain the beautiful, beaming look that your love gave you in your mind forever. “I’m going to be a daddy.” He said reverently before pulling you into a crushing hug and whooping. “I’m going to be a daddy!” Your stomach jumbled again. “Namjoon!” You pulled away and threw up into the toilet once more.

-

“Well, you were correct in your assumption, Y/N,” Your gynecologist confirmed as she ran a cold ultrasound wand over your flat stomach. “It looks like you’re about 13 weeks pregnant. Congratulations.” Namjoon stared at the screen showing your uterus and the fetus it contained, his eyes shining with awe and with a few nerves mixed in. Your gynecologist smiled at him and then you. “Would you like to hear your baby’s heartbeat, Mr. Kim, Y/N?” “Can we?” He asked, the awe shining through his voice. She nodded and soon the rapid beating of your baby’s heart filled the room. “Oh!” Namjoon excitedly grabbed your hand, his eyes flicking to you almost staring into your soul. In that moment, you fell in love with the father of your child. “That’s our son.” He breathed. “Or daughter.” You smiled softly. “I don’t think so. I really feel like it’s a boy.” “Well, you can find out in about 3-7 weeks.” Dr. Lee told you, smiling at your conversation. “If that’s something you’re interested in, I can book you in for three weeks so we can have a look and see if baby wants to co-operate. Otherwise, I’ll just book you in for a 20 week anatomy scan and that will be it until it’s time for you to come in and discuss your birth plan.” You looked at Namjoon, a small frown on your lips. “I’d rather not find out, Joonie.” You told him, worried that he would desperately want to find out if he was having a boy. “Alright,” Namjoon said simply. “I’m already confident he’s a boy, so why do we need a scan to tell us that?” You could only laugh at his determination. “Just don’t be disappointed if we have a girl, Namjoon.”

-

At fifteen weeks, after telling your parents and your companies, the two of you decided to fill in Namjoon’s groupmates before breaking the news to the rest of the world. They were the most important people in his life, excluding you and his parents. You planned on inviting the guys over to your place and cooking them dinner before telling them, but as soon as Jin got wind that you had big news to share, he insisted that you went to their place so that he could cook. You had a feeling that he had known what was going on even before you did. He’d been quite careful of you since you came down with your “stomach flu”, especially when the younger members tried to rough house. You’d become a Noona to them, even before you and Namjoon had become a thing - even if you were only a couple years older than Jungkook, the youngest member.

Thanks to Jin, the meal went off without a hitch and as the lively conversation had begun to die down completely, the topic of your news was brought up. “So what’s up, Namjoon, Y/N?” Hobi asked, his eyes darting between the two of you. You glanced at Namjoon and smiled with a shrug. He moved closer to you and rested his arm on your shoulder. “Y/N and I…” You both looked at each other and everyone around the table. God, what if they hated you. “Are going to have a baby.” “Damn.” Taehyung groaned, putting his head down on the table. “Hey,” Namjoon growled as your face fell. “Watch what you say, Kim Taehyung.” “Why? Now I own Jin $50.” He whined, when he lifted his head, he had a massive grin on his face and the rest of the boys burst into laughter. Even Namjoon couldn’t help but smile. You, however, burst into tears your hormones getting the better of you. “That wasn’t a nice trick, Taehyung!” You cried, hitting Namjoon in the shoulder as he snickered at the worried look on Taehyung’s face. “I’m sorry Noona, I’m really happy for you I swear!” It didn’t matter. You continued to sob. Namjoon couldn’t hold his laughter in a second longer and as you cried, he laughed. The boys never looked so confused or conflicted.

