#only 12 of these even get over the has more than 10 fics threshold

[fallloverfic]

I went overboard (and kinda cheated cause some of these were just a lot smaller to nonexistent when I started posting for them, but are definitely not now), so with the caveat this is only going by Archive of Our Own stats (and also thank you to all the amazing tag wranglers who have wrangled tags that have been the only fic in that pairing/fandom for ages, small fandom authors love you so much):

Blind Men has 15 fics total, mine is the most recent (over a year after posting), and it is the fifth Hunter/Keegan work.

Captain Laserhawk: A Blood Dragon REMIX had 5 fics before I posted the first Alex Taylor/Dolph Laserhawk fic. There are now 213 fics total and 21 Alex/Dolph fics.

It's hard to tell with this fandom because of active fandoms, backdating, and crossovers, but I posted the second fic for Castlevania: Nocturne and Mizrak/Olrox (I know because I went immediately to the tag after watching and I checked it before and after posting mine). There are now 216 fics in the fandom tag and 86 for the pairing. I also posted the second fic for Alucard/Olrox (it's been shifted out of order because another fic either backdated or added the pairing, but one reason I finally put mine up was because the only fic for the pairing at the time was one solely based on the games that predated the show by 8 years). There are now 6 fics for the pairing. I posted the third of the now 12 Olrox/Richter fics.

I created the Dorus/Styxx pairing for the Dark-Hunter Series. I still have the only fic. Dorus isn't an original character (he's a minor acquaintance in the book who meets Styxx twice), but I almost completely retconned his backstory and personality.

I started and was the entirety of the Dear Monster tag for some time (I wrote 3, there are now 4, with one published almost a year after my last fic), and I also published the only Faeryn/Allen fic.

I posted 1 of the 26 Rouxls Kaard/Mettaton fics for Deltarune/Undertale.

I posted the only Ameridan/Kordillus Drakon I fic from Dragon Age: Inquisition. I published the first Lacklon/Roland fic for Dragon Age: Absolution. There are now 19 fics. As I recall it was only like the third or fourth fic at most in the fandom tag at the time, but this is another fandom that's hard to track due to active fandoms, backdating, and crossovers.

Element of Fire has 6 fics. Mine is the most recent and I posted the only Roland Fontainon/Gideon fic. And Roland Fontainon/Falaise, but I don't fully consider that the fic focus so. I think it's also the only one that even includes Roland.

I posted 1 of the 38 Augus Each Uisge/Gwyn ap Nudd fics for Fae Tales - not_poignant. That's 1 out of 15 if you only count fanworks, since all the canon and official AUs are included in the tag. I published both the 2 fanfics for Eran Iliakambar/Mosk Manytrees (the other 4 works are all canon and an official AU). I published the only fanwork for Anika/Terho (the other fic is a canon extra).

I created the crossover pairing Wing/Murata Ugetsu for Hunter X Hunter and Given and have the only fic for it.

I posted the only tagged Clark Kent/Lewis Lane fic for My Adventures with Superman. But I can't believe there isn't something else out there for a character who's technically existed since 1980. There may be one in German and another in English that's tagged for Louis Lane, the 1980 character(s), but they both predate My Adventures with Superman by some years.

I posted 1 of the 11 fics for Brad Boimler/Jack Ransom for Star Trek: Lower Decks.

I posted the most recent 2 of the 4 Van Fanel/Allen Schezar fics for Escaflowne.

I posted the only Lisava Ormevar/Aathis Rohethar fic for The Chronicles of Osreth.

I posted the 2 most recent The Hunt fics, and all 3 fandom fics are for Hendrey/Cash (fic 1, fic 2).

I posted 1 of the 32 Link/Tauro fics. I also went looking back when I posted and at least back then I couldn't find Link/those funky tower mechanical arm tentacles, so maybe I was the first with that? Only two fics pop up when I search for them now.

This is another fandom where it's hard to track things due to active fandoms, backdating, etc., but I recall I published the second Jaskier/Radovid V fic, and maybe the first focused on the Netflix show version (the one prior to that, as I recall, was game and/or book focused). I remember being surprised there still weren't that many when I posted my second one. Pretty sure the pairing was still in the double digits. There are now 326. I published one of the first couple fics for Filavandrel aen Fidhail/Vesemir, and I believe the first or second to specifically focus on their incarnations in The Witcher: Nightmare of the Wolf. There are now 37 fics.

This isn't a pairing but I somehow published the only fanfic for the Tomb Raider Top Cow comics tag? Similarly, I started the Golden Sparkle by Minta Suzumaru tag.

I published 1 of 32 fics for Anna Valerious/Gabriel Van Helsing for Van Helsing (2004).

I published the third of 5 fics for Dietfried Bougainvillea/Claudia Hodgins from Violet Evergarden. I think the last published before mine (that's currently a WIP) one came out cause I went on a sort of hiatus while posting.

This is another fandom where it's hard to track things due to active fandoms, backdating, etc., but my fic is listed as the 9th for Rand al'Thor/Ishamael. There are now 45.

My Shutendouji/Ryo fic is the seventh and most recent fic for the pairing for Ronin Warriors. When I originally made this post, it was the sixth. I assume someone backdated a fic or retagged it.

I published the second of the now 10 Jin Marito/Tahide Outa fics for a fandom with now 82 works (Bucchigiri?!).

This is another fandom where it's hard to track things due to active fandoms, backdating, etc., but I think I posted one of the first 20 Gongyi Xiao/Zhuzhi-lang fics for The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System. There are now 96. I posted 1 of the 30 Liu Qingge/Zhuzhi-lang fics.

There are 46 works in the Kyuujitsu no Warumono-san webcomic tag and 8 in the anime tag. I think I posted the third Akatsuki Red/Shogun fic (and there are now 13), and the first Rooney/Shogun fic. There are now 3. I've posted the second of the 2 Shogun/Yoiyami Black fics.

I posted fic #4 in the See You My King/The King and Me tag, and the first Xiao Wei/Evtiti fic. There are now 2/3(?) (it's hard to tell because the tag hasn't been wrangled). I also posted the eighth and most recent Mimi/Zhang Li fic. There are 10 fics total.

I posted the first fic for Lang Qianqiu/Xiao Mengyou or Lang Qianqiu/Xiao Shiwei, but I believe the second fic about Xiao Mengyou (the first one didn't name him). There are now 12 fics in the tag.

I posted technically the second fic of the 2 for Peach Blossom Debt. The other fic is just two words that say, "Coming 2024". Mine is the only one for Song Yao/Hengwen Qingjun.

I posted the second most recent of 9 total fics for The Imperial Uncle, and it's the second for Jing Chengjun/Liu Tongyi.

I posted the most recent 2 of still 3 fics for The Deer King, which includes 1 of 2 fics for Hohsalle Yuguraul/Van Gansa, and the only fic for Hohsalle Yuguraul/Makokan.

I posted the still only fic for Joseph Huh/Yongsoo Ahn in a fandom that I think had a lot fewer fics before mine back when I posted it, but it has 55 now. I am using the official English translation spellings. I'm not sure what Ao3 is using.

I posted one of now 9 total fics for Choi Jong-In/Sung Jin-Woo in Solo Leveling.

I posted the second and most recent fic for Jaehwan/Karlton Javier for The World After the Fall. The fandom tag has 31 fics now.

I've posted 2 of the 15 fics for Anubis/Khnum in ENNEAD (fic 1, fic 2).

I've posted apparently the second of 3 works tagged for Lee Hakhyun/Yoo Joonghyuk for Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint.

I've posted the second of two fics for Chronos/Zagreus in the Hades fandom. I've posted the only Heracles/Icarus fic. I posted the first of now 10 total Odysseus/Moros fics.

For Blood of Zeus, I've posted the latest of 5 fics for Apollo/Seraphim. I posted the last two Seraphim/Heron fics in the 10 fic tag (fic 1, fic 2).

Not a ship, but I posted the first Mithrun & Milsiril fic for Delicious in Dungeon.

I'm currently writing a series of non-existent ships in the Ayashi no Ceres tag. Thus far I've posted one for Alec/Ryurik and another for Alec/Kagami. I have five others planned, all for unique ships that have zero fics. The only m/m fic in the fandom tag is only tagged for characters from another series.

I've written two of the 12 Lawrence Bluewer/Edgar Redmond fics for Kuroshitsuji (fic 1, fic 2).

For The Sea Beast (2022), I wrote one of the five Jacob Holland/Original Character fics, and the only tagged Jacob Holland/The Surgeon fics.

For BoJack Horseman, I've written one of the 69 BoJack Horseman/Mr. Peanutbutter fics.

For Bridgerton, I've written the only Anthony Bridgerton/Lord Lumley fic.

For Epic: The Musical, I wrote one of now seven Eurylochus/Odysseus fics.

For Dark Rise, I've written one of 46 Anharion/Sarcean fics.

Reblog and put your rare pair in the tags/comments! I want to see the depths people will go to create, for the most random two characters in the most obscure media.

[veliseraptor]

Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged by @anghraine - thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

under my main pseudonym that I actually use these days, 610. total, across pseuds, we're looking at 1,013.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

4,930,564, which is so close to 5 million!!! we'll see if I hit that threshold this year, I might if all goes well with big bang fic

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I thought I could do this from memory and I was so close, only missed two.

Life in Reverse (13,990)

With Absolute Splendor (10,436)

some good mistakes (6,551)

The Villain Wrangler (4,445)

half a league onward (4,437)

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do not, because I don't know what to say, get overwhelmed, fall behind, get more overwhelmed, and ultimately end up with a backlog I don't feel capable of dealing with so I just don't. I feel bad about this periodically (often) but I don't do anything with that feeling. Just kinda feel bad.

5. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I've written a lot of fics with angsty endings but I might have to give this one to Mercy, because that was a very mean fic on the whole. arguably even meaner than my other murder/suicide fic.

6. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I have a hard time with this question because I feel like most times my happy endings are at least touched with some kind of bitterness or loss or at least underlying open door that could be a problem down the line, or, like, lingering trauma.

but on the other hand I'm sure I have written generally happy endings in my backlog of fics, there's just a lot of fic in there so it's hard for me to pull them out, because they're probably also the ones that I find less memorable.

in some ways I think With Absolute Splendor might get this one, because it feels like it has ones of the strongest sense of earned catharsis, even if everything isn't all the way fixed. there's probably happier endings in terms of world state, but that's one where the ending feels happier because it doesn't start that way. but how this grace thing works is also one of the fics where I feel like it's on the whole softer/tenderer than my usual work.

7. Do you write crossovers?

not really! I wrote a few once upon a time, and a couple pastiches (one fandom in the style of another fandom), but those are years behind me and I'm not generally a crossover person as a rule.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

oh yes. most of it more entertaining than truly upsetting, but there are a few exceptions. my favorite remains the person who was really bothered by the fact that my Black Jewels Trilogy fic wasn't High School Musical fic. still no idea what was going on there.

9. Do you write smut?

sure do. I haven't been writing as much these days (but then, I haven't been writing as much these days, full stop) and I've never been all that much of a pwp writer but it's still very much a part of my writing.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

once, some time ago - I think it was Life in Reverse got posted on Wattpad. oh, though there was also another MCU fic that got reposted on AO3, but the person deleted it pretty quickly when I commented to inform them I didn't appreciate their doing so.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! into a few languages and it's always super cool and flattering to me.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have the one in progress but never anything I've finished/posted. I've done a lot of RP over the years but I always kept it pretty squarely separate from my fic writing.

13. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I've had a lot of all-time favorite ships, and there are plenty for fandoms I'm no longer really in that stick around in my head for longer than I'm really participating in the fandom (Celegorm/Aredhel is notable for this), but I think I will say that Xue Yang/Xiao Xingchen occupies a very particular kind of sort of insane place in my brain that feels relatively unique. so I'll give this one to them.

14. What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

oh lord, so many of them. mostly various MCU wips I'll probably never finish but where I'm like "this was a good idea and I like what I have of it so far, too bad the MCU killed my caring about the MCU." outside of those...I'm so loathe to accept that things will or might remain unfinished, so I'll go with one of those and say the "Hela is around when Thor and Loki are growing up" one, which would've been so good and I still sometimes toy with the idea of returning to, only, you know. aforementioned "caring about the original canon" issue making it hard to actually do the writing thing.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I've been slowly filling out this meme for a while and I left this question conspicuously blank almost to the last. I think my strongest area is probably dialogue, though I worry that I'm giving myself too much credit there. I think I'm pretty good at writing it, though. it certainly is one of the pieces of writing that comes most easily to me.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

description and action, for sure. I tend to skimp on description in a way that probably weakens much of my writing (I have so much respect for writers with good descriptive language), and I loathe writing action scenes the way that I loathe writing few things - it always feels like wrestling a bear. I usually know what I want to have happen as a result but getting there is just. very hard.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

something you gotta be very careful with. I was going to say I almost never do it, but the one exception to that is Lymond Chronicles where I do it a lot, but that's because it's a fairly important part of the style of canon and I'm just. following that lead. otherwise, I tend to shy away from it personally, partly because I write from pretty deep in a character's head and if they don't understand what's being said in another language then that's what I want to convey in the story, rather than giving the reader privileged access to what's being said that the character doesn't have.

does that sound really pretentious? probably.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

technically I wrote a cracky Harry Potter fic first, but I consider my first actual fandom to be Wheel of Time.

19. What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

either bingjiu or beefleaf are two pairings that I love and have a lot of strong feelings about but haven't actually managed to write anything for, and both are on my list as like...just #waiting for the right idea.

also hua cheng/mu qing, which is a tiny pairing of my heart that Needs Me (or whatever) and I know the kind of fic I want to write for it but actually executing it is, as usual, proving harder.

20. What's your favorite fic you've written?

it fluctuates wildly depending on mood, but I'll give this one for now to the backyard is full of bones - it was the first project I bound into a book, which I feel like says something for it.

tagging @gloriousmonsters, @curiosity-killed, @mikkeneko, @brawlite, and @feralkwe; not actually sure how many people I'm "supposed" to tag on this one so if you want to do it consider yourself tagged as well.

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Chapter 14

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/151115194

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

Previous Chapters: Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7 / Ch 8 / Ch 9 / Ch 10 / Ch 11 / Ch 12 / Ch 13

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Master Felix whips around and slaps Alfie's face. Hard. Alfie had been carrying a tray of glass vials, and he holds onto it with all his strength to make sure none of them fall to the shiny white floor. His small hands shake. It hurts. It hurts so very much. Master Felix likes to slap him when Alfie makes a mistake. Likes to see the tears in his eyes and the welts his rings leave behind when he hits him just right.

"I'm sorry, Master Felix," Alfie mumbles on instinct.

"Do you know what you did wrong, Number Eight?" Felix asks, towering over him in his white lab coat. His black eyes look like the vats of tarry goo in the basement rooms, his white teeth gleaming like a shark's in the pulsing blue lights of the lab around them.

"I wasn't quick enough, Master Felix. I'm sorry. Please don't punish me." Alfie doesn't really know what he did wrong. He had made a mistake, of course. But, what was it? He had to figure it out so Master Felix wouldn't be angry anymore. He brought the vials just like the Master asked for. Maybe he didn't run fast enough. And the guards had stopped him, too. They liked stopping Alfie. Liked it when Master Felix punished him.

"Useless freak." With a sneer, the man licks his fingertips and smooths them over his gray stubble. He turns away from Alfie and back to his writing desk, sitting down in his black chair and sliding close to the desk on its wheels. "Get those vials processed. That's twice you've made a mistake today."

Oh no. One more time and Master Felix will put Alfie in the tank. He hated being in the tank. It's so cold and the frozen sleeping man floating inside likes to whisper things in Alfie's head. Master Felix calls him the Progenitor, but he's more like a monster. He says things and makes Alfie see things while he feeds off of his Evol until everything goes dark and his heart feels like it will stop. It's worse than Master Felix's slaps. A lot worse.

Trying to overcome his dread and fear, Alfie rushes over to the big red spinning machine and starts putting the vials inside their matching colored slots. It's up so high that he has to pull up a step stool. He's careful not to make any more mistakes. He's careful not to break any vials or to spill any of the clear liquid. It's precious, Master Felix says. There isn't much of it, so every drop is important. If Alfie spills even a little, the Master will put him in the tank until the Monster drains every bit of his Evol.

That's how the other kids died. Now the cages are empty, but not for long. Every once in a while, the guards bring more of them to the prison in the basement. They come from all over. Sometimes, they speak words nobody can understand. But, Alfie stopped trying to talk to them a long time ago. It's sad when he makes a friend and they get put in the tank. Nobody else has ever come out of there alive. Nobody except Alfie. Maybe that's why the Master made him his assistant. Maybe Alfie is special.

Once he finishes putting away the vials, Alfie begins cleaning the laboratory. Luckily there isn't any blood to clean today. Seeing blood makes Alfie nauseous. He mops and sweeps, dusting the counters and wiping away anything that could leave a stain. That's what Master Felix likes him to do when he isn't running errands. The lab has to be clean and tidy. Leaving even a spot on the floor or the counters will be a mistake. The Master will be angry, and Alfie will get slapped. Or put in the tank. Or left without dinner. None of that sounds good.

While Alfie is cleaning, Master Felix takes out his blue recorder and begins talking to it. He does that a lot. Usually, he talks about all the things he learned and did that day. Kind of like a diary. He really likes talking to himself, and Alfie likes to listen. He pretends that Master Felix is telling a story, and it helps calm Alfie's fear. Today, he talks about how Malakai came to the lab to ask about the Progenitor. Alfie remembers that. Everyone always acts so different when the man with violet eyes comes to the lab. They say he's the strongest ever and that's why he's the leader of Noxis. But, if he's the strongest, why is he trying to become even stronger by using the Progenitor? 

"The recent failure is a setback, but at least a partial transference was achieved. If only Malakai hadn't been so wounded, perhaps..."

While he talks, Master Felix licks his fingertips a few more times and brushes them against his stubble. He does that a lot, too.

When Alfie is done cleaning, he puts everything away and sits in his place in the corner of the lab between the spinning machine and the computers. It's warm here. He curls into a ball, hoping Master Felix will not notice him for a while. Interrupting his stories would be a mistake. Alfie's attention shifts to one of the screens on the table in front of him. It's a big monitor showing cameras in different rooms. He sees something moving in the basement. In the room with the cages. They're empty now, so why would anybody be there? Nervous, he squints at the screen. More movement. Like shifting shadows. He glances at Master Felix. He can't interrupt him, but he's supposed to tell someone when he sees something strange. Alfie trembles, confused.

"Number Eight," Master Felix calls. Alfie holds his breath as he rushes over to the big black chair. Alfie hates that everybody calls him by his number here. In his mind, he holds onto his name. It's the only thing he can remember before he was brought here with the other kids and put in the cages. 

"Y-Yes, Master?"

"Go to the basement and leave this list with Orla." He hands Alfie a laminated piece of paper with handwritten names on it. "After that, you are free to go to the kitchens and take a meal. If you are not back in one hour, it will be a mistake. Do you understand?"

Alfie nods. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. I won't make a mistake, Master."

"Get out of my sight."

Alfie runs out of the lab, tucking the piece of paper against his chest. Orla is the Floor Warden for the basement. Maybe he can tell her about the moving shadows on the camera. Maybe she'll be nicer to him if he tells her something that will make her look good in front of the Master. If he could just talk to her. But, she's so scary. She hates the kids, and she likes to hit Alfie with her cane. She knows how to hit without leaving bruises. Master Felix doesn't like Alfie to have bruises from anything except his slaps.

He makes it to the elevator and presses his thumb to the fingerprint reader. With a green flash and a ping, the double doors hiss open to let him inside. He chooses the basement floor and scans his thumb again. The screen flickers with some letters and a message, but Alfie can't read anyway so he ignores it. In seconds, the elevator takes him four floors down to the lowest place in the compound. When the doors open, Alfie steps out.

It's really dark and cold here. A lot colder than anywhere else in the lab. They have to keep it cold so the bodies don't rot, Master Felix says. Alfie smells the bittersweet stuff the other scientists use to keep dead things fresh longer. He can never remember the name for it; the word is too long. The smell is stronger than usual, which means the scientists must be doing something with the bodies. Maybe they're making more tarry stuff. Or maybe it has something to do with the "failure" Master Felix was talking about in his stories today.

Orla gives Alfie a glare when he walks timidly up to her office. She's an older woman with streaks of grey in her hair and ugly wrinkles. She's wearing the grey and indigo Noxis uniform. Her pants are creased at the backs of her knees from sitting all day and watching her monitors. He holds out the paper as he walks up to her, hoping she'll understand that he's here to run an errand.

"It's from Master Felix," he says. "I just have to give you this list and then I have to run."

Orla stands up and marches the rest of the way up to him; he can hear her heavy breathing. When she's close enough, she takes the paper then steps around and closes the door behind Alfie. He tries to stay calm. She likes it when he's scared, and she really likes it when he cries. If he can just avoid doing what she likes, she'll get bored and maybe let him go with just a few smacks on the backs of his knees with her cane. He hopes he can get this over with fast. Master Felix only gave him an hour, and Alfie didn't have dinner yesterday.

"Looks like Felix wants me to take you to the cages," Orla smiles after reading the paper, reminding him of a picture of a shark he saw once on one of the monitors on the TV in the kitchen. Alfie doesn't believe her, but he can't fight her if that's what she wants to do. She's a lot stronger, especially because Master Felix just put him in the tank last week. He still doesn't have all of his strength back.

"That's not what the Master said," Alfie frowns. "The Master said to give you the list and go to the kitchen."

"You talkin' back to me, kid?" Her cane comes down hard on his back. Alfie doesn't expect it and falls down. She hits him again, on the head this time. He raises his hands to shield himself, confused now and on the verge of tears. This isn't how this normally goes. She's never hit him this hard. Curling into a ball, he screams when she keeps hitting him. She's shouting something, yelling. The more she hits him, the sweatier she gets and the louder her breathing becomes.

And suddenly, the pain stops.

Her voice stops.

Still terrified, Alfie squints open his eyes and looks up above him. Orla has a weird look on her face, like a robot disconnected from its plug. Her face is kind of limp. Her mouth hangs open and her eyes are rolled back into her head. She wavers for a second before a fountain of blood spurts from her neck. Alfie screams as her head falls off her shoulders and onto the floor, bouncing and rolling towards him. Horrified, he scrambles backwards on all fours. When he opens his mouth to scream again, a hand wraps around his face.

"Shh. Don't shout, unless you want to end up like that hag."

"I'm s-sorry," Alfie whispers. "I made a mistake. Please don't hit me. Please don't put me in the tank. Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Calm down," another voice says.

Alfie realizes that he covered his face with his hands instinctively.

"Look at me," the same voice demands. The hand leaves his mouth. Someone shifts around him. Alfie moves his hands away, peeking up towards the voice. Two figures are standing above him dressed in all black. Their faces are covered with crow masks. The tips of the beaks are red like they've been dipped in blood. One of their hoods says "06" and the other says "07". Otherwise, he can't tell them apart.

"P-Please don't h-hurt me," Alfie whispers again.

"If you do what we ask, we won't," Six says.

"W-Who are you?" Alfie asks.

Six sits down next to him. "Tell me your name first."

"A-Alfie...I think. I can't remember because..." he stops there. Suddenly, he's wondering if this is another test from Master Felix. The Master is always testing him. They killed Orla, but she liked to disobey the Master and the rules. She liked to hit Alfie and make him cry. He's glad she's dead. He just wishes there wasn't so much blood. He really hates seeing blood.

"Everybody calls me Number Eight. That's who I am. I won't tell you anything," Alfie says, his bottom lip quivering. "I won't say anything. I have to go to the kitchen. Master said to go after I was done here. Please let me go."

Six looks at the headless corpse on the floor then at Alfie again. "We just killed your friend. Aren't you upset?"

"Orla wasn't my friend," Alfie insists. "She hit me and beat me. She was a bad worker. She broke the rules, and she deserved it."

Nobody ever listened to him when he complained anyway. They all just liked to hit him. If he complains to these people right now, it might be a mistake. He might end up in the tank. He has to show Master Felix that he's loyal. That he's special.

"What do you do around here, Alfie?" Six asks him. Seven stays silent, occasionally glancing towards the closed door. Six had said his name. Not Number Eight. His name. Maybe this means Alfie is doing well. Maybe this is a reward.

"I'm Master Felix's assistant. I help him."

"I see. And, do you like helping him?"

"Yes," Alfie answers without hesitation. "Master Felix is amazing. He's smart. He's merciful. He gave me a place. Made me special. A nobody like me can be helpful if I serve him."

"I see," Six sounds impressed. "You must be really important here. Are you the youngest?"

Alfie puffs up his chest. Nobody had ever told him he was important.

"I was before, but not now. The other kids that came with me and after me were put in the tank, so they're dead. They were weak. They weren't worthy of serving the Master."

Six nods. "The tank sounds like a scary place."

"It is," Alfie shivers. Six was really easy to talk to, and he didn't look like he was going to hit him. He liked this. Maybe he could talk to him just a little more. "It's really really scary. It's cold and there's the Progemator. I don't like him."

"Progenitor?" Six asks, correcting Alfie's pronunciation. "What's so scary about him? He's just a floating dead guy, isn't he?"

"No!" Alfie insists. Nobody's ever been this interested in Alfie before, and he doesn't want Six to think he's scared. "The Progemator isn't dead. He's alive, and he gets stronger when he takes our Evol."

"Oh, really?" Six sounds surprised. "Have you been in the tank with him?"

"Yes. Master Felix puts me there when I make a mistake. When I do something wrong. I deserve it, of course. It's all my fault. I deserve to be punished and have my Evol taken."

Seven comes over and sits next to Alfie, too. He crosses his arms over his chest, listening intently. Alfie can't help but feel proud. He's said only good things about Master Felix and the Monster. Only good things. That means he's passing the test, right?

"You sound like a brave young man," Seven says. "After all, you're such an important assistant and you've survived going into the tank."

Alfie's eyes sting with tears. This is the first time anybody's ever given him so many compliments. He hopes this test will go on just a little longer.

"Does that mean your Master trusts you to go anywhere here in the lab?"

"Yes, anywhere he needs me to go."

Seven reaches for Alfie's wrist. "Can I look at something?" he asks.

Alfie hates being touched, but if its for the test, he can be patient. He nods, and Seven gingerly takes hold of his forearm and pulls up his ratty sleeve. His mark is tattooed into his skin; the black ink looks as fresh as though it only happened yesterday. It's the number Eight.

Six and Seven look at each other. They don't say a word, but Alfie feels like they're talking to each other. After a minute, they shift to sit closer together and hold out their forearms to him.

"Wanna see something neat?" Six asks.

"I think you'll be surprised," Seven says.

Alfie hesitates. Is this the next part of the test? He nods, clasping his hands together nervously. In perfect unison, Six and Seven pull up their sleeves to show their wrists. Alfie gasps when he sees the same tattoos on their skin in the exact same place as his: the numbers six and seven.

"Alfie," Seven says, "how would you feel about a trade?"

"T-trade?"

"Yes. In return for taking us to see your Master, we'll take you home with us."

"Take me...to another lab?" Alfie holds his breath, not daring to hope.

"Take you home," Six says, his tone suddenly different than before. "No more labs."

"Away...from here?" Alfie whispers, his eyes going wide.

Seven nods. "Yes, that's right."

This is a test. This is Master Felix's test. Alfie has to stay strong. This is all a trick. The second he says 'yes' someone will come out and hit him. Master Felix will laugh and slap him then put him in the tank. Maybe forever.

"No," Alfie shakes his head. "No, I won't. I'm happy here. I belong here. Master Felix made me special."

A tear runs down Alfie's cheek despite his best efforts to hold it in. It's lies. It's all lies. If he could, he would run away from here. If only these people were real. If only this wasn't a test.

"You don't trust us?" Six asks him. "What reason do we have to lie to you?" He sounds sincere. He sounds real. Alfie takes a step towards him, digging his nails into his palms. 

"If..." Alfie swallows past his fear. "If this isn't a test. If you're not with Master Felix. Then...you killed Orla...and you could kill me too."

"Believe me," Seven says to Alfie's left. "If we wanted to, you'd already be dead."

"But, you won't." Alfie frowns. This is how everybody is. They all want to use him or hit him or hurt him. "Until you're done with me." 

Six chuckles. "Smart and special. I definitely want to keep him now, Kieran."

"He's not a puppy, Luke. Boss won't like it."

Luke and Kieran. Were those their names?

"Boss?" Alfie asks, suddenly curious. Did they have a Master, too? They had tattoos like him and a Master like him. But, they were so strong. And they weren't in a cage. Was their Master nice? Did he hit them, too?

Luke looks over to Alfie. "Yeah, our Boss. Strongest guy you'll ever meet."

"But I thought Malakai was the strongest. He's our leader."

Kieran snorts. "That chump is going to be fish food soon."

"Fish food?" Alfie doesn't understand.

"Yeah," Luke says. "Like getting thrown into a tank but in pieces."

"Your Boss is that strong?" Alfie asks, amazed. He can't imagine anybody stronger than Malakai. "Is he...nice? Does he hit you?"

Luke shakes his head. "Never. We get to play as much as we want as long as we do our work."

"Does he let you go to the kitchen?"

"As much as you want," Kieran says, his arms still crossed over his chest.

"But, what about the numbers? Aren't you his prisoners?"

"He took us from our prison," Luke says. "And gave us the strength to kill all those who hurt us."

Alfie takes a slow shaky breath. All who hurt him. Kill them? Kill Master Felix? Kill the guards that always stopped him and got him in trouble? Killing others was for the strong, and Alfie was weak. He'd imagined so many times what it might be like to hit Master Felix back. To hit the guards that abused him. To take Orla's cane and hit her over and over until she stopped moving. But, he'd always been too weak.

"I can't do that," Alfie mumbles.

"What, kill? You don't look like a softie to me, kid," Kieran says.

"I'm not strong enough."

"You don't have to be strong to fight for your life," Luke explains. "You don't have to be strong to give back an eye for an eye." He reaches out and puts a hand on Alfie's shoulder. "You just have to have one thing. The instinct to survive. Like any beast, really." 

"That's all any of us are," Kieran concludes. 

Alfie wrings his hands together. "Can you...or your Boss...can you teach me that?" 

"We can," Luke assures him.

It was too good to be true. Too good. But, Alfie wanted to believe it so much.

"Then...then..." 

"Do you want to trade now?" Kieran asks, sounding impatient.

"Yes," Alfie breathes, scared and excited all at once. "I want to leave here. I want to kill Master Felix. He hurts me. He treats me like dirt. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him." The last part comes out as a growl, and the walls around him shake with Alfie's anger.

Luke rubs his hands together. "Alright then, it's a deal."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Felix Blaze is a man of logic and action. His lab ebbs and flows in perfect order. Not a hair out of place. One might say he runs a tight ship. His direct reports don't dare to step a toe out of line. There are no terminations here. At least, not in the traditional sense. Young bloods come to work here to prove themselves to the organization, and one word from Felix is enough to either earn a promotion or earn a place among his cages of test subjects. It's a risk a surprising many are willing to take.

Felix has earned quite a reputation of success in his endeavors and assigned projects. He grew quickly in rank, and in just a few short years, he's taken A.R.C.A.N.E and Noxis to a whole new level. An accident -- something involving an introverted young bookworm working too hard for her own good and a tenth story ledge calling her name -- led Felix to a method of mass producing LUMINIS. With her notebook and knowledge in hand, he was a rising star among his toxic and quite envious collective. A figure of envy.

But, after flying so high, the brilliant scientist's fall is all the more painful. Malakai's failed operation just hours ago is a new stain on his record. While most of his colleagues had gone home for the night, Felix remains alone in his frigid, dark, lab. He sits at a desk, the only light a pulsing blue glow coming from the eight foot tank beside him. His hands move at blinding speed as he scribbles notes and observations in impeccable penmanship. Only Number Eight remains by his side, bringing him hot cups of coffee and carrying out menial tasks.

Foolish naïve little child. An unexpected bonus brought to Felix among a cartload of worthless bodies. He possesses an interesting Evol, one full of the potential to either destroy or to elevate the RE-Birth project. For that reason, Felix keeps him on a tight leash. A prisoner given the illusion of limited freedom. First, Felix had made sure to crush his mind and his spirit. Then, he ensured that he continued doing so. The child must never know his true worth or purpose.

Now if only the other factors of the project could line up as well. Lost in his own anger and frustration, Felix laments that no one is here to witness his heroic actions. If only Malakai could see him now, picking up the pieces after their recent set-back and planning for the next attempt. See how alone he is; how he's clearly the only worthwhile worker in this lab. Damn the other scientists. So what if they'd been working without rest for over 48 hours? They're on the verge of a breakthrough. Doesn't that mean anything to them? Unworthy rats. Not even fit to lick Malakai's boots. They would need to be dealt with soon; their incompetence cannot be tolerated. Every failed attempt puts Malakai's life at risk, puts the Progenitor at risk.

Intolerable.

Disgusting.

So furious his hands shake, Felix reaches up to lick his fingers and smooths them over his growing stubble.

The Master must be informed. There must be another purge of the staff. They can start over; build again. Bodies are plenty to push buttons and fill beakers. After all, it is he - Felix - that is the true mastermind and the brains behind it all. Only men of his caliber are fit to work at A.R.C.A.N.E. Men with ambition, fortitude, and a strong understanding of their role in the great machine that is Noxis.

Hands trembling, he writes up the last of his report. Compiling data for this last attempt isn't easy. Something had gone disastrously wrong. No. Disaster isn't a good word. A glitch. Yes, that's it. Just a glitch. They'd needed more bodies than usual. More of the Blood, too. And still -- still -- Malakai couldn't couple with the Progenitor. His leader had left frustrated and weakened, his Evol unchanged, his memories only partially transferred. If only Malakai hadn't been injured, they could have tried again. But, the wounds needed a Proto-bath treatment to heal.

Again, Felix reaches up, licks his fingers, and smooths them over his stubble.

If only the Specimen hadn't escaped over a year ago. The search for him had borne no fruit, and there were no more Lemurians readily available to pull from to replenish the Blood. At this rate, LUMINIS production would be compromised and the RE-Birth project will need to be put on hold. Unless, of course, Malakai made progress in obtaining a new resource.

The girl.

The Core.

With her, none of these things would be obstacles at all.

So, why did their leader hesitate? Why did he not capture her in this last encounter? A.R.C.A.N.E needed her so badly. No tissue, no cell, would be wasted. Every piece of her body would be put to good use. The Core to power the Progenitor. Her blood for LUMINIS. Skin and bones and organs for research and analysis. She would be reborn; they'd find her, capture her, and use her again. She was perfect. A timeless resource that would never run dry.

Setting aside his notebook, Felix picks up a clipboard and walks closer to the Progenitor's tank. A man floats within, his long black hair waving with the current, his violet eyes closed in repose. One of these days, Felix would see them open. Malakai will succeed in transferring his Evol and his memories to this new body, achieving true rebirth and reincarnation in a form that will be unstoppable. Noxis will rise like a phoenix from the ashes, and the vermin of Onychinus would fade into the shadows, never to be heard from again.

Of course, these are only Felix's ambitions. Malakai has much grander plans, including the slow and methodical elimination of his greatest rival - Sylus. Felix wants to see this, too. Wants the man with the red eyes to kneel before them all and beg for his life. Once, Felix had been a part of Onychinus. Once, he had been the greatest among the ranks of their scientists. Until Sylus had swept in and destroyed his research. All of his life's work pertaining to the Aether Core, gone in a single vicious night of flame and smoke.

Felix reaches up and smooths his moistened fingers across his stubble.

Revenge would be sweet.

And, what could be better than claiming Sylus's body for research and experimentation? A power like his had never been known or seen anywhere. A monster, some called him. Or, perhaps, a result of some machination by an unknown hand. Many feared the unknown, but Felix welcomed it. All mysteries could be solved, and monsters made for fruitful study.

A ringing. Felix's phone. Blinking at the flashing screen, he frowns when the caller ID looks glitched and fragmented. The metal in the walls tends to interfere with calls here. Concerned that it's a summons from Malakai, he picks up.

"Downstairs," a familiar voice says.

"Right away, Sir."

Felix grows worried. Had Malakai's wounds been worse than they'd thought? Was the Proto-bath not sufficient? Were more Protocores required? His breathing quickens as he gathers his things and makes his way outside with his briefcase in hand. Number Eight follows him like the obedient dog he is. On the way, Felix throws on his thick winter jacket. He exits the building with a swipe of his badge, stepping out into a flurry of falling snow. A pair of headlights nearly blind him, and he rushes around the car's front. Someone opens the door for him, and he slides inside. Number Eight follows suit.

"Sir, I --"

He stops. Two men sit before them dressed in all black identical clothes and armor. Their faces are hidden behind crow masks, but somehow even without seeing their expressions, Felix can tell they are smiling. They're wearing hoods with the numbers "06" and "07" printed on them. Recognition flares. His jaw clenches. He swallows past a lump of terror in his throat, for he's heard rumors of these men and what they do at Sylus's side. One of them takes a phone out of his pocket and taps the screen.

"Downstairs," the recording of Malakai's voice plays. "Downstairs...downstairs...downstairs..."

"For a smart guy, you sure fell for this trap way too easily," Seven says.

Felix lunges for the door handle, but he doesn't even make it an inch before one of the men seems to teleport to his side. A gloved hand wraps around Felix's wrist hard enough to break bone. He shouts in pain, but this only seems to amuse his captor.

"Now, now," Seven chides from above him. "You're our guest of honor. Just stay put, would you?"

The man across from him -- Six -- chimes in, "we're not in the mood to play right now."

Felix's eyes snap to Number Eight. Six is holding a glowing dagger to his throat. The boy's bright silver eyes are dead as always, devoid of any kind of human emotion. He doesn't look scared or concerned. In fact, he looks almost angry, an expression Felix has never seen on his face.

"Let me go," Felix demands. "I don't have anything you want. You can keep the kid." He gestures with his head towards Number Eight. "He knows more than I do."

Seven shakes his head, "Speak again without permission, and we'll start removing fingers."

Felix gasps at the threat, but doesn't dare to say anything else.

"Now, if you're a good boy and you answer our questions, we might be merciful and kill you quicker."

"That's not much fun, though, is it?" Six sighs. "And who's this extra?" He shakes Number Eight, but the boy doesn't say a word. Strange. For as long as Felix has known him, the boy was terrified of his own shadow. He'd capitalized on that; had made sure to make his fears much worse. He should be shivering and shaking now, especially with a knife at his throat. 