Once things had settled down, you all piled into the living room to watch a movie. Taehyung sat the furthermost away from you despite your protests. “I’m sorry, TaeTae, I can’t control my feelings right now. I didn’t mean to. I was just so worried how you would all react.” You pouted, but he still tried to keep his distance. “If you don’t stop being weird, I’ll cry again.” Your threat seemed to work as he shuffled closer but still couldn’t meet your eye. Half way through the movie, you began to doze off as Namjoon slowly rubbed your stomach, which had just started to become a small potbelly, humming softly. While Namjoon wasn’t a great singer, his voice was special to you. You felt relaxed and content as you tried to focus on the movie. Then you felt it. A tiny fluttering from the pit of your uterus. “Oh my god.” You gasped as your eyes shot open. Namjoon retracted his hand quickly, panic showing in his face. The other members were panicked too, but you only had eyes on Namjoon. “What? What’s wrong?” “Shhhh!” You gasped, excitedly. “Do it again, rub my stomach and hum again.” While everyone was looking at you crazily, Jin paused the movie and Namjoon did as he was told - though he seemed more self-conscious with everyone’s eyes on him. You waited and waited for something to happen, but nothing did. “Come on baby, I know you’re in there.” You murmured. Perhaps it was a trick of your imagination, something you imagined as you feel asleep. But then, it was there again, stronger this time. “Oh my god, I can feel you. I can feel the baby moving.” You felt new tears well in your eyes as Namjoon sang a little louder at this revelation and the baby continued to flutter away. “Can you feel it?” You asked but Namjoon shook his head. “It’s OK, I will eventually. Right now, I’m just happy that you can feel it.”

-

For the most part, the public had reacted well to your happy announcement. Of course, you were never going to be able to please everyone, but you’d learned not to let that bother you over the years. Namjoon had been a little upset at first, more worried about how you would react and that it was causing stress for you and the baby, but he’d calmed down pretty quickly when you explained that it honestly didn’t bother you. There would always be negative people in the world and maybe some of the fans just needed time to accept that he would be a father. Once they saw that things wouldn’t change so much unless for the best, then they wouldn’t worry as much.

Your pregnancy was progressing quickly. The baby grew more active every day and you’d started to feel kicking and bigger movements, but Namjoon was still yet to feel anything. Not long after your dinner with the boys, Namjoon had moved out of the dorms, you had moved out of your little one bedroom apartment and the two of you had found your first home together. The new apartment wasn’t much bigger than your old one, but it had two rooms that would eventually accommodate your growing family. You’d both decided that you wanted to keep the baby in your room until it became too crowded. This way one of you would never be alone when the other was away for work. You both had to get back into your jobs fairly quickly after the birth - though your schedule was pretty light for the first four months after the baby was due - and your companies had been great in working it out that at least one of you could be with the baby for the first six months. Then your mother and Namjoon’s mother would be helping out. For now, the second bedroom was going to be an office/studio for you both to use when you were working from home. You’d placed a futon in there so that, if one of your mother’s needed to stay the night, a bed could be easily made up for her.

Namjoon was still adamant that your baby was a boy, and it took all your control to rein him in when the two of you went shopping for baby things. Everything he picked up was very gender specific. “I just think, until we know for sure, we should get gender neutral clothing.” You told him, for what felt like the 50th time that afternoon alone. “But jagiya, I do know for sure that we’re having a boy.” He teased, rubbing your stomach that grew bigger every day. At 20 weeks, you finally looked somewhat pregnant and not just bloated. Your stomach was still small, but it was definitely more rounded. “Ugh, sometimes I want to smack you.” You complained, feeling a headache developing behind your eyes. “Alright, alright,” At least he knew when to stop teasing. “Only gender neutral clothing… Until I’m proven right.” You rolled your eyes and smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

-

You needed Namjoon and you needed him now. At 24 weeks pregnant, your sex drive was through the roof. You simply could not get enough of him and this usually worked out to both of your favour. Except for now. Namjoon was working hard on a new song and trying to get it done quickly so that he could join you in bed. Lately, you were having trouble falling asleep unless he was there. While you had been told over and over by your doctor that everything was fine, you continued to have various levels of nightmares. Some were more real, in one you gave birth to a girl causing Namjoon to leave you. In another, he was grossed out by your ever-expanding body and left you for another woman. In another, you went into labour and pushed and pushed for an entire week only to be told that you weren’t pregnant and to go home. Some were silly, but they still made you wake in a sweat. Just last night you dreamt that you went into labour and gave birth to a foul that had Hobi’s face. When you told that dream to Namjoon, he nearly pissed himself laughing and had to text it word for word to the other members. You weren’t impressed.