"Looks like a cute little assistant," Six snickers. "I guess he's a freebie, so I can do whatever I want, right?"

"Boss said we could do whatever as long as the scientist squawked." Seven shrugs. "No mention of the kid, so he's bonus loot."

"Let's take them to the cell," Six whines. "I wanna try out my new kit."

"He needs his tongue to talk," Seven counters.

Felix's body starts to shake in terror.

"Oh, look, he's scared," Seven chuckles, leaning forward until the sharp beak of his mask is nearly touching Felix's face. His voice drops to a low thundering threat. "Is the big bad scientist going to pee his pants?"

"You better not. These are leather seats," Six says.

Felix bites his lip, tasting blood. "W-What...do you want with me?"

The second man's mask tilts down. "Well, those documents in your bag are a good start. But, mostly, we need you to tell us where Malakai is and everything you know about that half frozen clone of his that you've been growing in your lab."

Felix starts to say something when an armored fist flies out of nowhere and punches him in the face. He goes down like a bag of rocks, coughing and sputtering as his vision spins.

"Rule one," Seven says, "no lying."

"Didn't...lie..." Felix coughs.

"You were about to. I can sense that a mile away, you know."

Number Eight whispers something. Felix balks when Six moves the dagger away from his neck and leans down towards him.

"What was that, Alfie?"

"Slap him," the child answers. His silver eyes gleam in the low light. "He made a mistake. Slap him."

"You're right," Seven says then turns and slaps Felix's face. The impact is so severe that Felix thinks he might have broken his jaw. He coughs and sputters past the pain and dizziness, spitting out a mouthful of blood along with a tooth.

"You...little freak..." Felix hisses, glaring at the child. "It was you that led them here?"

How? How was this possible? Betrayal from the child? Felix had done everything by the book. He'd been certain that he'd broken this boy long ago. Yet the silver eyes looking back at him now weren't the same ones he was used to seeing. Had these two men done something to him? Had they influenced him somehow? If so, when? This wasn't something that could have just happened on a whim. 

"Careful, Master Felix," Number Eight says, his face and eyes still dead as rotting pond water. "Don't speak without permission."

Felix flinches back. Six knocks on the pane of glass separating the passengers and driver. The car takes off, and Felix struggles to get his emotions and fears under control. No matter what happens to him here, he cannot give them any information about Malakai and his plans. He glares at the twins, then at Number Eight.

"I think we've got a true loyal pawn here," Seven says. "He looks determined."

"Loyal till we really get started," Six shrugs.

Seven grabs Felix by his collar and pulls him forward. "Hey, just so you know, I want you to fight me. I've been bored lately, and I could use some human dissection to get my mind right again."

A phone rings somewhere behind Felix. Six reaches across the seat and picks up the phone.

"Yeah, Boss, we got him. We're on our way now."

A deep voice says something Felix can't make out.

"Understood, Boss."

When he hangs up, Seven speaks up. "So? What's the Boss-man want?"

"We can't kill him 'till the Boss gets a turn with him," Six practically pouts.

"So as long as we leave his eyeballs in tact, we can do whatever?"

"That was my understanding."

Both men turn to look at Felix, and he comes close to soiling himself despite the earlier warning. All of his earlier bravado vanishes, shrinking and withering like a slug in saltwater. They're taking him to Sylus, and they're planning on torturing him. No amount of fortitude or sanity will be enough to survive that. 

"P-Please...I take it back...I'll tell you anything you want."

The twins both laugh in unison. "Oh, you will," they say simultaneously. "But we'll have some fun first."

[goodomensblog]

Afterward - Part 17

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16

(#2 definitely won - but #4 was a pretty close second, so we’re doing the classic punch and run!)

Afterward - - - Part 17

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

Entropy, rising up, tilts its head and smiles a wide, infinitely deep grin. Pale, ephemeral tendrils squirm where the creature’s head and neck are rapidly reconnecting.

Gabriel has picked up the sword and is twisting it up.

Beelzebub, however, beats him to the punch. Literally.

“Mine,” is all Beelzebub manages, a low, rasping shout. Pushing roughly in front of the archangel, Beelzebub winds a bloodied fist back and strikes.

Their knuckles smack between its eyes - and with a wet sounding squelch, the head which hadn’t yet fully re-attached, flies off Entropy’s shoulders.

This time, however, Entropy seems to retain consciousness, and the head screeches in outrage as it careens across the room.

“Shoo, bitch,” Beelzebub spits.

“My angels,” the head shrieks, rolling across the floor. “Your master commands you! Attack!��

From the top of the courtyard, where tiled roofs curve above stone carved archways, movement draws Beelzebub’s gaze up.

Angels line the tile rooftop, their formidable white wings spread wide. In the place where the angels’ eyes should be, dark, sunken pools hauntingly stare.

From behind Beelzebub, Gabriel makes a low noise of distress.

Beelzebub scans the faces. There are none they readily recognize - Michael and Uriel, at least, are absent. But surely most of the dark eyed angels are - or were - under Gabriel’s command.

“No…” the archangel breathes.

Forcibly ignoring the pain they feel radiating off Gabriel in cold, nauseating waves, Beelzebub shakes their head and, squeezing their hands into fists, cracks their knuckles one by one.

“What are they?” Aziraphale asks, horror lacing his words.

The first angel steps from the rooftop. Where it lands, stone splinters around its feet. From its eyes, black ichor drips, trailing like tears down its pure, celestial skin. It takes a second step, and the floor cracks anew.

“That,” Crowley says, speaking up from the back, “looks like an angel on steroids. Bloody evil steroids.”

Another angel drops. Then another. Gray dust from pulverized stone rises in an ominous cloud.

“I - I have to-” Gabriel is muttering, and Beelzebub can feel him moving behind them, probably making up his mind to do something stupid.

“Yeah,” Beelzebub says, surveying the hoard of freaky angels. “Fuck this noise.”

Turning right the hell around, Beelzebub grabs Gabriel roughly by the arm. 

When he doesn’t move - like the absolute asshole he is - Beelzebub grits their teeth and yanks, violently hauling the lead-limbed archangel with them. When they look up and see that Aziraphale and Crowley are still standing there, waiting, they yell, “Oi! Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum! Fucking move!”

Crowley and Aziraphale retreat through the doorway, but go no further.

Beelzebub is panting, blood from a cut they didn’t even realize they had dripping into their eyes, and the room is tilting as a frankly annoying whine picks up in their ears - but this is no time to pass out, so Beelzebub doesn’t. 

At least Gabriel is finally moving; Beelzebub, all too happy to release him, shoves the archangel through the door. 

Upon crossing the threshold, Beelzebub is hastily elbowed out of the way by Crowley; Aziraphale, bracing a hand on the wall, traces glowing symbols on the floor.

“What’s-”

“That’s why we were waiting,” Crowley snaps.

Beelzebub reflects that if the room were spinning any less, they would have happily smacked that smug look off his face.

Instead, they crouch, bracing their hands on their knees.

Aziraphale straightens up with a satisfied nod. “That’ll do the trick.”

Then Crowley is swinging the door closed. Hand on the handle, he melts the lock. 

“If Aziraphale did what I think he did, we do not want to be here when they cross that threshold,” Crowley says.

“I did,” Aziraphale says with a grim smile.

Gabriel, who Beelzebub thinks is looking more like his usual insufferable self by the minute, claps his hands together. “Then let’s fucking go!”

“Right!” Crowley crows, pointing at Gabriel, “Your illicit sneaking out of Heaven door!”

Beelzebub and Aziraphale turn to look at Gabriel.

“Okay it’s really not as weird as he’s making it sound.”

 “It doesn’t matter-” Aziraphale says with a wave, but Beelzebub isn’t listening.

Blinking rapidly, they frown at the black dots blossoming across their vision. They immediately blink harder because they are not going to pass out; It is a fucking bad time for losing consciousness - and besides, they’d honestly rather die than look weak in front of these morons.

Crowley is turning, leading the way, and Beelzebub starts to step after him - when everything takes a sharp and sudden dip. 

And shit - Beelzebub thinks, consciousness slipping as a roaring white noise fills their ears. Blackness is spreading, sweeping across their vision.

They see outstretched, reaching hands - and then darkness swallows them whole.

Reality narrows to individual, isolated moments.

The press of fine, soft as silk fabric against their cheek.

A long hallway lit by a single flickering light.

Aziraphale, pale with purple bruises beneath his eyes, pulling a tapestry aside - pushing a doorway open.

Crowley’s hands cupped around that strange, blue flame.

Then white light - at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

Beelzebub stiffens, crying out in protest - because they know the saying about light and tunnels, and they straight up refuse to let that prick Death lay those frigid hands on them now.

This is followed by the soft, hesitant brush of fingers over their forehead and a whisper-soft murmur. “Don’t worry. It’s not that kind of tunnel.”

Again, darkness.

And then Crowley is exclaiming, shouting excitedly, and Beelzebub squints their eyes open to glaring sunlight - and a sleek black car, parked on what appears to be a random London street corner. 

When someone swings one of the rear doors open, Beelzebub has a sense of deja vu as they are laid down on black leather seats.

Voices drone, someone shifts beside them, and the car awakens with a reassuring purr; Beelzebub’s tired eyes close.

- - - 

Brushing his hands over the steering wheel, Crowley sits in the Bentley, taking a moment to enjoy the car’s energetic rumble. She doesn’t handle long periods of idleness very well. And though Crowley hasn’t been gone all that long, he imagines it must have been rather demoralizing to have been abandoned on a lonesome countryside road. He’ll have to make sure she’s still in working shape. 

“Just cause I gave you a little vacation,” Crowley says, tapping the dashboard admonishingly, “is no excuse for any slacking off, you understand?”

The car rumbles, and Crowley sighs, rolling his eyes. “See? I leave you for half a day and now I’m getting back talk.”

“Can we please just fucking go?” Gabriel snaps.

A glance in the rear-view mirror reveals the altogether unpleasant sight of Gabriel’s frowning face. 

The archangel is pressed up against the door, his large arms folded impractically in front of him. 

Beelzebub, in the few minutes after they’d been set down, had somehow completely rotated, and now they stretch out, arms flung out in either direction. Their booted feet are kicked up - one jabbing Gabriel’s side and the other shoved up against his face.

The archangel glowers.

From the passenger seat, Aziraphale clears his throat.

Crowley’s attention is immediately diverted.

Aziraphale is battered. Deep scratches scatter over the entirety of his person, and a bone deep exhaustion shows in his overall pallor and the bags like dark bruises gathering beneath his light eyes. 

Crowley has the impulse to stroke a thumb beneath that gentle gaze and burn a miracle to soothe some of the exhaustion marring his skin. 

He doesn’t.

Because he filled Aziraphale’s veins with demon blood, and Crowley isn’t entirely sure Aziraphale won’t come to resent him for it. 

The desperate transfusion had worked. Aziraphale is here. That is what matters. But the fact that the cost of this gamble - the cost of mixing that which was never meant to join - has yet to reveal itself, leaves Crowley deeply on edge. 

“Dear,” Aziraphale says, mercifully interrupting Crowley’s rapidly spiraling thoughts. “We fled the bookshop earlier because we believed we were dealing with a threat who knew us, personally. Entropy does not know us. And I presume that it does not know where I live.”

“...you want to go home, don’t you?”

“Yes I want to go home!” Aziraphale says in a rush, hands folded, his fingers twisting together. “It’s been a really long day.”

Crowley considers, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “I suppose we could ward the hell out of it.”

Aziraphale is eagerly nodding, “I already have a good few around the foundation as it is.”

“Is it defensible?” Gabriel asks.

“Better,” Aziraphale replies. “It’s hidden.”

“Though adding a few defenses wouldn’t hurt,” Crowley adds.

“As long as we get off the damned street,” Gabriel says with a weary sigh.

“That, we can do,” Crowley says, shifting the car into drive. 

“Wait!” Aziraphale says, grabbing Crowley’s arm. “First, we need food, Crowley.”

“....right this second?”

“As soon as possible. You do realize that we should avoid using powerful miracles at the moment, right?”

Crowley glances in the rear-view mirror, only somewhat mollified to see that Gabriel is also staring at Aziraphale with an expression of blatant confusion.

“Er - yes? I mean, we don’t want to go around putting beacons on our heads,” Crowley replies. “But what in the world does this have to do with food?”

Aziraphale is staring at him like he might be stupid - which he’s not. Right?

Crowley checks the rear-view mirror again.

Gabriel is squinting at Aziraphale. “Aziraphale. What are you talking about?”

Aziraphale looks between them, mouth agape.

From the backseat, Beelzebub groans. 

“Angel,” Beelzebub says, cracking an eye reluctantly open, “They’re both idiots. Don’t… strain their brains.”

Aziraphale glances back, relief evident. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Of course I know what you’re talking about!” Beelzebub replies, and the other eye opens to a menacing slit. “Food strengthens your bloody corporation. You. Are. Living. In. It. So fucking feed it. The stronger your corporation is - the stronger you are.”

Aziraphale is nodding vigorously. “And we are all very injured. Beelzebub especially. A good meal will help kick start our angelic - and demonic - healing.”

“Ah,” is all Crowley manages.

“Honestly, dear. You really didn’t know that?”

Crowley, who will frankly never admit that he played hookie during the body orientation seminar to check out the strange angel he’d seen walking up on Eden’s wall, adjusts his glasses and shrugs. “I’m a demon. What’s the archangel’s excuse?”

“Corporeal bodies are not my department.”

Beelzebub blows a raspberry.

“Since you’re awake, your highness - mind moving your foot out of my face?”

Beelzebub’s only reply is a long, deep snore.

Crowley shuts both of them up by jerking the car into motion.

Food it is!” Crowley says, foot sinking satisfyingly down on the gas pedal. “And I know just where to take us.”

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

The angels and demons have managed to escape Heaven and flee from Entropy. Before holing up at Aziraphale’s bookshop and deciding their next move - Aziraphale insists they get something to eat. Crowley decides the best place to get a couple of angels and demons lunch is….

The grocery store! Crowded around a single cart, they will shuffle round the aisles of the local grocery mart, exploring the strange wonders of fluorescent illuminated human cuisine. 

The Ritz! Sitting elbow to elbow around a pristine white tablecloth, they will be sipping at champagne and making awkward small talk. Probably nothing will catch fire.

The drive thru! Packed in the Bentley, Crowley will drive them all to the greasiest of fast food establishments. With all three speaking at once, Crowley will attempt to order.

Please comment or reblog to vote! :)

Part 18

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 29]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

I’m giving myself the night off schoolwork and going to catch up on some editing and other stuff. So, let’s have fun with the babies!

Over the course of the next three days of Virgil’s captivity, Virgil would come to the conclusion that his captors were idiots.

This thought flickered to life once again as Logan leaned into the closet to point out another constellation on the ceiling, tottering unstably on his knees as his weight shifted forward and distracted by his enthusiasm.

They were alone in the prince’s room. Patton had left only a few minutes before to help his mother in the kitchen (less because she needed help and more to not make her suspicious about why he’d spent so much time away in the last few days).

He wouldn’t be back for a while and Virgil had full mobility in the closet. With Logan leaning over the threshold like that, it would be easy to kill him or even just incapacitate him. One rough yank on his arm would have him completely in the closet. Virgil had no question that he could pin him down so he couldn’t activate the restraints, and even if he managed to do so, he’d have been drawn close enough that Virgil could use his legs. He could either force him to take off the cuffs or, since they automatically went to the second setting when he left the closet, just deal with it until he managed to get away.

It would just be so easy. Yet, he did not. He just watched Logan as he leaned stupidly over an assassin while info dumping about stars.

This was the first day that he hadn’t felt at all tired when he’d drank the provided nutrition and healing potion, though it had never affected him quite as much as it had the first day. Logan said that meant that his injuries must be healed. It was a weird feeling. He didn’t remember when the last time was that he wasn’t damaged in some way. Even before his grueling training, there’d always been bullies at the orphanage and he’d been the youngest and smallest in his age group.

He was also more well rested and fed than he had been in as long as he could remember. He felt better then he knew was possible today, and he suspected that he would only feel better after a bit more time under their care.

He told himself that is why he didn’t lash out now. He was waiting until he was as strong as possible to make sure his escape went as well as it could, even if it was a risk. They’d mentioned that the king would be gone for three weeks. After he returned, Virgil would surely be turned over to people much more capable of actually keeping him well trapped and less likely to feed him well, give him a nice place to sleep, and leave him without injury. It was a gamble to stay, because it was possible that he wouldn’t find another opportunity in time and would get handed over to his fate. Really, if he was being reasonable, he should get out now while he felt good and had a secured opportunity.

Still, he did not. He had not any of the times they’d given him the opportunity in the last few days. Logan finished his sentence and leaned back out of the closet to safety. He still was speaking though in that soft happy tone. Logan liked the stars. He liked to talk about the stars, and Virgil found he liked to listen to him. They tended to end up in this position whenever Patton was away, just talking as Virgil laid in his closet.

Eventually, Logan’s latest story tapered out. There was silence then for a few moments. Virgil stared up at the fake stars on the ceiling. The stars that Logan had made for him when he really did not have to. Virgil had not been expecting lights in the closet, let alone ones so beautiful and thoughtful. Not ones with stories behind them. Just days ago, if someone had told Virgil the prince would be keeping him in his closet for the next few weeks, Virgil wouldn’t have expected a blanket let alone all of this.

He turned his head to look at Logan. “What?” Logan asked.

“Your magic’s very beautiful,” Virgil said.

Logan seemed pleased by the complement, lighting up almost as much as the stars he made. “Well, it’s just a basic light spell,” he said, “though I did make some adjustments to them and the dimmer was a bit more difficult. Anyone could do it with practice.”

Virgil shook his head. “They’re special, I think,” he said. “Your magic’s different than most people.”

“How so?” Logan asked curiously.

“It’s gentle,” he said. “Gentle and warm, like eating the warm soup you fed me a couple of days ago.”

“And other people’s magic feels different?” he asked.

Virgil nodded. “I’ve met a lot of magic users, but it always felt bad. Usually it hurts or makes you feel sick or just makes you uncomfortable. Even healing magic always felt like bugs nibbling at my skin, but the potion you’ve been having me drink in the morning feels… safe. It doesn’t hurt or make me want to cry. It’s just good.”

“Magic often has much to do with the caster’s intentions,” Logan said.

“I think you could poison me gently.”

Logan made an odd expression. “That…” he said, nose scrunched. “That is a strange thing to say.”

Virgil cocked his head. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Logan said, shaking his head. “You are far too comfortable with the concept of death for your age.”

“I’m fourteen,” Virgil argued. “That’s old enough to be sent on missions without a blood compulsion!”

“…A what?” Logan asked.

“A blood compulsion,” Virgil said. “You know, with a multrum.” Logan was frowning at him. “One works in your gardens and you’re a prince. You had to at least have seen one or two. They take a bit of blood and multrums process it into a little bead. Then you’ve got to do what your told or it hurts a lot.”

“I know what a blood compulsion is,” Logan said. “I am simply wondering who would put one on a fourteen-year-old.”

“They don’t,” Virgil said. “They stop putting them on people when they turn fourteen.”

“And exactly what is the age range for it?” Logan asked. Virgil was almost startled by the way his tone was quickly hardening. He’d never heard him be that harsh even when he’d first woken up in his custody. It made Virgil tense up.

“They take kids usually when they’re about 8 and it’s a year of training before your sent on a mission so 9-13,” he said.

“That’s horrible,” Logan spat so violently that Virgil flinched. Logan didn’t seem to notice. “They force children to kill under a blood compulsion?”

“Well, no one really wants to do it without one when they’re that little. They get scared, and usually try to chicken out so…”

“So, they torture them unless they kill someone.”

“I mean… it’s not. They have to agree to the deal.”

“And if they don’t agree to it?” Logan asked.

Virgil thought back to the second time they’d made him get a blood compulsion. It had been with the multrum before Janus, a girl by the name of Alina. He’d made the mistake of hesitating on his first kill and faced the consequences before finally giving in and doing the job. When the second mission had come around, Virgil hadn’t wanted to accept the blood compulsion.

That had been the first time they’d made him drink a binding potion. Logan seemed to be able to get an idea about it by the look on his face.

“So, your options were to be tortured, be tortured in a different way, or murder someone.” Logan looked at him. “You said your fourteen. Have you ever even killed of your own volition?”

“I… no,” he admitted, but quickly added, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“That explains a lot about your personality and reactions so far.”

Virgil rankled at that for some reason. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Logan just stared at him for a long moment. “What they did, what they are doing isn’t right you know?” he said.

Virgil blinked at him but said nothing. He became more and more uncomfortable in the silence that ensued.

“Would you like to learn more about magic?” he asked. “There are many uses other then to hurt. I can teach you a few basics if you like.”

Virgil was confused about the topic change but was relieved about it. “Uh,” he thought. “Sure. That would be… interesting.”

Logan smiled at him. “I’ll set up something and we can work with it in the next few days. What would you like to learn?”

“Um, I have no idea. What is there?”

Logan considered it for a moment. “We could do a hair color changing potion. Or perhaps a small protection charm or I can teach you to make fire shapes.”

“Protection charm,” Virgil said without hesitation.

Logan gave him a sad smile. “Of course. I’ll start showing you how to make them tomorrow and we can actually make some the next day.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“Would you like to hear more about the stars?” he asked. Virgil nodded. He once again leaned into the closet to point and Virgil once again did not move to attack. Nor did he attack when that afternoon Patton turned his back on Virgil for far too long when they were alone. Nor did he when they settled him to bed once again in the closet. He told himself it was strategic, but he knew it wasn’t.

Chapter 12

Logan had needed to spend some time performing royal duties today which left Patton and Virgil alone after breakfast. Patton had started out trying to teach Virgil different board games. He’d seemed intrigued at first, but after a few games of checkers seemed to grow bored. Patton had gotten a blank stare when he’d asked if Virgil had any ideas about what to do for fun, so now he was trying to figure out something else they could do. He cast his eyes around at what Logan had in his bedroom.

“How about I read you a book?” he suggested.

Virgil seemed very intrigued by that idea. “Sure,” he said.

“Okay!” Patton said cheerfully. “He popped to his feet and glanced through the small shelf of fiction books Logan kept in his room. He decided to choose one of the lighter ones that Logan and he had liked to read when they were younger. “This one is called The Never-ending Garden,” Patton said. “It’s about a group of four children and their adventures in a garden. It’s full of magic and adventure and friendship! Is that alright with you?”

“It sounds good,” Virgil answered.

Patton happily walked back over to sit next to him. “It is!” he said.

First, he showed Virgil the picture on the cover of a wild looking garden with four kids roaming through it. One of the children was in a little red wagon being pulled by another one wearing a fancy hat. One of the others was walking, looking at a map while the last had a wooden sword. After giving Virgil a couple of moments too look at the picture, Patton cracked it open.

“We start with Lydia’s perspective,” Patton said. “She’s one of my favorites!” He pointed to a picture of a girl in a raincoat at the beginning of the chapter and Virgil leaned slightly closer to see. Then, Patton cleared his voice.

“It had been raining that day,” Patton began, “but Lydia had been so bored that she still begged her father to go out and play when the storm lightened into a sprinkle. He made her change from the yellow dress she had been wearing into the one she often used to help him garden because he knew she was certain to get herself muddy. Her younger brother Marcus asked if he could come too and though part of her wanted to say no because she wanted to explore on her own without her baby brother slowing her down, her father had taught her to be a good big sister, so she agreed to let him come.”

Patton watched Virgil out of the corner of his eye as he read about Lydia meeting up with the neighbor boy, Al, and the three children started to explore the garden in Lydia’s backyard. Virgil leaned in slightly to look at the pictures and listen to the story intently as the three children traveled deeper and deeper into the garden, but never made it to the back fence. They’d just made it to the part where they heard rustling behind the blackberry bush which Patton knew was the last main character, Melly, when Patton felt the need to adjust his posture a bit. Virgil moved in kind and ended up leaning further into Patton.

Without even really thinking about it, Patton brought his arm around to touch the top of his head. Virgil flinched the second Patton made content and Patton drew the hand away immediately. “Sorry,” he said with a wince. Patton was a naturally touching person and he’d been having trouble battling his instincts to cuddle everyone and everything while around Virgil, but he knew most touch was not welcome. The poor thing startled every time Patton went to touch him unannounced and even sometimes when he’d said something before doing it.

“I-it’s okay,” Virgil said.

Patton gave him a tight lipped smiled and turned back to the book.

He stilled a second later when Virgil leaned back in and their shoulders brushed. He blinked over at him. “Oh,” he said softly. “Do… do you want me to touch your hair?”

Virgil curled up into himself a little bit but then nodded.

“Okay,” Patton said. “I’m going to put my arm around you and do that then, okay?” He drew upon his years and years of convincing easily startled cats to allow him to give them pats as he slowly moved his arm back to where it had been before and gently touched the side of his head. He tensed, but didn’t startle this time, and so Patton gently ran his fingers through the hair a couple of times. Eventually, the tension bled out of him and he sort of slumped against Patton’s shoulder. Patton just barely restrained a coo before going back to reading. He continued to stroke the side of Virgil’s hair as he described the gang meeting up with Melly and them being told she was a fairy that lived in the garden.

He'd only gotten to the part about them finding the wagon when Virgil started to shift a bit uncomfortably, his neck craned in an awkward angle. Patton kept reading as he brought the hand in his hair down to his shoulder and pushed lightly. There was the slightest bit of resistance as Virgil didn’t know what he was trying to do, but then he allowed Patton to move him. Patton leaned back a bit and picked the book up off his lap before continuing to push him down. Virgil did not help at all, seeming confused about what was going on.

Patton had to poke him around until he was on his back laying across Patton’s lap. He grinned down at the boy who was looking at him in blatant bewilderment and propped the book up on his chest. He held it there with one of his hands and stretched the other out to resume messing with his hair. Virgil relaxed into the new position after a few minutes of reading, eyes shutting as he enjoyed the attention. His eyes would flicker open every time Patton moved to show him a picture, but other than that, he seemed content to not move.

Eventually, he stopped responding when Patton moved to show him the pictures.

“Are you asleep?” he asked quietly. When he didn’t get a response, he bookmarked the last picture Virgil had responded to, and then continued reading to himself.

Eventually, there was a knock at the door. It was the one he and Logan had decided on to tell the other one that it was just them and not to panic when the door opened. The door opened to Logan a moment later.

He paused, taking in the sight of the assassin sprawled across Patton’s lap like a sleepy kitten. He shook his head fondly and walked over to them on silent feet. He bent and pressed a hand to the top of Virgil’s hand. Virgil stirred just barely, but didn’t open his eyes, pressing into the touch a bit.

Logan smiled. “He wanted to learn how to make protection charms today. I assume you’d like to join us?” Patton perked up and nodded happily, making Logan chuckle softly. “I will go set it up then. Would you like another book for the time being?”

“Just the one I was reading last night would be nice,” Patton said.

“Of course.” Logan stepped away to grab it and handed it to him. Then, he disappeared into his potion’s lab. Patton smiled down at Virgil’s sleeping face and settled the new book onto his chest to replace the children’s book. He didn’t even stir.

Chapter 13

Logan was able to quickly set up the station for making protection charms. Patton had always liked making them, though he often used his more as fun accessories than for protection. The one he was going to show Virgil how to make was a very simple low level one used for little more than to keep bugs off of yourself and, in the event of a well made one, alert one to imminent danger by changing temperature. It was a nice thing to hold in the middle of the night if one was frightened by real or imagined threats. It would be warm to the touch when your environment was safe; he thought Virgil might appreciate it.

He and Patton decided to wait until Virgil woke up naturally which only took about 30 minutes. Then, Logan brought him to his set up supplies. He explained briefly the process for making a protection charm. “I will be the one performing the enchantment for today,” he told Virgil. “I will show you how to make your own later, but I thought seeing how to make them would help with the learning process.”

“Plus, it’s fun!” Patton said.

Logan flashed a smile at him. “And that as well. I’ve prepared a small number of possible pendants for you to choose from. You can choose the shape and color, then we will put on a custom engraving, as well as decorations.”

“Glitter! Glitter! Glitter! Glitter!”

“Yes, Patton, everyone knows you’re going to choose glitter,” Logan said, amused, “but why don’t we let Virgil decide for his own pendant?”

“Fine,” Patton said, “but mine will be glitter.”

Logan grabbed the box of blank pendants and offered it to Virgil. “Choose whichever one feels right,” he suggested. Virgil moved forward and looked over the box. “You can touch them,” Logan said. “In fact, I would suggest it as it is meant to be held when it’s done and you may as well get a feel for it.”

At his prompting, Virgil did. He reached into the box and shifted a few to the side. Eventually, he started picking a few up. “I like the crescent shape for holding the most he said,” holding a blue one up, but I don’t know.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Patton asked.

“Oh, um,” he mumbled. “I dunno.”

“Well here,” Patton said, reaching for the box. He dug through it and pulled out every single crescent moon shaped pendant and lined them up. “What do you fancy?”

Virgil considered them all for a long moment and then tentatively pointed the purple one out.

“Great!” Patton said. “Then, we’ll use that one.”

Virgil nodded and Patton picked up the pendant to drop it into his hands. His fingers curled over the shape and he seemed satisfied by the choice, so Logan turned to Patton. “Your turn,” he said.

Patton happily grabbed out a heart shaped blue one, but then paused and exchanged it for a purple one. “We match!” he said.

Virgil smiled slightly at his enthusiasm, and Logan dug out a blue crescent moon shape for himself. “Now that you have your base, you get to choose the engraving.” He opened up the instruction book to the correct page and showed it to him.

Virgil looked over the two pages of designs with carful focus. He wavered between the spiral sun and the flames for a moment, but eventually settled on the flames. Patton chose the interlocking hearts design as anticipated; it was his favorite, and Logan chose the spiral sun design for himself.

“Now, I’m going to engrave this design onto yours,” Logan said getting out the thin pen like instrument and dipping it into the slightly glowing bottle of potion he’d set out. “In the meantime, Patton will show you what we have for decorations.”

He was careful to get the symbol as perfect as he could and then started on Patton’s. Patton apparently managed to corrupt the boy because both of them came back with brushes and glitter to add as decoration.

Logan shook his head and handed them their freshly engraved pendants. “Apply the glitter how you like,” Logan said, moving on to his own engraving. Once he was finished, he selected some glow in the dark paint to decorate his own.

Once he’d finished decorating his own pendant, Logan looked up. “Are you finished?” he asked.

“Yep!” Patton said, shoving his pendant at Logan while Virgil nodded. Virgil had been far less enthusiastic than Patton, having carefully brushed glitter into the flame design only whereas Patton had haphazardly covered his own all over with glitter. Logan took both pendants.

“This,” Logan said, bringing over a different potion, “is used to make sure the decorations never fall off. It basically allows the other substances to become a part of the stone. “It isn’t too dangerous, but I’d suggest you stand back for the moment.”

Virgil stepped back farther back than was strictly necessary and gave the potion bottle a wary look. Logan moved all three pendants to the prepared surface (else they ran the risk of also getting stuck to the table) and put on gloves, having learned that magically gluing rocks to ones hands was not fun years ago. Then, he carefully drizzled a bit of the potion onto each rock. The rocks fizzled loudly, and Virgil gave off a startled yelp before toppling over flat on his face with his wrist glued to his sides.

“Oh no, honey,” Patton said immediately crouching next to him. “I’m sorry. We should have warned you about the noise.”

Logan wasn’t sure what type of action he’d tried to take when the sound started up, but whatever it was, it had caused him to move his arms fast enough that he’d activated the binding potion and it snapped his wrists to his side, overbalancing him.

Patton’s hands hovered over the startled boy, but he didn’t touch. After a few moments, it was clear that the magic keeping Virgil’s hands at his side released because his hands slowly crept forward to push himself up, so his face wasn’t planted against the ground. His eyes still looked incredibly startled.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Virgil blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.

Logan took his words as permission to move without risking startling him more. Virgil’s eyes bopped back and forth between him and Patton a few times as he crossed to his wall of potions and grabbed one.

He also selected a clean cloth from a basket on his way over to them. “A light healing potion,” Logan explained as he knelt in front of Virgil. He uncorked it. “May I?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil said with a frown. “I’m not even bleeding. It’s barely anything.”

“Which is why it’s a light healing potion,” Logan said. “You are sure to bruise with the way you hit. This will prevent it and make it stop hurting.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed after a moment. Logan dribbled a bit out onto the rag. After a moment of thought, he touched the damp part of the cloth with his own finger, just to quash any fears that it would harm him.

“It will tingle slightly,” Logan warned. Virgil tilted his face to let him dab it onto his nose and the light scrape on his face. His nose scrunched up and he moved to rub the sensation away quickly only to have his arms slam back to his sides.

Patton caught him so the sudden involuntary movement didn’t cause him to fall back, and then giggled when Virgil titled his head to what could only be described as pout back at him.

“Aw, poor thing,” Patton cooed, reaching forward to rub a hand across the top of his nose and then his forehead where the potion had been applied for him.

“Better?” Patton asked.

“You’re really bad at this being captors thing,” Virgil commenting, willingly leaning back into Patton. Patton just smiled happily.

Logan took the bottle and got to his feet, before returning it, and then glanced at the pendants as Patton helped Virgil to his feet. The pendants had stopped fizzing, so Logan felt okay reaching in and grabbing them all.

He handed both Patton and Virgil their pendants when they walked closer to the table.

“And now for the actual enchantment,” Logan said. “For today, I already prepared the potion up to the last step as it has to sit for a few hours, but I will show you the last step and eventually teach you everything if you are still interested.”

Virgil nodded, but said. “No more noises?”

Logan smiled. “No more noises,” he confirmed. Then he pushed forward all of the ingredients he was about to put in the pot for Virgil to study one by one before putting them each in it in the correct order. Then he demonstrated how to stir it correctly and told him how many times, though he doubted he’d be able to retain all of the information from this one demonstration. “There,” he said, setting down his spoon. “Now we just all put our pendants into the pot, and they should be ready in 25 minutes.”

Logan showed Virgil around his potion’s lab while they waited, explaining what certain pieces of equipment did and a bit about his organization system. Virgil followed him around, looking at the things he pointed out curiously. He, however, got very distracted when Logan showed him one of the experiments he’d concocted. It was a thick liquid that was super attracted to itself and would form a small ball that could be disturbed by touching it. He seemed to like the sensation of squishing it down onto a table… over and over and over again.

“We should get him a ball of yarn,” Patton said out of the corner of his mouth. He may have been enjoying watching Virgil play with the substance more than Virgil was enjoying playing with it himself. And that was saying something.

21984

Eventually, however, the pendants were finished, and he dragged Virgil away from his new toy to show him the finished product.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Is it supposed to be warm?” Virgil inquired.

“Yes,” Logan replied. “It’s temperature changes based on if the magic on it senses a threat or not. Warmer temperatures mean you are safe.

“Oh,” Virgil said softly, hand squeezing around it. “I like it.”

Logan found himself smiling. “I’m glad. It’s yours.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“If you would like, I’m sure Patton has some suggestions if you’d desire a way to keep it attached to your person. He in particular likes to make them into necklaces or clip them to his clothing.”

Virgil looked over at Patton and nodded shyly. Patton immediately perked up. “I’ll go get some supplies!” he said.

Chapter 14

“So then,” Patton was saying. “We ran to the stables.”

“We went to gazebo first,” Logan cut in.

“Right, we tried to go to the gazebo first,” Patton corrected, “but Mr. Deknis was over there tending to the tomatoes, and we knew he’d tell Mama the second he saw us. So, then we turned around and went to the stables.”

Virgil tilted his head, listening to the story Patton was telling. Patton was not the best storyteller. He tended to get lost in the middle and embellish, though Logan always corrected him. It was still very entertaining to watch though because he got incredibly animated. He’d even toppled himself over in excitement a couple of times.

Virgil squeezed the small pillow he had in his lap. He… wasn’t 100% sure what was going on. Logan and Patton had settled him on the blanket covered ground near Logan’s bed and proceeded to feed him snacks and talk about a lot of different things. It had started with them talking about what they’d done that day, and when Patton had made reference to something Virgil hadn’t understood, the two of them ended up talking about things from their childhood.

Virgil found himself entranced by their stories about playing in and running around the castle. It was all so different from what Virgil had experienced.

“…but, right as we were about to get to the ladder to climb up into the hay loft, Logan tripped!” Patton said, arms whipping around him. “He fell into a container of grain for the horses and it spilled all over the place. He tried to get up but grabbed the edge of the water trough and apparently it wasn’t very secure because it fell over and soaked him. So, then he was wet and covered in grain. He looked hilarious.”

“I did not!” Logan protested, but it did not sound like all of the other times he’d corrected Patton’s stories that night.

Patton looked over at him. “You did! You woke up the cute stable hand and he laughed himself silly at you, and by the time we got you even partially cleaned up, your dad had already found us. That’s how we got caught.”

“I have no recollection of these events,” Logan clearly lied, his cheeks a bit flushed.

“Liar,” Patton claimed. “You complained about picking grain out of your sheets for weeks.”

“No,” Logan growled.

“Yes! It’s okay. It was a good laugh.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed on him, and he looked pissed, but a second later, his expression lightened up. “You know what else was a ‘good laugh’?” he asked.

There was a second of silence before…

“Don’t you dare Logan.”

Logan looked him directly in the eye. “Patton was thirteen,” Logan started, but was interrupted the next moment when Patton lobbed a pillow at his head. Logan grabbed the pillow and leaned forward to smack Patton back with it. “He was thirteen and had just ‘discovered boys’ as his mother and my father called it when they attempted to explain his behavior to me. The focus of said ‘discovering’ at the time was the son of an ambassador from Lamir” who was staying for the summer, a seventeen-year-old boy by the name Bernardo.”

Virgil flinched back as Patton suddenly threw himself across the semicircle they’d made with their bodies to tackle Logan to the ground. He watched as they ineffectually wrestled on the ground for a few seconds before Logan, voice strained continued to speak, while battling Patton’s hands away from his mouth.