Finally, you saw the living room light switch off and Namjoon - glorious, shirtless Namjoon - appear in the doorway to your bedroom. “Still not asleep, Jagiya?” He yawned, making his way into the bathroom to get ready for bed. You whined impatiently, rubbing your thighs together. He stuck his head around the doorway and raised a brow studying you. God, he was sin incarnate, even with foamy toothpaste and a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “How are you so fucking attractive?” You purred, kneeling on the bed and crawling toward him. “Hurry up and get over here now, Namjoon.” His adorable puzzled expression turned into a sex smirk before he disappeared back into the bathroom. When he returned, sans toothpaste, he pushed you back gently and crawled between your legs, leaning down to kiss you hungrily. You savoured the taste that was him mixed with minty toothpaste before he pulled away and freed your left nipple from your pyjama top, sucking it as he ground against you lightly. The mint left in his mouth from the toothpaste only heightened the experience, making you see white as you cried out in ecstasy. Namjoon stilled, released your nipple and watched you in awe. “Did you just… Did you cum from that alone?” Blushing, you reached for a pillow to bury your face in but he stopped you. “That was so sexy, Y/N.” He kissed you hungrily, his cock hard against your core with only his pants and your underwear separating you from what you both wanted. You were so hot and wet. “Let’s see how many more times I can get you to cum from just my mouth.”

His lips met yours once more before they began to make their way down your body. As he placed a kiss low on your stomach, you felt the baby start to kick but you were too lost in the sensations to care. Namjoon still couldn’t feel the baby anyway, so why freak him out and ruin the mood by mentioning that the baby was awake. That was until you notice he’d stilled, his hands and face pressing against your small bump. “Did he…” His voice was low and childlike as he looked up at you in awe. “Jagiya, did he kick? I felt him. I can feel him.” The passionate mood that you had both been in quickly changed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you watched your boyfriend openly weep knowing that he could finally feel his child move inside you. “Hi baby,” He breathed, running his hands over your stomach, his lips pressed against the tight skin there. “It’s me, daddy.”

-

It was hard watching him go. He was off on tour for four weeks around Korea, Japan, and China and you were now thirty-three weeks pregnant. It just wasn’t safe or practical for you to see him off at the airport. Instead, you said goodbye outside your apartment building. The rest of the group had arrived to pick up him and had piled out of the van to say goodbye to you. It was hard to focus on them and your emotions while blocking out the sound of screaming fans. Someone had caught wind of them being there and a small crowd had formed to also see them off. “I’ll be back in four weeks.” He said, ignoring the fans calling out to him. The others were had all climbed back into the van and were trying to give you guys some privacy. “You message me for any reason at all. Even if you’re just feeling lonely.” You nodded, feeling miserable. “You’re going to be wonderful, Appa. We’ll be here cheering for you.” You smiled, a few stray tears rolling down your face. Lately, you’d taken to calling each other Appa and Eomma. It had started off as a way to creep out the other members. You’d been talking to the baby while you waited for Namjoon to come home when the boys burst through the door and made themselves at home. Namjoon coming in last. ‘Ah, here comes Appa.’ You’d said to your belly, only to have the boys freak out. However, it had developed into something more. Somehow, it made you truly feel like a family and the countdown till you finally got to meet you baby more bearable. “Thanks, Eomma,” He grinned as he took you in your arms and kissed you tenderly. The crowd cheered, most of the fans had come around to your relationship and the idea you were having a baby by now. Especially those who lived in and around your neighbourhood. Usually, they were quite respectful of your lives and give your plenty of room. You’d always loved Namjoon’s fans because they loved him and BTS so much, but you’d really grown to love them during the time your relationship had been made public. Kneeling down, he kissed your stomach, his hands either side of it before resting his forehead there. You blushed, not used to such displays in public, smiled and waved awkwardly to the crowd who grew louder at the display of affection. “Now, you be good for Eomma, son.” He said, just loud enough for you to hear. The baby kicked and he looked up at you with glee. Your baby’s movement never grew old for Namjoon. He still had that same look of awe and happiness that he did the first time he’d felt it. “Appa, fighting.” You cheered, though your voice cracked a little with emotion. “Be safe jagiya. I love you.” The two of you kissed and embraced once more and then he was in the van and heading to the airport.

“You two are so cute together.” One fan cried and you smiled, though tears were now freely flowing down your face. “Thank you for loving him.” “Please don’t be sad, Eonnie. He’ll be back soon.” Another called. “Thank you for loving him so much.” You told them, showing your true emotions. “He needs your love just as much as he needs mine.” Waving to them as they cheered and called out, you made your way back into the apartment.

-

One more week. Just one more week. You chanted, ignoring the pain that was currently coursing through your body. You mother had been staying with you while Namjoon and BTS were on tour, but she had gone down to the store to get some last minute things you wanted to pack in your hospital bag. You’d been having little tweaks of pain all morning, but had just chalked it down to Braxton hicks contractions which you’d already had two lots of since Namjoon had been gone. You’d called him the first time, and he’d been in the middle of organising a way back to you when they’d gone completely. That time, he’d been in Busan and was much closer. You’d told him the second time, while they were in Tokyo, but you’d known straight away that it wasn’t real labour and told him as much. He’d worried, but he hadn’t been tearing about trying to get a plane back like he had the first time.

This time felt different, though. At thirty-six weeks pregnant, you could safely go into labour and be classed as ‘full term’, however, you had been told that you would make it to at least thirty-eight weeks as you and the baby were both healthy. That’s why you’d been more at ease about Namjoon going away at such a late stage. You couldn’t be going into labour now, he wouldn’t be back for another week.

You were pacing around the apartment, practicing your breathing, when your mother returned from the store. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” She asked, her voice was calm but you could hear that she was slightly worried. “Are you having Braxton hicks again?” You shook your head, just as another contraction hit. You breathed through it, remembering what you had been taught. “I think this is the real thing, mum.” You told her once the contraction ended. “They’re not close together yet, I just feel uncomfortable.” You were amazed at how calm you were being. “I’ve called the hospital, she said not to come in until I’m 3cm dilated.” You mother opened her mouth to speak. “I checked and I’m not, however, I’m not quite 2cm though. I was resting, but I got restless and needed to walk. Would it be silly to take a walk around the neighbourhood?” “I don’t see why not, but you need to call Namjoon first and let him know.” “I couldn’t get a hold of him, I think he’s on stage but I left a message.”

When you got back from your walk - which was really more of a shuffle - Namjoon still hadn’t called. You left your phone with your mother and went to shower. You’d just turned the shower off and reached for your towel when your water broke. “Namjoon’s calling.” Your mother explained as she opened the bathroom door and stuck her hand through the crack. You answered, not wanting him to think something was wrong but called out to your mother first. “Mum, I think my water just broke.” “What?!” You heard Namjoon call from the phone in your hands. “I’ll get the bags.” You mother said, her voice teary. “Jagiya.” You said weakly, bringing the phone up to your ear. “I’m coming home. I’ll get someone to book me on the next flight out and I’ll be there before you know.” Namjoon was saying, you could hear the other boys making a commotion in the background, set off by the panic their leader was in. “Y/N? Why aren’t you answering me?” You were in the middle of a particularly contraction and couldn’t hear him as you’d brought the phone to your chest. When it was over, you brought it back up to your ear to hear Namjoon going nuts. “I need the next flight out, hyung! Isn’t there anything sooner? Y/N? Y/N? Damn it!” “Relax, sorry, I was just having a contraction. I think it’s probably best you jump on the first flight available, though. Mum’s going to take me to the hospital now. I’m still wet from my shower, Jagi, I’m starting to get cold.” “Well get dressed then!” He cried in frustration. “I will, but I need to go to do that. It’s hard to have contractions, get dressed and hold a phone at the same time. I love you. See you soon.” “She’s sassing me.” You could hear Namjoon say sarcastically. “The woman is in labour and she has the time and energy to sass m--” You hung up the phone.