“Patton’s only knowledge about flirting… ow… at that point was laughing at everything someone said and touching their arms and shoulders.” Logan managed to flip himself onto his stomach which was a horrible move as far as Virgil was concerned. It put him at a disadvantage to get out of the pin. However, Patton just kept reaching for his mouth and didn’t bare down on his neck to try to cut off his oxygen like Virgil expected. So, perhaps it was a rational move. “Our parents were speaking leaving Patton, Bernardo, and I in the garden,” Logan mumbled into the ground. “Bernardo said something ‘funny’ and Patton went to slap his shoulder while laughing, but shoved too hard… Patton did you just lick my face?!”

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up!” Patton threatened. That was a… weird fighting strategy.

Logan paused to consider his options. “He shoved Bernardo into the fountain and when Bernardo asked him why he did that, he ran away and wouldn’t talk to him the rest of the summer!” Logan rushed out.

Patton reached over and grabbed the nearest pillow, proceeding to whack him viciously in the back of the head. Logan was lucky the nearest object was a pillow and not something any sturdier. “It’s not funny!” Patton yelled, smacking him even more, which was when Virgil realized Logan was laughing despite the pinning and pillow pummeling. “It’s not!” Patton said. “I really liked him!!”

“He was seventeen!” Logan said. “It was never going to happen!”

Patton groaned and rolled off of Logan to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. “But he had so many muscles,” Patton said. “He probably could have thrown me 10 yards.”

“And that is… a benefit?” Logan asked, rolling over onto his side to face him.

“You don’t. Get me.” Patton tilted his head to look at Virgil. “Anyway,” he said. “That is the story of how I died at 13.”

Virgil stared at him, and Patton’s forehead crinkled looking at him.

“Is something wrong, honey?” he asked.

“What was that?” Virgil asked.

“What was what?”

Virgil just blinked at him. Patton seemed to think for a moment.

“Oh, did you think we were fighting?” Patton asked. “Like, really fighting?”

“You weren’t fighting?” Virgil asked.

“No, sweetie,” Patton said. “We were just playing.” He popped up into a sitting position. “Well, play fighting, but emphasis on play!”

Virgil looked over at Logan for confirmation. “No one is harmed nor was there any intention to harm each other,” he assured.

Patton grabbed the pillow he’d been smacking Logan with. “Like this!” he said. “Bap.” Unlike how he’d smacked Logan ruthlessly, he basically just touched Virgil’s shoulder with it.

Virgil squinted at him.

“Bap!” Patton said again, smacking him again, this time with a little bit more force and on the cheek. Virgil’s nose scrunched up. “Pillow fight!”

“Pillow fight?”

“You try,” he said, pointing to the pillow in Virgil’s lap.

Virgil glanced down at the bands around his wrist. “Um…” he said. “I don’t think I can?”

“Oh, right,” Patton said with a frown. He bit his lip and glanced over at Logan. “Maybe…”

“Ill-advisable,” Logan said.

“But…” Patton said. “Pillow fight.”

“We would have to be very cautious and make sure there were no weapons in the area.”

“No weapons but pillows!”

“Fine,” Logan relented to whatever was going on. “Let’s clear the area.” Virgil watched them with mounting confusion as they removed everything within a few meters radius of him except for pillows and blankets.

“There!” Patton said after a minute. “All done!”

“What are you doing?” Virgil said.

“We’re going to have a pillow fight,” Patton said.

“But I…”

“We’ll temporarily allow your restraints to be in the third setting like when you’re in the closet.”

Were they serious? Were they stupid? Virgil could have killed them dozens of times with the second setting and now they were giving him even more range of motion?

“You have to promise not to try to hurt anyone though,” Patton said. Virgil stared at him dumbly, as Patton held out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Patton nodded solemnly. “We lock pinky fingers and make a promise. It’s the most binding promise in the universe.”

Virgil looked at his finger, confused. He’d never heard of that type of deal. “What kind of magic is it?”

“No magic,” Patton said. “Just friendship.” Virgil tilted his head but brought his hand up so Patton could twine their fingers together. “Now, promise you won’t hurt anyone.”

“I promise I won’t hurt anyone,” he said.

“It’s a deal!” said Patton, squeezing Virgil’s finger with his own briefly before drawing away. “I trust you.” Virgil felt a rush of something that was no type of magic he’d ever come into contact before but was definitely far more powerful.

Logan came over to them and waved his hand over the restraints on Virgil. They buzzed slightly and Virgil looked between them. “So, I just hit you with pillows?”

“Try not to hit too hard near the face, and Lo and I should probably take off our glasses before we start, but yeah,” Patton said, taking his glasses off as he said it. It was yet another foolish move on his part. “It’s fun, and it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay…” Virgil said.

“I will demonstrate,” Logan said as he took a pillow and smacked Patton in the stomach.

“Hey! No fair!” Patton giggled. “We haven’t started yet!” This did not deter Logan however, as he continued to smack Patton with a pillow.

“On the contrary,” he said. “It has started, and we’re getting you first.”

“No,” Patton whined, but the way he crumpled to the ground under the onslaught seemed far too staged to make Virgil worry. He didn’t even try to curl up into a ball or to protect his head, just taking the hits and giggling.

Logan looked up at Virgil and motioned with his head. Virgil inched over and looked down at Patton. Logan slowed for a few moments. “Go on,” he urged.

Virgil bit his lip and reached forward to smack Patton lightly with his pillow which seemed to do nothing to him but renew his peels of giggles. From there, it was easy to continue. Logan picked up the pace of his strikes and he and Virgil proceeded to ‘fight’ Patton until he couldn’t breath through his laughter and pushed the pillows away, curling up on his side to recover.

23897

“No what?” Virgil asked when Patton sat up.

“Now I get vengeance!” Patton said, popping to his feet and smacking Logan in the face. “Help me Virgil!” So, Virgil turned on Logan and he and Patton gave the prince the same treatment. Then, because it was only fair, it was Virgil’s turn, though they were a lot more careful with him then they’d been with each other, and really Patton spent more of the time checking in on Virgil then actually hitting him with the pillow. It was nice. Fun. And when Virgil pushed them away, they pulled back. Then, it was Patton’s turn again and they went around teaming up on each other and sometimes just smacking at each other at random.

Eventually, they slowed, and all ended up laying near each other on the floor.

“Well, that made me hungry,” Patton said, sitting up and stretching. “I asked Mama to make us a bunch of mini sandwiches with different flavors. I’ll go get them.”

He hopped to his feet to walk over to where they’d stored the food earlier in those little glowing magical balls Logan had for food preservation.

Logan and Virgil sat up too, and Virgil offered him his wrists.

“Right,” Logan said with a blink. He made a motion and Virgil could feel the magic weighing down his hands once again. He’d almost forgotten, Virgil thought with an internal sigh. They’d given an assassin free range of motion, had a pillow fight with him, and almost forgotten to restrain him again. What was Virgil going to do with these idiots?

Chapter 15

Patton strolled up to the doors to the royal wing, his arms crossed casually around his middle.

Kalani raised an eyebrow as he approached and gave her the most innocent expression he could. “Whatcha got there, Pat?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he asked, as his sweater squirmed. “What do you mean?”

She considered him for a moment. “Well, I see nothing suspicious here,” she said. “Do you Owen?”

“Nothing,” he replied without hesitation.

Patton grinned at them both.

Kalani leaned in like she was going to tell him a secret. “Who is it?”

Patton made a show of glanced around like he was hiding it from anyone passing by. Then he shifted around to pull up just the bottom of his sweater.

A small black paw reached out from the depths of his sweater and swatted at the air.

“Ah, I see,” Kalani said, reaching out to touch the little paw. “Hello, Mittens.”

Patton giggled as Owen poked the cat’s stomach gently through the sweater, making her wiggle a bit and try to bite him.

“Well,” Patton said. “I better be off with my totally normal sweater.”

Kalani nodded and stepped to the side, and Patton was free to head down the hallway to Logan’s room. Patton knocked on the door with their new extra secret knock and Logan all but ripped open the door. “I’m late. I have to go,” he said, darting past Patton.

Patton smiled, happy that his plan to be running a little late to come watch Virgil had worked so well, even though he felt a little bit guilty about it. He hoped Logan wasn’t late to his meeting, but he also knew that if Logan had noticed Mittens, he wouldn’t have let her into the room.

Virgil was already out of the closet, sitting on one of the chairs. Patton came in and smiled at him. Unlike Logan, Virgil’s attention was immediately drawn to the oddly shaped lump in Patton’s sweater.

“You’re not very good at hiding things,” Virgil said.

“It worked on Logan,” Patton defended himself.

“Logan was about to rocket into space if you didn’t show up in 5 seconds,” Virgil pointed out. Patton just shrugged, and Virgil tilted his head. “What do you have?”

Patton grinned wide and carefully pulled Mittens out of his sweater. She did not resist this maneuver at all, simply purring. He held her up for Virgil to see. “Ta da!”

“A cat?” Virgil said.

“This is Mittens,” Patton said. He then turned to Mittens. “Mittens, this is Virgil. I thought I’d introduce the two of you!”

Virgil blinked at the cat. Mittens blinked back. Patton thought maybe he should have let them sniff each other from under a door before doing this.

He didn’t need to worry though, as Mittens started purring after a moment. “You can pet her,” Patton offered. Virgil looked up at him. “Just…” he said.

“She likes chin scratchies!” Patton prompted.

Virgil reached out a hand to scratch under her chin and that was the end of it. Mittens stretched out her chin happy to get the attention and Virgil’s eyes widened at how soft her fur was. It was a work of minutes before Virgil was sitting down on the floor and Mittens was happily kneading his thighs and spinning around in circles to make sure he pet every inch of her.

“I did not understand why people like cats,” Virgil commented. “All I’ve seen of cats is people coming back with bloody scratches from trying to pet them, so I never even tried.”

“Well,” Patton said. “Cats are just like people. If you’re nice to them, they’re more likely to be nice to you.”

Virgil’s hand paused briefly on the cat’s head, but then continued with the petting a moment later. Patton wondered what he was thinking about, but didn’t press.

“She seems to like you,” Patton said.

“Don’t know why.”

“Hey, don’t be mean.” Patton scolded.

Virgil hands jerked away from the cat he’d been petting and then were forced abruptly to his side in reaction. Mittens meowed, seemed very unhappy with the jostling as well as the sudden lack of petting.

“Sorry,” Virgil said, eyes wide. “What did I do wrong. I didn’t mean to be mean to her.”

It took Patton a moment to sus out what he was talking about and felt a pang in his chest when he did. “Oh, no honey. You didn’t do anything wrong. I meant don’t be mean to yourself.”

Virgil gave him a confused look. Mittens bumped her head against his chin and with a blink, he cautiously went back to petting her.

“Of course, she likes you sweetie, you’re a good boy.”

“I came here to kill the king. I’ve killed before.”

Patton smiled sadly. “I don’t think you ever wanted to,” he said. Virgil seemed to grow very interested in mitten’s ears. Patton scooted over so he was sitting beside him and carefully brought a hand up to touch the top of his head. Virgil sort of curled into him, pressing his face against Patton’s shoulder, but continuing to pet the cat.

“It’s fine. You’re going to be okay now,” Patton said softly.

Virgil shook his head against Patton’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Patton insisted. “You’ll be okay. You won’t have to go back.”

Virgil didn’t respond for a long moment. “You can’t keep me in Logan’s closet forever,” he said softly. “When his dad comes back, you’re going to have to turn me in.”

Well, that was true, but… “It’ll be okay. No one will hurt you.”

“The kings would be assassin?” Virgil asked skeptically.

“Thomas is nice. He’ll understand.”

“He’s nice to you. He’s nice to Logan. Maybe he’s even nice to the people he rules over, but what am I? An enemy assassin who would have slit his throat if I hadn’t gotten the wrong room.”

It…it did sound bad when he put it like that, but, but… “Thomas will understand,” he promised, hugging him tight. “He will, and we’ll keep you safe and I’ll introduce you to every single cat in the castle. In fact, we’ll get you a cat to keep as a pet if you want and he or she can snuggle you as much as you want. I’ll show you all around the gardens and introduce you to Mama and help you figure out what your favorite type of cookie is. You’ll never have to hurt anyone again and no one will ever hurt you again.”

Virgil drew away a bit and shot him a half smile. He clearly didn’t believe him, and it made Patton’s stomach twist a bit. Patton knew. He knew Thomas would be nice. There was no way he’d hurt Virgil. Virgil was just a kid and with Logan and Patton on his side, there was no way anything bad would happen to him. He could see it from Virgil’s perspective though.

“I like her feet,” Virgil said, touching Mittens’ little black paw that contrasted her otherwise white coat. Mittens purred and began kneading his legs again with those paws. “I’m guessing that’s why she’s named Mittens?”

“Yeah,” said Patton softly. “‘Cause she looks like she’s wearing mittens.” Virgil leaned forward to kiss her little head and that little action made Patton’s heart ache for him. He deserved so many kitten kisses. So many.

Patton was determined to make sure he got them.

[drprettyboyspence]

Memory Lane

Dr. Spencer Reid/reader

Summary: Reader just can't seem to get to sleep one night so she decides to walk around the house she shares with her boyfriend, Spencer Reid. As she travels around the house she remembers significant moments in their relationship.

words: 2.9k

warnings: season 12 spoilers, mentioning of mental illness, nothing else to my knowledge! (just a lot of fluff) 

a/n: This is my first Spencer Reid fic and I kinda went off the rails with the word count, let me know if you enjoy it :)

I turn myself over in bed for what feels like the four hundredth time this hour, facing the ceiling now. I can hear the rustling of leaves outside and the distant sirens of the city, remembering how those sounds used to bring me some sort of comfort as a child, now all I can think of is the death and tragedy being an FBI profiler has brought me into contact with, the horrors at the end of the trail of sirens. Mostly noticeably though, I hear the steady breathing of the man lying next to me in the king bed, glancing over at my boyfriend of almost 4 years I smile warmly, his unruly hair draped over the pillow, glad to see him in deep sleep. Recently he hasn’t been sleeping well, suffering from PTSD from his time spent in prison as well as all the trauma the poor man has been through in the last 10 years of his life. I quietly get out of bed, making sure not to bother him, he deserves a good nights sleep and we have to be at the BAU in a depressingly minuscule amount of hours. My feet hit the cold wooden floors and I wonder for the uncountable time “Why did we decide on wooden floors?” A memory of an argument with Spencer answers my question,  

“Because silly, don’t you know that carpets can hold up to 200,000 bacteria per square inch, this room is 100 square feet, 144 square inches per square foot, that is 28,800,000 bacteria in our bedroom alone.” I remember shaking my head at him, he’s always been such a germaphobe. In fact, when we first met, he shook my hand, and later when I confided in JJ and Penelope that I had pretty intense feelings for the resident genius of the BAU, they mentioned that he usually hates shaking hands, is known for refusing to shake the hands of many people the team comes into contact with on cases. He shook my hand right away, it’s one of the things I love about him and we always say we knew right away that we had a special connection. I glance at Spencer’s sleeping frame one more time before leaving the bedroom and making my way down the hallway. There are pictures there, pictures of me and Spence, him and his mom, pictures of the team at work, Spencer won’t admit it often, but he wakes up every morning scared that he won’t remember those he loves, his mother’s dementia and schizophrenia have impacted him greatly. I stop in front of a picture of me and Spence, it’s the first picture we ever took together, Halloween almost 5 years ago now, at the FBI Halloween party.

October 2015

“Come on Y/n! How can you not love Halloween!”

“Spencer, what’s so great about Halloween!” I had asked laughing while filling up a plastic cup with punch. The party is fun, but all this dressing up just seems silly to me sometimes.

“It’s a uniquely American holiday! I mean, despite its obvious origins in the Celtic festival of Samhain and the Christian All Saints’ Day, it really is a melting pot of various immigrants’ traditions and beliefs. It became a little more commercialized in the 1950s with trick-or-treat, and today it rivals only Christmas in terms of popularity!” I catch JJ’s eyes from across the room, she gives me a sympathetic look as I’m stuck in another of Reid’s constant statistics rants. Frankly, I don’t understand how the rest of the team can cut Reid off when he’s like this. He’s so genuinely excited by this holiday it makes my budding feelings for the man standing in front of me even stronger.

“Aw you guys look so cute! Say cheese!” the always-hyper voice of Penelope Garcia shouts from across the bullpen, snapping a quick picture of me and Spence before running after Derek. I glance down at my phone and see a text from Penelope “It doesn’t take a profiler to realize how gone you are for him Y/n” I blush profusely before continuing my conversation with Spencer.

Present day

Tearing my eyes away from that specific picture, I continue walking to the end of the hallway, painfully aware that the floorboards are squeaking with my every step, hoping Spencer’s just-finished-a-case level of exhaustion will prevent him from waking up. I pass the threshold into the kitchen and see the dim light of the clock over the stove, the red 2:15 blinking back at me through my tired eyes, I just can’t seem to get to sleep tonight, I’m sure Spencer would say something like

“Chronic insomnia is usually tied to an underlying mental or physical issue. Anxiety, stress, and depression are some of the most common causes of chronic insomnia but even if you do not suffer from chronic insomnia, 35% of Americans report their sleep quality as poor or only fair.” Dating a living encyclopedia definitely has its perks I suppose. I walk towards the fridge and glance at the refrigerator, my eyes traveling to a postcard held up by a doctor who magnet. Houston, Texas the postcard reads.

February 2017

Me and Spencer had been dating for less than 6 months but as we had known each other for over a year I was falling head over heels in love with him. The last few months hadn’t been easy, Spencer learned that his mother had been diagnosed with dementia and not a day had gone by where he didn’t try and find a cure, he had been traveling to Houston,Texas to talk with his mother’s doctor, he then brought her to live with him in Virginia, it had been difficult to say the least. My fingers traced the edges of the postcard I had received in the mail this morning, then flipped it over and saw Spencer’s familiar scraggly handwriting, it read

Dear Y/n,

I was able to speak with my mother’s doctors today, I feel as though there must be more I can be doing, she seems to be responding to the medicines but I am looking into new methods of treating the disease. I miss you so much Y/n, and I miss the rest of the team as well, tell them I will be back as soon as I can, I hate the thought of you putting yourself in danger on cases without me there, not because I doubt your ability to protect yourself, but because I doubt my ability to handle being 1,402 miles away from you. Please do not worry about me, if you’re anxiously awaiting my return, stop looking at the clock because remember, when looking at a clock our brains anticipate what we’ll see faster than we actually see it, so the clock seems to stop, Ill be back before you know it Y/n.

With all my love, Spencer Reid.

I giggle quietly at the added facts, only Spencer would describe the phenomenon of a clock appearing stopped when glanced out. I’m concerned about Spencer though, I’m not sure what is going on, but there is definitely something not right with him and if I didn’t trust him so much I would consider asking Garcia to do a background check to check the legitimacy of his travels to Houston.

Present Day

This postcard is extremely bittersweet, the next week we were all rushing to Mexico, responding to a call that Spencer was in jail, I was a nervous wreck, we all were, it was an extremely rough 6 months, truly showing me how strong the man I love is. I push some of those harsh memories out of my brain, choosing to focus on the happy memories if I ever want to fall asleep tonight. There’s a coffee machine next to the fridge, if there’s one thing Spencer loves more than me, its coffee, or rather coffee flavored sugar with the amount of sweetener he puts in his cup every day. Spencer smells like coffee, almost always, he struggles to sleep most nights and therefore is always hyped up on caffeine. It's actually played a huge role in our relationship.

August 2016

Dr. Spencer Reid and I are walking to the BAU together as we do every single day, we live close to each other, close enough that he walks about 5 minutes before arriving at my house, we then walk to the coffee shop on the way to the train station. We’re best friends, but I’ve been secretly in love with him for months. Walking into Quantico, we get the daily glances from Penelope, Derek, and JJ who are sitting together looking at pictures of Henry. Penelope always teases me that we’re both so in love with each other that everyone can see it but us, it’s ironic actually. As much as I don’t believe Pen, I have been noticing small changes in Spence’s behavior the last couple months, prompting me to, in the deepest corners of my mind, hope that maybe he feels the same way, our friendship is worth too much to risk him not feeling the same way though, so I’m forever stuck. We aren’t on a case right now, so there’s a lot of paperwork to be done, at one point during the day I get up, asking Spence if he wants another cup of coffee before walking to the break room. I return after a brief 5 minutes and am surprised to see Derek sitting in my seat, arguing with Spencer.

“Come on Pretty boy! We both know you’re in love with her! Just ask her out man, she’ll say yes!”

“Morgan, quiet down, she’ll be back any minute, besides I’m 35 and Y/n is 32, I’m not saying there would even be a chance that we would get married but the marriage success rate in the United States is only 50%, the worst it has ever been, that therefore shows the state of relationships in the country as well, I don’t want to ruin our friendship, I could never lose her. Besides, I’ve never been good with women.”

“But that’s the thing pretty boy, you don’t have to be good with women, you’re already good with Y/n, she’s the one who matters, just ask her out man, you’ll regret it if you don’t.” With that Morgan walks away and I take a deep breath, its now or never, walking over to Spencer and setting down the cup, whispering in his ear,

“You never know how good with women you are until you try, Spence” He looks up at me with wide eyes and licks his tongue across his lips, something he does often.

“Um, Y/n, y-you heard all of that?” I nod and I can see Spence take a deep breath just as I did before walking over, “W-would you like to um- go to dinner with me Y/n?”

“Hmm I don’t know…” Spencer’s face starts to fall as I quickly continue “Of course I would love to go to dinner with you silly, what did you think?” His smile lights up the entire room as he pulls me into a deep hug.

“Well finally you two. You couldn’t have waited just a few more months though, I assumed you lovebirds wouldn’t get it together until after Spencer’s birthday” Rossi says from behind us, passing a pretty hefty stack of bills to Penelope.

That was the day that started the greatest adventure of my life.

Present Day

I leave the kitchen and walk to the living room, a chilly breeze blows my hair slightly askew, its June in Virginia, warm enough that all I’m wearing is one of Spence’s oversized MIT shirts with pajama shorts, but the night air causes slight goosebumps on my skin, sending me into my memories once again.

August 2019

Spencer and I are sitting on the couch, participating in yet another Doctor Who marathon on the tv, it's a rare day off from work and the hot summer air fills our living room even with the fan blowing through the house. I lie my head in Spencer’s lap as we watch the tv and his strong hand strokes the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to pop up all over my arms. I giggle and glance up at him causing him to pointedly look at me asking me with his eyes “What is so funny that you dare distract from Doctor Who?”

“It’s just strange, its 95 degrees outside but your hands on my neck give me goosebumps like its a crisp fall day, isn’t that funny baby?”

“Of course the most common cause of goosebumps is cold weather, but when you’re experiencing extreme emotions, the human body responds in a variety of ways. Two common responses include increased electrical activity in the muscles just under the skin and increased depth or heaviness of breathing, resulting in goosebumps.” I roll my eyes at him and playfully swat his hair out of his eyes.

“Only you, Dr. Spencer Reid, would take a romantic statement and turn it into statistics, and I love you for that” he kisses me and well, the Doctor Who marathon was quickly turned off after that.

Present Day

As I turn the corner into the living room I smile warmly, it’s the room that Spencer and I like the best. There are book cases lining the back wall, Spencer loves books, I’d ask him what made his books so special and he’d tell me stories of his childhood, his mom reading him 15th century literature, I loved when Spence told me stories about his childhood.

December 2017

I knocked on the door of Spencer’s apartment, it wasn’t like him to be late for our daily walk to work especially because he had been on probation after his time in jail. I received no answer, prompting my concern as I unlocked the door with the key he had given me. I walked into his living room and saw him, Spencer was sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by books, running his fingers up and down the pages as he does when he’s reading at his top speed.

“Spence what on earth are you doing! Where did all these books come from? We aren’t on a case are we?”

“This year in the United States alone there have been 328,259 new books published, I read at 20,000 words per minute but at an average of 100,000 words per book, it would take me 27,377 hours to read all those books!”

“Oh Spencer how I love you, you don’t need to read every book ever published, are you going to start reading romance novels?” I tease while picking up a copy of 50 Shades of Gray from the ground at Spencer’s feet.

“Okay maybe you’re right, I just feel like I missed so much time when I was incarcerated, all that reading I could’ve done when I was trapped in that place, it's time I can never get back.”

“Spencer, I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you, but this is not going to help that feeling go away, let’s go to work.” Spencer nodded and began to tidy up the floor before following me out the door.

“Wait, Y/n, I have to ask you something that I’ve meant to say since I’ve gotten out of jail, and I might as well say it now, will you move in with me?” He’s chewing on his bottom lip again and I jump into his arms in excitement, kissing his hair as he caresses the back of my head.

“Of course I’ll move in with you! I love you, Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“And I love you Y/n Y/l/n.”

Present Day

I’m coming around to the opposite side of the living room now, sitting down on the couch in front of the fireplace. I love the fireplace in our house and I think secretly Spencer does too. We argued for days over the safety of having a fireplace in our house, Spencer of course supplied with enough knowledge of house fires to last him 5 lifetimes, “But Spencer it’ll be so cozy, doesn’t it sound romantic to cuddle up by the fire?” I had pleaded with him the day we toured the house for the first time.

“Y/n, there were an average of 357,400 residential fires per year in the US between 2012 and 2014, an average of 22,300 of those fires were caused by a fireplace or chimney!”

“But Spenceee, that’s only 6.24% of the residential house fires during that period, 43.9% were from cooking equipment, are you going to forbid us from having a kitchen too?” Hey, don’t underestimate how useful a cellphone calculator and a quick google search can be in winning an argument against your genius boyfriend. Obviously, we had ended up agreeing on the fireplace, but Spencer was still overly cautious whenever it was in use. As I stood in front of the fireplace I became hyper aware of the floorboards creaking in the hallway just as they had done when I left the room earlier, I felt a presence enter the room and the 6’1” frame of my boyfriend wrapped his long arms around me from behind while burying his face in the hollow of my shoulder.

“Hi, baby, what are you doing up so late? Are you feeling okay? Can’t seem to get to sleep?” I nod back at him and recline my head so it rests on his strong chest.

“I was just taking a trip down memory lane I suppose” I say before smiling up at the love of my life.

[intothewickedwood]

Once Upon A Time Rewatch: 5x22 Only You

Does that mean Storybrooke’s magic is gone now that Rumple has tethered it to the crystal?

Well, I guess he can’t have taken all of it or Regina wouldn’t have been able to teleport etc.

Henry’s relationship with magic is like a freaking rollercoaster. At first, he thinks it’s the best thing in the world, then he hates it so much he wants to destroy it, then it’s the best thing in the world, then he tries to destroy it, then it’s the best thing in the world! But that’s kids for you, I guess! I’m sure I was like that and still can be. Come to think of it, would putting dynamite in the well in season 2 have destroyed magic?

Is that needle that’s put dozens of people under a sleeping curse the same one Maleficent used on Aurora?

Henry’s literally so powerful. I wish he could use his author powers more.

How is taking the crystal out of SB gonna destroy magic in SB?

Oh, so Rumple tethered the magic but didn’t technically absorb it from the town, so they can still use it.

Why can’t Regina text Henry to say that destroying magic would destroy SB? 

Guess they can go over the town line now, for the first time in like forever. But I guess Emma & Regina & Henry could already cross the threshold, possibly Violet too as she didn’t come over with the first curse. And then the others are brought to New York by a portal. 

Oh! So that’s why they can use magic in the lwom? Because Henry brought the crystal aka all the magic of Storybrooke there.

Aww. Henry and Violet are cute. I just wouldn’t recommend reading the Henry and Violet book if you appreciate their relationship in the show.

Oh, thank God. Zelena does promise to bring baby Robin to visit her brother Roland! I need them to have known each other growing up! I bet they’re really close. And Roland is just as sweet as ever and has to stop his sister being reckless. The Hufflepuff to her Slytherin (+ Gryffindor tendencies), if you will. And I need fics where Roland doesn’t grow up to be vengeful and angry. Once a Hufflepuff cupcake, always a Hufflepuff cupcake.

Did Regina agree to Roland going back to Sherwood Forest? I’m surprised she didn’t adopt him. It must have been the Merry Men’s decision because no way would they take orders from Zelena. 

Aww! Roly kissing his baby sis!! I’m gonna miss you Roly!! Literally the most adorable kid! Aww and Granny kisses him on the head too! I die!!

Look at his little mittens!!

I’m guessing he doesn’t know she killed his mama but maybe he knows that she posed as her and in a strange way enjoyed his time with her? I mean, I guess you can say that as Marian Zelena did, at least, take care of Roland and bond with him. Maybe she always wanted to be a mother? Still doesn’t excuse her killing Marian and posing as her. Just trying to make sense of this hug. Maybe Roland is just super forgiving! And you can say it’s cause he’s a child but let me tell you, I was so much less willing to forgive really terrible things as a child than I am now. 

Omg. They all fell so hard through that portal! Ow!

Emma’s genuinely worried Regina’s gonna put a sleeping curse on her.

Baelfire was trying to destroy magic in New York?

Ron used sellotape to try to fix his wand, so why not?

Omg Davis Bloom, love of my life! Well, it’s Hyde but this guy loves to play literal monsters! Listen, before Once Upon a Time, Smallville was my hardcore special interest show. I rewatched it so many times since I was 9! Anyway, Chloe was my favourite character and I’d always been a Chloe x Clark shipper and then Davis came along and Chlavis became my otp. He loved her so much! He gave her the love and attention she deserved! Yes it was messed up but that’s what 12-year-old me was and is here for! My mum and I were so excited when we found out the actor was gonna be in Ouat! I loved Davis to bits and ngl, was highly attracted to him (as was my mama), so excuse me as I continue to be thirsty over Hyde.

Back to the rewatch!

Hyde strangling people is my jam lol.

Snow, my girl, you really can’t keep a secret. She darn told Hyde about the Dark One’s love being pregnant! Oh well, love her anyway. And also, she was 10.

I’ll never forget, I once cut my eye and it legit looked like one of Hyde’s but scarier. It was so frightening to look at and really uncomfortable, but it healed eventually. Gives me the shivers just thinking about it. But it looks cool and sexy on Hyde xD. 

Is that the same book Tilly finds at Henry’s place in 7x14?

Regina: “like with Hook, my first impulse was to rip his throat out.” Jesus Regina! You’re saying that to the woman who just went to the Underworld for Hook and thought she’d lost him forever. He’s someone she loves. That’s intense! As someone who’s been told by a loved one, threateningly, that they are (completely seriously) going to violently kill another loved one, several times, that is so not cool. Luckily no one was killed though, it’s okay. 

I recently read a really interesting meta about Regina’s motivation for redemption being intellectual. Like she says here, she doesn’t want to do good. She hates doing good but she knows that villainous acts won’t get her her happy ending and so she reasons that in order for things to go less awful for her, she must to good. She doesn’t do it because of empathy, guilt or regret, she does it because she figures it’s what the heroes are doing and things are going right for them and because if she goes back to her evil ways she knows she’ll lose Henry and her new and only support network. I think the same can be said for Zelena’s motivations to do good. No shade, just an analysis.

Well at least she’s using the word “I” to express that she did those things. But, she seems more concerned about those things hanging over her than for what she did to her victims and how they felt and suffered.  She even seems more upset at the fact that she has lost a love again than the fact that Robin lost his life and his kids have lost their father.

Hmm. Interesting. She seems to suggest here that before she didn’t know the difference between good and evil. You know what, that could be true because she didn’t really get why people called her the ‘Evil Queen’ and then there’s the fact she was raised by Cora and Henry Sr. Cora probably warped her perception of good and evil and her father positively reinforced a lot of the evil Regina did and didn’t explain to her why the things Cora did and the lessons she taught were wrong.

Why are all those stories in the library? That makes no sense. 

There’s a problem. If the grail is the origin of all magic and Merlin found it around 1500 years before the present (apparently Merlin was a runaway slave too. Of course he flipping was!), how comes Gothel and Seraphina had magic thousands of years ago? I mean, I suppose they were from another land (that Gothel killed almost all the inhabitants of), so I guess people just don’t know magic didn’t originate from the grail. I mean, since the God’s had magic before the grail, and nymphs possibly have relations to gods, I suppose it makes sense that Gothel had magic but then, what about Seraphina? How does she have magic and how did she live so long? Did Gothel cast a spell on her that made her practically immortal or was she already immortal?

Well, that was easy for Rumple lol.

Transforming looks really painful.

The thing is. They shouldn’t have separated Jekyll from Hyde. I think it would have been cooler if they hadn’t. Sure, they can make Jekyll the true villain but why not have the heroes try to save Jekyll as Hyde thwarts their plans at every turn to the point where they have to agonize over hurting Jekyll to defeat Hyde. The same can be said for Regina. Don’t split them up! Just have Regina transform into the Evil Queen so you can’t tell when she’s Regina and when she’s the EQ working on her evil plan. That would’ve been really fun to watch and to try to figure out which persona she was and when! Also, they should have just made Jekyll transform when emotionally compromised rather than when taking the potion because without an assistant Jekyll could have easily lived without Hyde ever returning. 

I hate the look of that wand.

Hydes theme sounds so awesome!

Also, it would have been really cool to explore the Land of Untold Stories. It looks so rad!

How can Hyde summon the portal? Don’t you have to have enough dark magic?! I guess maybe his strength and durability are enhanced by dark magic?

Rumple, I don’t think Belle can here you in that box.

Can I marry Hyde now? I want to marry Hyde. 

[illshowyourhurricanes]

Rewind, Restart

This S2 Billy Russo fic was, for all intents and purposes, planned (albeit roughly) to be a New Years’ Eve drabble, simple and maybe a touch angsty and done at about 600 words. The only things that stayed the way I planned? This is S2 Billy Russo, and it takes place on NYE. This one grew a mind of its own, and i’m about 99.5% sure it’s going to turn into an all-out series. There is most certainly angst and a lot more to come. Sorry (but only a little).

Special thanks to @the-blind-assassin-12 @ladyofnaps @thesandbeneathmytoes for their input!

Synopsis: Billy Russo returns. You’ll have to read more to find out the significance. No trigger warnings here!

Rating: PG-13ish for some language and implied smut.

Word count: 4078

Taglist: @dylanobrusso @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @ms-delos @madamrogers​ @lexxierave​ @agent-bossypants​ @yannii04​ @gollyderek​ @carlaangel86​ @poindexted​ @maydayfigment​ @thisisparadisemylove​ @ladyofnaps​ @malionnes​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​

If you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please just shoot me an ask! 

Your mind was finally working with you again. You were, for this first time in awhile, having normal thoughts: you had leftovers to reheat for dinner, you had a like of laundry to wash, you had e-mails to respond to. The numb autopilot you’ll been operating on for most of autumn and the beginning of winter were thawing like your fingers after returning to the heat of your home after being out in the snow. 

Finally, the thoughts of Billy Russo, ones that snatched your spirit and tore it to shreds, were no longer holding you hostage. A new year was just there on the horizon, and you’d made a promise to yourself: that man, everything he had stood for, the memory of his cold, black, empty eyes… they’d be no more. The twisted sadness your heart held onto with a tight grip as you’d learned of his demise— and then his escape— would be no more. You wouldn’t allow that man to steal one more second of your happiness, your life. He’d never been worth it, and all the time you’d spent wasting on thoughts of him was time you’d never get back. He had a knack for taking things that weren’t his, even when he was nowhere in sight. It had been well over a year since you’d laid eyes on him and somehow, in that way he always did—that way you used to love— he still crawled under your skin uninvited. He took up residence there, lying dormant only long enough for you to all but forget about him completely before he flared up again, parasitic and vile. You’d had an inflammatory case of the side effects of loving Billy Russo for far too fucking long. In just a few hours, your were bound and determined to be cured. 

The clock on the far wall of your living room ticked with a soft click, one you’d grown so accustomed to, it was rarely noticeable. 10:42. There was no chance of you going back out, leaving your apartment, fighting through the throngs of people— lunatics who had thought it a brilliant idea to spend New Years Eve in New York City. You preferred the solitude of your apartment, a few glasses of wine, and maybe enough of it  enough to assist you in dozing off before the clock struck midnight. 

A half hour later, you were feeling the warmth of the alcohol in your chest, spreading along your insides. For the first time in awhile, there wasn’t a chill lining your bones: even the pads of your fingers and tips of your toes were warm. The trilling of loud laughter and heaviness of uneven thuds— footsteps of a neighbor, you presumed— passed outside your door. Allowing your eyes to close, your rested your head against the back of your couch as the low volume of the television provided a little hum of company. A late Christmas commercial, the one with red and green foil-wrapped Hershey Kisses playing “We Wish You A Merry Christmas’, grabbed your attention just momentarily and your brows knitted together as you picked your head up to glare at the technicolor screen. 

Billy Russo has always hated Christmas. 

**** 

Billy’s mind was fractured. His memory, the pieces of it he still had— It’s like a jigsaw puzzle,, Billy. We just have to fit the pieces together— were as jagged and torn as the puckered scars over his cheeks, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. Those weren’t as bright, not as thick as they once were, but they were blatantly obvious. They’d never heal completely, never disappear. His memories, however, seemed as if they’d never reappear or become more vivid. He remembered nothing concretely past his time in the Marines with the exception of one thing. 

He remembered you. 

Some of the things he recounted were quick snippets and some flickered in half-seconds, like a montage of images on an old television set. A half a second of your smile, the way your entire face lit up, eyes so bright with amusement, they made the lights in Midtown New York seem dull; the way you searched his face, anchoring onto each feature and assessing every single one like it was the first time. Sometimes, he could still feel the feather-light touch of your fingertips trailing over his spine, the tickle of your hair fanning over his shoulder, the malleable way your lips molded to his. 

Then, there were those certain memories, the ones that he savored, lingered in, begged desperately to relive again and again, the ones that lasted longer. He remembered galas, the clinking of glasses, the way he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, and the agitation of the anticipation of unlocking the door lightning-fast, murmuring in your ear how you looked stunning in that dress, but it suited the floor better, the dragging of his mouth over your skin. He remembered the almost non-stop giggling in his car after too much champagne, or the way you fell asleep late at night fast and heavy, chattering away one moment and breathing deep and evenly a minute later. He remembered the way you taste, but beyond it all, the memory he carried with him that was more vivid than any other, was your eyes brimming with tears and the way you lifted your chin despite the way you were falling apart when he walked out of your life. Billy had many things to regret, or so he’d been told, but deciding you weren’t worth his time had been the most reprehensible. Yet, Billy had no choice. He had been conditioned to be hard, cold, and callous  The one person who had threatened to challenge that idea was you.