-

You’d been in active labour for seven hours. Namjoon had boarded the plane from Hong Kong three hours ago but he still wouldn’t touch down for another half an hour. Then there was a thirty minute trip to the hospital - if traffic was good. You stared worriedly up at the ceiling as the nurse examined you. Out in the hall, you could hear your mother on the phone to Jin, updating the boys on how things were progressing. “Not long now,” You could just make out her saying. “I’m not sure if he’ll make it.” ‘Please hurry, Namjoon.’ You thought, snapping to attention as the nurse straightened up and lowered the sheet covering you. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but I’m going to have to get the doctor. It’s time to deliver a baby.” Your heart sunk a little. There was still time, though, right? It would take longer than an hour to deliver the baby. Your doctor entered the room and also examined you. “Y/N, it would seem that you’re actually further along in your pregnancy that we originally expected.” She said. You frowned. What did that mean? “Will that affect the baby?” You asked, worry creeping into your stomach. This on top of everything else was just too much. “Well yes, but not in a bad way. It just means that the baby is more developed. We thought you were thirty-six weeks when in actuality, you’re thirty-eight weeks. Just two weeks off your due date, instead of four. Babies are born at this stage all the time and with no health problems at all. He or she may be a little slow to latch on for feeding, but other than that, you have nothing to worry about.” You sighed, at least something was going to be alright. “Now, let’s deliver a baby, shall we?”

You held your baby in your arms, wrapped up safe and tight. It was impossible to think that something so small and perfect had been inside you less than an hour ago. Your mother and Namjoon’s mother, along with the doctor and the nurses, had stepped out to give you a moment with your new baby. 7lbs exactly and 18 inches long. A hand came free from the bundle and the baby yawned, stretching and wriggling before settling once more. “How are you so perfect?” You cooed, running your finger along the softest baby cheek you’d ever felt. “Where is she? Y/N?” You snapped out of your sleepy content at the sound of Namjoon running, calling for you through the hall. You heard his mother chastise him and his muffled apology before the door opened. Your stomach twisted slightly, how was he going to react. “Hey, Eomma.” You burst into tears. It had been a long, distressing day and now he was going to hate you and your baby. “Hey, hey… What’s wrong?” He rushed over to you and stopped, his eyes on the baby. The words fell from his lips like a prayer. “Oh... you’re perfect.” His eyes met yours. “May I?” Though the tears wouldn’t stop, you held your baby out to him. Maybe just holding your child would be enough. “What… which kind did we get?” He asked in awe, not taking his eyes off the bundle in his arms. “I’m sorry, Namjoon… It’s a girl.” You sobbed harder, causing the sleeping baby to start to fuss, “Hey now,” He soothed. “It’s ok, it’s ok. Eomma’s just tired. You put us through a lot little one.” “Aren’t you disappointed?” You asked once the tears had subsided. “What, why would I be disappointed?” He asked incredulously. “Didn’t I tell you we were going to have a girl?” If he hadn’t been holding your child, you would have throttled him.

-

A week later, you were back at home. Both you and Namjoon were struggling with parenthood and were incredibly tired, but you had an amazing support team in your mothers. There was a new energy in the apartment today, however. Even the baby could sense that something was going to happen. Today was the day that the uncles met their niece for the first time. The members had been thrilled to find out they had a niece, Jin especially, he texted you constantly with pictures of pretty dresses and accessories. Though she hadn’t met them, your daughter had successfully wrapped six other men around her tiny finger.

You’d just finished feeding her and was tucking yourself back into your dress when the doorbell rang. The baby fussed a little but was quickly distracted by you rubbing her back, trying to coax her into burping. Namjoon hurried to the door and checked the intercom. “These punks.” He laughed, opening the door as you rocked your, now settled, daughter. They entered the apartment but hung back in the doorway. “She isn’t going to bite.” You smiled looking up from your girl’s precious face. “We have someone we want to introduce you to.” Reverently, the boys entered the flat and stood around you. “Boys, this is Luna Kim. Luna, meet your uncles.” “Can I hold her?” Taehyung asked the first to slip out of Luna’s spell. You nodded and stood so he could sit in your chair. “Watch her head.” You said softly, placing her in his waiting arms and watching your friend melt. Namjoon came and stood beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling your close. “She’s going to be trouble, isn’t she?” He teased softly. “Nah, not with her Appa and six uncles wrapped so tightly around her finger.” You replied. “She won’t have time for other boys.” Namjoon must have been content with that response as he let out an appreciative hum. “Good. We've got this, Jagiya.” And he was right.