Vanishing hadn’t changed that. There had been a time in Billy’s life where he had the certainty that he was indestructible. He sneered at the thought as he lifted his head and stared into the mirror, his eyes no longer empty, but filled with disdain. But look at you now, Russo.  He turned and grabbed his coat, pulling it on in a rush. Look at you now. 

*****

it was a drunk party-goer knocking on the wrong door. 

11:15,  and you’d heard enough stumbling and loud slurring to fill your lifetime. You’d heard blaring music, reverberating bass. There was undoubtedly  more than one obnoxious party going on in your building. The sheer  number of people attending these parties was, you were sure, well above the lawful maximum capacity.

The knock sounded again, this time louder and with an added urgency. You rolled your eyes upward toward the ceiling, annoyed, but found yourself getting to your feet. Your wine glass was empty, anyway, and you were in dire need of a refill. On your way to the kitchen, you stopped at your door, sliding the chain lock into its slot before inching the door open, speaking though the small gap immediately. 

“Wrong door,” you said abruptly, barely glancing up at the face of the man standing just beyond the threshold. He wore dark jeans, a leather jacket layered over a black hoodie. Your eyes scanned upward, obviously unimpressed with his wardrobe, and for half a second your gaze was drawn to a tawny knit beanie covering his hair. It was only then that you lowered your eyes to his face, and your jaw slacked. Deep gashes slashed the man’s forehead, the bridge of his nose, the angles and planes of his cheeks. Dark stubble hid his chin, yet you suspected there was some degree of damage there, too. 

Your heart immediately began to hammer in your chest. You knew his features, even as distorted as they appeared, and you were met with a lightheaded certainty as you forced yourself to meet his eyes. The deafening sound of your blood rushing in your ears clouded your head and you blinked in absolute disbelief; you couldn’t believe the same pair of inky black eyes had once appeared to be so utterly empty. 

Now, they were bottomless. There was so much held there, so many layers of hurt, of fear, the heaviness of anger, endless questions and a slight shadow of grief and loss. His eyes were wide and you were absolutely certain you had to be imagining the glimpse of glossiness there. Billy Russo didn’t possess so much emotion.

“It’s not the wrong door.” When he finally spoke, words got stuck in your own throat. His New York accent was thicker than you’d ever heard it previously, and his voice was quiet. He wasn’t CEO of Anvil anymore. There was no arrogance, no authority to his tone. “I remembered…” A slight smirk passed over his features for mere seconds before vanishing. It was all the evidence you needed that this man and the man you remembered wee one and the same.“I  remembered the building, the apartment number. I never forgot it.” His voice almost took on a sense of pride and accomplishment, yet his expression had faded away. His eyes, however, bored into yours and you felt almost violated. “I never forgot you.”

Still, you stood stunned, frozen like a statue with your empty wine glass in your hand, unable to move, having trouble comprehending his words. Who was this man? He stood with a slight stature of defeat, skinnier than you remembered him. His mangled cheeks were sallow, hands you remembered roaming over every inch of you stuffed inside coat pockets of a coat the man you’d stupidly let yourself fall in love with would never be caught dead in. 

“Billy…” His name over your tongue felt like home. Some unknown force seemed to come over you and you found yourself undoing the chain lock and taking a few steps back, allowing Billy to come inside. You didn’t know why you’d said his name. You didn’t know what else to say, or how to begin. You were well aware of how seriously hurt he had been and that he had escaped from the hospital he was admitted to, was a wanted man. But for all the things you felt for Billy, there had always been a stark, bold absence of fear. Yes, he was a dangerous man. He could kill without breaking a sweat and you knew as much as he would allow about what he was previously involved in. Presently, however, you possessed a wealth if information he didn’t remember, and it was all unbeknownst to you. You had no idea that Billy’s mind was fractured. 

He followed you inside, the door closing with a soft click behind him. You were hidden behind the refrigerator door, cork of the Cabernet Franc you’d been slowly nursing clenched between your teeth. You filled your glass to the brim this time, pausing before re-corking the bottle. “Wine?” Why were you offering this man who continued to haunt you uninvited a glass of wine? Perhaps you were more buzzed than you thought.

Billy nodded in response, but you had already turned to retrieve a glass, filling it halfway with the crimson liquid. It almost looked like blood. 

You returned to sit across from Billy, reaching to set his drink down in front of him before lowering yourself down into your chair. The picture was one that had been painted many times before, Billy laughing, tie loosened around his neck and long legs stretched and sprawled in front of him as he leaned back in his chair causally. Half the time you’d end up straddling his lap, your face dropping to kiss his full lips, dishes being left for the next morning. 

The man across from you sat tall, his back rod-straight against the back of the chair he occupied. He stared, not with a set of eyes that devoured you, but appraised you instead, almost suspiciously so, yet with no apparent trepidation or hesitation. Your eyes swept over his face once more as you studied his features in the same way. His eyes— they jarred you, struck something in the core of you; you’d never seen anything like them. As he realized you were staring back, they narrowed slightly, darkening into an inky blsck, and for the first time in your life, you felt a slight twinge of fear for Billy. 

As quickly as his reaction came over his face it vanished. Almost stiffly, he shrugged out of his ugly coat, folded the material over once and draped it over the back of his chair. It was followed by the long fingers of one hand pulling the old beanie from his head, and you heard your own sharp intake of breath as you gasped. His hair was cropped close to his scalp, a fraction longer than a buzz cut, the kind your older brother would get in the summertime as a kid. Billy had always had a head full of thick, jet black hair, kept short and close to his scalp at the sides, long strands at the top you loved running your fingers through and tugging at with just enough force. 

Your mouth hung agape and he sniffed, raising his chin high. His gaze was heavy with apprehension and shame, anger sleeping through  He clenched his jaw. “What’s the matter, Y/N?” Hoe voice was low and even, and he sounded a but hoarse. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

Clearing your throat, you blinked before you let your eyes trail down the length of every thick, dark pink, jagged scar— one on his forehead that slashed through his hairline, a lesser one on the left side; a horizontal gash across the bridge of his nose. One cheek boasted a myriad of scattered, messily stitched together areas of his cheek, after-effects of his injuries crossing over one another. His left eye was somehow still intact;  a long, deep scar extended from temple to cheekbone; another an inch below, another closer toward his mouth. 

He tilted his head to the side, raising his brows at your audacity and finally grasping the glass you’d placed in front of him. He gulped half of its contents down before lightly placing it back onto the tabletop, his eyes falling to rest there  He seemed embarrassed. Billy Russo having the capability to be humiliated was almost comedic, but even more so, it was bizarre. It was striking. Beneath it all, it was sad. 

There was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow down and you tugged at the ponytail you had circling your wrist, raking your fingers through your hair before pulling it up and out of your face. Billy was picking at a crack in the oak wood of your kitchen table, eyes still downcast, when you finally spoke. 

“Why are you here, Billy?”

*****

“Why are you here, Billy?”

Why are you here, Billy? He silently thought of his own name with an air of disgust. His head was spinning, fragmented thoughts crashing one into another into another, ricocheting inside his skull.  His face felt hot, flushed with embarrassment and shame, another unwanted something he’d gained, yet never wanted. No one had ever stared at him like that, bold and unwavering, almost as if inspecting his imperfections in an effort to find more that he may have missed, as if he hadn’t lost enough. As if he hadn’t stood in agony in front of a mirror and contradictoraly avoided all reflective surfaces. As if he didn’t put effort forth to shroud the atrocity of what used to be his face under the solace of a hood more often than not, hadn’t been called a freak, was unaware of lips curled in disgust and whispers of contempt. Billy was anything but blissfully unaware. 

He dropped his hand from the table and to his lap, inhaling deeply and slowly. Shaking his head, he knitted his brows together and lifted his hand again only to tap at his head. He ran his hand over his cropped hair, the short strands prickling the palm of his hand. It was an unconscious habit, one he’d developed at some point while locked away in the hospital, confined to his room like a convict in a prison cell, rotting away with cops just outside his door 24-hours a day, seven days a week. He wasn’t a good guy, they’d said. He’d had it coming, this thing that had been done to him. He was dangerous. A felon. 

They were mistaken. They had the wrong guy. Billy was a Marine, he was ranked as a Special

Forces lieutenant. He wasn’t a felon.

He tapped at his skull again, nodding at you finally when the answer to your question dawned on him. His nod was emphatic, almost excited as if he’d solved a riddle no one else had been able to make sense of. Everything’s a riddle. Everything is a goddamn riddle.

“I remembered…” He shook his head, paused and clenched his teeth before correcting himself. “I remember you. And I knew… know, where to find you.” He had a faraway, almost glossy look coating his eyes, and they almost looked familiar, suddenly void of any emotion. He felt the memories, but he didn’t feel them. 

“I remember Frank.” His eyes focused on your face again, looking for any type of reaction to his name. Frank was his family. He was his brother. “I don’t know where to find him.” 

Your face remained the same, almost expressionless except for a slight air of curiosity. Frank was dead. And Billy had no idea. Your heart hammered unevenly in your chest, and you slowly shook your head. You’d heard Billy tell countless stories about his friend, but you’d never met him. That was the shadow of real truth in the answer you gave him “I don’t know where to find him either, Bill.”

Your heart ached for Billy, and for what? He’d abandoned you, he’d looked into your face, peered straight into your eyes and coldly informed you, without any warning at all, that you weren’t worth his time. He stopped calling, stopped texting, stopped coming to your building, stopped whispering in your ear and sending shivers down your spine with his voice like velvet, his lips like satin, his tongue burning like the liking of tiny flames across your skin. He’d offered no further explanation. You simply were not longer worth his time. Perhaps you had always been one of the many women he fucked. Perhaps that’s all you were to him, but the way he’s played the game just didn’t connect. He took you out. You accompanied him to business functions, galas and fundraisers. He spent time at your apartment when he was able, and your relationship never had a title and you didn’t need one. You knew you weren’t the only woman he seeked entertainment from, but you were the one he spent time with both between and away from the sheets. And one day, you became unworthy of his time. 

Several months after Billy, you’d spent yet another weekend inside, blankly flipping through the television channels. Your relationship with Netflix was becoming too serious to suit your tastes. Finally settling on the droll of a contestant’s dull story on Jeopardy!!, his voice was cut off by a breaking news briefing. Billy’s name was read off, a familiar picture of his face on the screen as it had been many times before. Your eyes stung with the telltale prickling of tears, a sense of dread settling in your stomach. Instead of  boasts of company revenue or success, the, CEO and founder of Anvil Security was severely wounded, hospitalized and in critical condition. 

You remembered the way your hands trembled and how you felt unsteady on your feet for days. You remembered how you cried for this man who had shattered your self-worth and how, despite your unshakable belief that you hated him, you even prayed to a higher power you’d never believed in for Billy to pull through.

You remembered the swimming in your head when, months later,  a live news update broke through a commercial break to report that Billy Russo had escaped from Sacred Saints Hospital, and that he was considered armed and dangerous. Jesus, Russo, what have you done? You never expected to see him again. And now that he was there, sitting at your table, asking questions about his best friend, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that, for years now, Frank Castle had been dead. 

“I don’t know, Billy. I’m sorry.” Your voice sounded gentler than you had intended it to. When you saw the way he furiously blinked back the tears that had welled up in his eyes, the two seconds of shock that shot through you due to Billy showing that sort of emotion was overtaken by an overwhelming flood of grief. Frank was all that Billy had left, and Billy was processing that there was a very real possibility that he had lost Frank too. He swallowed hard, rolling his neck from side to side, silently begging for a distraction. 

You demanded yourself to stay in that chair, to remain anchored and concrete. You sanctioned the order to not fall for Billy’s manipulation, not again, but there was nothing about this version of Billy Russo that held any sort of pretense. The Billy you’d believed you’d known, had certainly foolishly loved and, eventually, vengefully hated… that man was no longer existed. He was dead. This man sitting defeated and alone at your kitchen table was the truth behind the man he had— for years—  mastered hiding behind expensive suits, perfect features, irresistible words and carefully calculated, intoxicating  touch. He had been clever, confident, successful, coveted, powerful, rich, and revered. 

And now, aa odd as it struck you, the totality of his belief that he was nothing was tangible in the space between the two of you. It tainted the air, and you understood. You’d felt like nothing before, and at the hands of this man. You’d had far too much pride to ever come out and tell Billy how you felt about him, wary about the consequences. The irony in it all was that he’d still walked out of your life, even without you saying a word. 

“Billy.” You said his name softly, your voice little more than a whisper. You were careful to stand slowly; you didn’t have the details, but it was obvious something much more than the scars littering his face had affected him. Your intuition told you to tread lightly. You stopped half a foot from where he sat, those striking wide eyes of a stranger looking up at you, almost pleading for something… anything. “I thought about you,” you confessed, before you could stop yourself. “I worried.” 

A deep line appeared in the slow furrow of Billy’s brow. He didn’t know what that was like—to be worried about. He felt a hollowness in his chest,  because he was at a loss of words, of a way to react to your words. The beat of silence that passed between the two of you brought to your attention the quiet volume of your television in the next room growing louder with cheering. You heard the noisy applause of neighbors and their intoxicated friends through the thin walls. Midnight. 

With one more step forward, you made sure Billy was aware, that he was watching your movements as you made them. He had always been clever, stealth, one step ahead any fool who was stupid enough to cross paths with him. Perhaps his reflexes were still unparalleled. And he would always be clever. But there was something that warned her to beware; to make sure that Billy wasn’t caught by surprise. He watched every step, every little mannerism— the annoyed bursting back of a chunk of hair that had falling into your face, the unconscious gnawing on your bottom lip as you thought.

Finally, you gently placed a hand on his shoulder. You were surprised to feel the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his hoodie and t-shirt. After meeting his eyes, you leaned down to barely press your lips to his cheek. The corner of your mouth softly grazed the edge of a scar, the one that overlapped over another, connecting with a third. You pulled back to see his lips parted in surprise. For the first time since he appeared on your doorstep, your mouth turned up into a small shadow of a smile. You could at least offer him that. 

“Happy New Year, Billy.”

[katlyn1948]

Codename: Chapter 10: Arya

Codename

Katlyn1948

Chapter Management

Edit Chapter

Chapter 10: Chapter 10: Arya

Summary:

Arya wakes from her night with Gendry and begins to feel things she hasn’t felt before.

Notes:

So you know how I said that this next chapter I would be covering the rest of the their time in Mereen...well I guess I lied. Next chapter will be a sort of mini time jump when we fast forward through their time together and we will even have a scene with Davos! They will say their goodbyes and then chapter 12 or 13, things should start to pick up. I hadn’t planned on staying this long in Mereen with these two, but I needed to to help move the story along and flow better. Their time together will have repercussions and shit will go down! Anyway, I hope you like! Also please take a look and my thumbnail, it is a lovely commission piece done by @dragonanddirewolf on Tumblr. It’s essentially when these two meet in this fic! Anyway, hope you enjoy!!

Chapter Text

Her palms were sweating and her heart was racing to the point where she could hear the distinctive beats slam against her head. Something was off and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. They were prepared; there was no reason for her to be as uneasy as she was. Perhaps the mission was a little rushed, but they were professionals and they knew what they were doing; at least she tried to convince herself of that.

No, something was wrong and she could feel it.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Arya jolted awake with sweat covering every inch of her body. She had the same nightmare for the last six months and no matter how much she talked to her shrink, she couldn’t get rid of the terrifying dream. She glanced down at a sleep Gendry and was thankful that her sudden movements hadn’t woken him. She slipped from the bed and shuffled her way to the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.

Her body was sore, no doubt from their vigorous romp, and she desperately needed a shower to wash away the smell of sex. Thankfully, the light rays of sunshine were shining through the thin curtains of her hotel room when she awoke from her slumber, signaling morning had come. Gendry would wake soon, and if he were anywhere near as spent as her, the he would be ravenous for food. She hated to admit, but the activities of which she partook in rendered her starved. Of course, her body was too wiped to rise from the bed and munch on something before falling into sleep.

She turned towards the shower and shifted the handle towards cold.

Her body seemed to seep heat and the nightmare did little to help her already scorching body. She never minded the cold; in fact, she thrived in it. Winterfell’s winters were always harsh, and to common outsiders it could feel like a tundra. Therefore, it was a welcome relief when the spray of the cool water rolled over her aching muscles.

When she began to wash away the sweet bliss of pleasure, she couldn’t help but notice how sore she really was. They had gone at rough and there were certainly times were she felt like she would explode from the intensity of it all, but she never thought that it would render her nearly unable to walk. She also noticed the small loves bites that were scattered all across her inner thigh; she couldn’t be too mad at those, for she left a few on him as well.

Her memories of last night were seared into the deep crevices of her brain; she loved that she could relive the moments and hoped, at least for the next five days, that there were more nights like the last.

There was something different about this one. He seemed to understand her in more ways than one, which was a rarity to find. He knew the complexities of working with family and he knew the demands that it could take on one’s body; she saw the physical scars and she knew he saw hers, but the mental scars were still the same.

There were a few times from the previous night were they just laid in each other’s arms and talked about their life, or in her case a version of the truth she could tell. He asked about her scars and she asked about his. Both were vague with answers and she could only assume that maybe it was during his time in the war. He had mentioned to her that he served a few years in the military, before transitioning back to the family business, and had sustained a few marks along the way.

When it was her time to explain her marks, she was hesitant. The true memory was not a fond one and even giving a variation of the truth riled up unwanted memories.

“I was stabbed by one of the criminals we were hunting down. She caught me by surprise and dug her knife deep into my abdomen. I almost didn’t make it out alive.” She solemnly said. She tried to stop the tears that were welling in her eyes, but failed as she felt them cascade down her face. Gendry gentle took his thumb and wiped them from her face.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” He said softly.

Arya has shrugged, “It’s fine, really. Bounty hunting is a dangerous job. I’d be stupid to think it wasn’t.”

That garnered a smile from Gendry’s lips, causing Arya to devour them. She loved the way they felt on her own and if she had a choice, she’d kiss them for the rest of her life.

But life was cruel and it would only give her the time she had in Mereen with her handsome stranger.

She wasn’t sure how long she was in the shower, but it seemed long enough and with a groan, she lifted herself from her perch in the shower and turned off the water. Grabbing one of the soft cotton towels, she wrapped herself tightly and stood in front of the large floor to ceiling mirror.

Arya honestly didn’t know what Gendry saw in her. There were plenty of beautiful women in Mereen; everything from tall blondes to busty red heads and curvy brunettes. She was just simple. Her hair was a dark brown shade that reminded her of mud, her breast certainly weren’t that of some of the Mereenese women she had ogled. Her hips were her best feature, or at least she thought they were. There were penalty of times where the complements of men were directed to her hips. Even Gendry had marveled at them.

Maybe that was why she was able to do what she did. She was normal and could blend in with a crowd; perfect for assassinating.

A hard knock coming from the bathroom door shook her from her thoughts and she scurried over to unlatch the lock, still in her towel. Gendry greeted her with a smile and Arya couldn’t help but notice his early morning rise sticking through the bed sheet wrapped around his waist. She blushed and quickly averted her gaze before he had the change to notice her lingering eyes. She pushed the door open a little wider for him to enter. She stepped to side as his broad body passed the threshold of the bathroom, making a beeline towards the shower.

Feeling as if she overstayed her welcome in her own bathroom, she quietly made her exit, crossing the room to get to her luggage. As the sun was beginning to rise and illuminate the darkness, Arya couldn’t help but noticed how disheveled the room really was. It seems they had discarded all courtesy and went straight to the fucking, which if she remembered correctly, was exactly what happened.

Chuckling to herself, she slipped on a pair of underwear; or as Sansa called them, “Knickers that our grandmother would wear” and threw a large t-shirt that had belonged to her brother Robb, over her head. She wanted comfort in this large hotel room of her and the baggy t-shirt did just that.

As she headed into the kitchenette to pull a banana from the fridge, her thoughts began to linger towards the man in her shower. Their exchange in the bathroom hadn’t been an awkward encounter, but it did leave her feeling as if maybe their late night romp was a bad idea. Perhaps he hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he let on and that had Arya feeling a little out of place. If a previous lover had an issue with, they never told her and she never got the impression from them. With Gendry, she was suddenly hyperaware of how she looked and even on how she performed. She was by no means and expert in sex, but she had a few partners and knew how to have fun.

Arya grabbed a glass of water and sat at the bar adjacent to the open bedroom; the very bar that Gendry had devoured her wet folds just hours ago. She finished her banana and sipped at her water as she waited for him to finish with his shower; the thought that she underperformed continued to nag at her brain and it made her fidgety for the answer.

A few more minutes passed before Arya heard the water turn off and Gendry stepped out of the bathroom, steam rolling behind him.

“Hey, so I was thinking that maybe we should get something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I am starving.” He said as he rounded the corner. Arya watched as he shook his head, causing water droplets to fall to the floor. He was a sight, and his body slick with fresh water did little to ease her lust, but she shook that feeling and looked at him seriously.

“Is something wrong?” He asked as he noticed her face. Her brows were scrunched and her lips were pursed, indicating that something was bothering her.

“Was I good? I mean…last night…was it good?” She asked rather shyly. She shifted on her feet uncomfortably as she awaited his answer. It was stupid really, that this man that she has only known for all of twenty-four hours has made her insecure about her abilities to have sex.

She looked up at him then and noticed his eyes widen in concern, “Arya, are you serious? Of course, it was good. In fact, it was bloody amazing! I haven’t had that much fun in…gods only know.”

This eased Arya’s concerns and she let out a rough laugh, “I’m sorry, I thought…well when you didn’t say anything back in the bathroom, I thought you didn’t have a good time.”

Gendry chuckled, taking three steps to close the distance between them. Without hesitation, he pulled her into a hung and Arya instantly melted into his arms.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make it awkward. I guess I unintentionally did.” He confessed.

Arya smiled and pulled from his embrace, “Well good. I’m glad you-we had fun. Now, what were you saying about food?”

“Mmm, only that I’m ravenous and could eat anything…including you.” He jabbed.

Arya scoffed and lightly hit him across the chest, “Get dressed. We’re getting waffles.” She turned on her heel and pulled on a pair of shorts from her duffle. She heard Gendry shuffle behind her as he slipped into his clothes from the night before. He was remarkable talented and dressing down a dress shirt and pants, even going the lengths of rolling up the hems of his pants. She shot him a questioning look at his choice.

“What?” He shrugged, “I’ll change after breakfast. I wasn’t planning on spending the night, you know.”

“Yes you were.” She replied as she grabbed her room key from the countertop in the kitchenette.

The two exited the room and walked hand in hand down towards the onsite restaurant. It had a different vide than from the night before; now instead of the hustle and bustle of young couples, there were families gathered around table enjoying the morning meal.

Luckily, for breakfast, a reservation was not needed and the pair found a table hidden in the corner of the facility, nestled away from the growing crowd.

They ordered their food and ate in silence, stealing glances at one another. Arya couldn’t help the heat that rose to her cheeks whenever Gendry flashed her a cheeky smile; she also couldn’t ignore the feeling of butterflies in her stomach whenever his deep blue eyes lingered on her gray ones.

“So,” she managed to say after indulging in a hefty breakfast, “how are we going to do this?”

“Do what?” Gendry countered.

Arya sighed, “This. Us. We have...what? Four more days before we each go back to our respective lives, never seeing one another again. Do we just stop now and save ourselves the heartache, or do we continue whatever this is?”

She studied his face as he contemplated the question. There was a mixture of true contemplation and maybe a hint of sadness. She knew her answer and she could only hope that his matches hers.

“I don’t want to stop whatever this is. I like you too damn much for that.” He chuckled. He let the small linger on his lips for just a moment longer before his demeanor changed to a serious note. “You’re a hell of a woman, Arya, and I’d have to be the stupidest person to let you go so easily. So, if you’re up to it, let’s just have fun together these next few days. Just you and me...well, maybe dinner with my uncle, and thank the gods that we had this week. What do you say?”

Arya bit her lip trying to contain her ever growing smile, “I would very much like that.”

“Then why don’t we start my working off this big breakfast?” He jabbed, not expecting her to be so eager.

“I’ll race you to the room.” She laughed as she threw her napkin onto the table, knowing full well that Gendry would have to pick up the tab. She pushed her chair back and farted out of the restaurant, leaving a trail of giggles behind her.

[edenfalling]

[Fic] Random fragments that I will never finish

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 28]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Life is stressful (until Tuesday) and these babies make me happy, so I’m going to work on this and also respond to everyone I haven’t yet today.

Chapter 11

Over the course of the next three days of Virgil’s captivity, Virgil would come to the conclusion that his captors were idiots.

This thought flickered to life once again as Logan leaned into the closet to point out another constellation on the ceiling, tottering unstably on his knees as his weight shifted forward and distracted by his enthusiasm.

They were alone in the prince’s room. Patton had left only a few minutes before to help his mother in the kitchen (less because she needed help and more to not make her suspicious about why he’d spent so much time away in the last few days).

 He wouldn’t be back for a while and Virgil had full mobility in the closet. With Logan leaning over the threshold like that, it would be easy to kill him or even just incapacitate him. One rough yank on his arm would have him completely in the closet. Virgil had no question that he could pin him down so he couldn’t activate the restraints, and even if he managed to do so, he’d have been drawn close enough that Virgil could use his legs. He could either force him to take off the cuffs or, since they automatically went to the second setting when he left the closet, just deal with it until he managed to get away.

 It would just be so easy. Yet, he did not. He just watched Logan as he leaned stupidly over an assassin while info dumping about stars.

This was the first day that he hadn’t felt at all tired when he’d drank the provided nutrition and healing potion, though it had never affected him quite as much as it had the first day. Logan said that meant that his injuries must be healed. It was a weird feeling. He didn’t remember when the last time was that he wasn’t damaged in some way. Even before his grueling training, there’d always been bullies at the orphanage and he’d been the youngest and smallest in his age group.

 He was also more well rested and fed than he had been in as long as he could remember. He felt better then he knew was possible today, and he suspected that he would only feel better after a bit more time under their care.

He told himself that is why he didn’t lash out now. He was waiting until he was as strong as possible to make sure his escape went as well as it could, even if it was a risk. They’d mentioned that the king would be gone for three weeks. After he returned, Virgil would surely be turned over to people much more capable of actually keeping him well trapped and less likely to feed him well, give him a nice place to sleep, and leave him without injury. It was a gamble to stay, because it was possible that he wouldn’t find another opportunity in time and would get handed over to his fate. Really, if he was being reasonable, he should get out now while he felt good and had a secured opportunity.

 Still, he did not. He had not any of the times they’d given him the opportunity in the last few days. Logan finished his sentence and leaned back out of the closet to safety. He still was speaking though in that soft happy tone. Logan liked the stars. He liked to talk about the stars, and Virgil found he liked to listen to him. They tended to end up in this position whenever Patton was away, just talking as Virgil laid in his closet.

Eventually, Logan’s latest story tapered out. There was silence then for a few moments. Virgil stared up at the fake stars on the ceiling. The stars that Logan had made for him when he really did not have to. Virgil had not been expecting lights in the closet, let alone ones so beautiful and thoughtful. Not ones with stories behind them. Just days ago, if someone had told Virgil the prince would be keeping him in his closet for the next few weeks, Virgil wouldn’t have expected a blanket let alone all of this.

 He turned his head to look at Logan. “What?” Logan asked.

“Your magic’s very beautiful,” Virgil said.

Logan seemed pleased by the complement, lighting up almost as much as the stars he made. “Well, it’s just a basic light spell,” he said, “though I did make some adjustments to them and the dimmer was a bit more difficult. Anyone could do it with practice.”

Virgil shook his head. “They’re special, I think,” he said. “Your magic’s different than most people.”

“How so?” Logan asked curiously.

“It’s gentle,” he said. “Gentle and warm, like eating the warm soup you fed me a couple of days ago.”

 “And other people’s magic feels different?” he asked.

Virgil nodded. “I’ve met a lot of magic users, but it always felt bad. Usually it hurts or makes you feel sick or just makes you uncomfortable. Even healing magic always felt like bugs nibbling at my skin, but the potion you’ve been having me drink in the morning feels… safe. It doesn’t hurt or make me want to cry. It’s just good.”

“Magic often has much to do with the caster’s intentions,” Logan said.

“I think you could poison me gently.”

Logan made an odd expression. “That…” he said, nose scrunched. “That is a strange thing to say.”

Virgil cocked his head. “Is it?”

 “Yes!” Logan said, shaking his head. “You are far too comfortable with the concept of death for your age.”

“I’m fourteen,” Virgil argued. “That’s old enough to be sent on missions without a blood compulsion!”

“…A what?” Logan asked.

“A blood compulsion,” Virgil said. “You know, with a multrum.” Logan was frowning at him. “One works in your gardens and you’re a prince. You had to at least have seen one or two. They take a bit of blood and multrums process it into a little bead. Then you’ve got to do what your told or it hurts a lot.”

 “I know what a blood compulsion is,” Logan said. “I am simply wondering who would put one on a fourteen-year-old.”

“They don’t,” Virgil said. “They stop putting them on people when they turn fourteen.”

“And exactly what is the age range for it?” Logan asked. Virgil was almost startled by the way his tone was quickly hardening. He’d never heard him be that harsh even when he’d first woken up in his custody. It made Virgil tense up.

“They take kids usually when they’re about 8 and it’s a year of training before your sent on a mission so 9-13,” he said.

 “That’s horrible,” Logan spat so violently that Virgil flinched. Logan didn’t seem to notice. “They force children to kill under a blood compulsion?”

“Well, no one really wants to do it without one when they’re that little. They get scared, and usually try to chicken out so…”

“So, they torture them unless they kill someone.”

“I mean… it’s not. They have to agree to the deal.”

“And if they don’t agree to it?” Logan asked.

Virgil thought back to the second time they’d made him get a blood compulsion. It had been with the multrum before Janus, a girl by the name of Alina. He’d made the mistake of hesitating on his first kill and faced the consequences before finally giving in and doing the job. When the second mission had come around, Virgil hadn’t wanted to accept the blood compulsion.

 That had been the first time they’d made him drink a binding potion. Logan seemed to be able to get an idea about it by the look on his face.

“So, your options were to be tortured, be tortured in a different way, or murder someone.” Logan looked at him. “You said your fourteen. Have you ever even killed of your own volition?”

“I… no,” he admitted, but quickly added, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“That explains a lot about your personality and reactions so far.”

Virgil rankled at that for some reason. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 Logan just stared at him for a long moment. “What they did, what they are doing isn’t right you know?” he said.

Virgil blinked at him but said nothing. He became more and more uncomfortable in the silence that ensued.

“Would you like to learn more about magic?” he asked. “There are many uses other then to hurt. I can teach you a few basics if you like.”

Virgil was confused about the topic change but was relieved about it. “Uh,” he thought. “Sure. That would be… interesting.”

Logan smiled at him. “I’ll set up something and we can work with it in the next few days. What would you like to learn?”

“Um, I have no idea. What is there?”

Logan considered it for a moment. “We could do a hair color changing potion. Or perhaps a small protection charm or I can teach you to make fire shapes.”

 “Protection charm,” Virgil said without hesitation.

Logan gave him a sad smile. “Of course. I’ll start showing you how to make them tomorrow and we can actually make some the next day.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“Would you like to hear more about the stars?” he asked. Virgil nodded. He once again leaned into the closet to point and Virgil once again did not move to attack. Nor did he attack when that afternoon Patton turned his back on Virgil for far too long when they were alone. Nor did he when they settled him to bed once again in the closet. He told himself it was strategic, but he knew it wasn’t.

  Chapter 12

Logan had needed to spend some time performing royal duties today which left Patton and Virgil alone after breakfast. Patton had started out trying to teach Virgil different board games. He’d seemed intrigued at first, but after a few games of checkers seemed to grow bored. Patton had gotten a blank stare when he’d asked if Virgil had any ideas about what to do for fun, so now he was trying to figure out something else they could do. He cast his eyes around at what Logan had in his bedroom.

“How about I read you a book?” he suggested.

 Virgil seemed very intrigued by that idea. “Sure,” he said.

“Okay!” Patton said cheerfully. “He popped to his feet and glanced through the small shelf of fiction books Logan kept in his room. He decided to choose one of the lighter ones that Logan and he had liked to read when they were younger. “This one is called The Never-ending Garden,” Patton said. “It’s about a group of four children and their adventures in a garden. It’s full of magic and adventure and friendship! Is that alright with you?”

“It sounds good,” Virgil answered.

Patton happily walked back over to sit next to him. “It is!” he said.

 First, he showed Virgil the picture on the cover of a wild looking garden with four kids roaming through it. One of the children was in a little red wagon being pulled by another one wearing a fancy hat. One of the others was walking, looking at a map while the last had a wooden sword. After giving Virgil a couple of moments too look at the picture, Patton cracked it open.

“We start with Lydia’s perspective,” Patton said. “She’s one of my favorites!” He pointed to a picture of a girl in a raincoat at the beginning of the chapter and Virgil leaned slightly closer to see. Then, Patton cleared his voice.

 “It had been raining that day,” Patton began, “but Lydia had been so bored that she still begged her father to go out and play when the storm lightened into a sprinkle. He made her change from the yellow dress she had been wearing into the one she often used to help him garden because he knew she was certain to get herself muddy. Her younger brother Marcus asked if he could come too and though part of her wanted to say no because she wanted to explore on her own without her baby brother slowing her down, her father had taught her to be a good big sister, so she agreed to let him come.”

 Patton watched Virgil out of the corner of his eye as he read about Lydia meeting up with the neighbor boy, Al, and the three children started to explore the garden in Lydia’s backyard. Virgil leaned in slightly to look at the pictures and listen to the story intently as the three children traveled deeper and deeper into the garden, but never made it to the back fence. They’d just made it to the part where they heard rustling behind the blackberry bush which Patton knew was the last main character, Melly, when Patton felt the need to adjust his posture a bit. Virgil moved in kind and ended up leaning further into Patton.

 Without even really thinking about it, Patton brought his arm around to touch the top of his head. Virgil flinched the second Patton made content and Patton drew the hand away immediately. “Sorry,” he said with a wince. Patton was a naturally touching person and he’d been having trouble battling his instincts to cuddle everyone and everything while around Virgil, but he knew most touch was not welcome. The poor thing startled every time Patton went to touch him unannounced and even sometimes when he’d said something before doing it.

“I-it’s okay,” Virgil said.

Patton gave him a tight lipped smiled and turned back to the book.

 He stilled a second later when Virgil leaned back in and their shoulders brushed. He blinked over at him. “Oh,” he said softly. “Do… do you want me to touch your hair?”

Virgil curled up into himself a little bit but then nodded.

“Okay,” Patton said. “I’m going to put my arm around you and do that then, okay?” He drew upon his years and years of convincing easily startled cats to allow him to give them pats as he slowly moved his arm back to where it had been before and gently touched the side of his head. He tensed, but didn’t startle this time, and so Patton gently ran his fingers through the hair a couple of times. Eventually, the tension bled out of him and he sort of slumped against Patton’s shoulder. Patton just barely restrained a coo before going back to reading. He continued to stroke the side of Virgil’s hair as he described the gang meeting up with Melly and them being told she was a fairy that lived in the garden.

 He'd only gotten to the part about them finding the wagon when Virgil started to shift a bit uncomfortably, his neck craned in an awkward angle. Patton kept reading as he brought the hand in his hair down to his shoulder and pushed lightly. There was the slightest bit of resistance as Virgil didn’t know what he was trying to do, but then he allowed Patton to move him. Patton leaned back a bit and picked the book up off his lap before continuing to push him down. Virgil did not help at all, seeming confused about what was going on.

 Patton had to poke him around until he was on his back laying across Patton’s lap. He grinned down at the boy who was looking at him in blatant bewilderment and propped the book up on his chest. He held it there with one of his hands and stretched the other out to resume messing with his hair. Virgil relaxed into the new position after a few minutes of reading, eyes shutting as he enjoyed the attention. His eyes would flicker open every time Patton moved to show him a picture, but other than that, he seemed content to not move.

 Eventually, he stopped responding when Patton moved to show him the pictures.

“Are you asleep?” he asked quietly. When he didn’t get a response, he bookmarked the last picture Virgil had responded to, and then continued reading to himself.

Eventually, there was a knock at the door. It was the one he and Logan had decided on to tell the other one that it was just them and not to panic when the door opened. The door opened to Logan a moment later.

He paused, taking in the sight of the assassin sprawled across Patton’s lap like a sleepy kitten. He shook his head fondly and walked over to them on silent feet. He bent and pressed a hand to the top of Virgil’s hand. Virgil stirred just barely, but didn’t open his eyes, pressing into the touch a bit.

Logan smiled. “He wanted to learn how to make protection charms today. I assume you’d like to join us?” Patton perked up and nodded happily, making Logan chuckle softly. “I will go set it up then. Would you like another book for the time being?”

“Just the one I was reading last night would be nice,” Patton said.

“Of course.” Logan stepped away to grab it and handed it to him. Then, he disappeared into his potion’s lab. Patton smiled down at Virgil’s sleeping face and settled the new book onto his chest to replace the children’s book. He didn’t even stir.

  Chapter 13

Logan was able to quickly set up the station for making protection charms. Patton had always liked making them, though he often used his more as fun accessories than for protection. The one he was going to show Virgil how to make was a very simple low level one used for little more than to keep bugs off of yourself and, in the event of a well made one, alert one to imminent danger by changing temperature. It was a nice thing to hold in the middle of the night if one was frightened by real or imagined threats. It would be warm to the touch when your environment was safe; he thought Virgil might appreciate it.

 He and Patton decided to wait until Virgil woke up naturally which only took about 30 minutes. Then, Logan brought him to his set up supplies. He explained briefly the process for making a protection charm. “I will be the one performing the enchantment for today,” he told Virgil. “I will show you how to make your own later, but I thought seeing how to make them would help with the learning process.”

“Plus, it’s fun!” Patton said.

Logan flashed a smile at him. “And that as well. I’ve prepared a small number of possible pendants for you to choose from. You can choose the shape and color, then we will put on a custom engraving, as well as decorations.”

 “Glitter! Glitter! Glitter! Glitter!”

“Yes, Patton, everyone knows you’re going to choose glitter,” Logan said, amused, “but why don’t we let Virgil decide for his own pendant?”

“Fine,” Patton said, “but mine will be glitter.”

Logan grabbed the box of blank pendants and offered it to Virgil. “Choose whichever one feels right,” he suggested. Virgil moved forward and looked over the box. “You can touch them,” Logan said. “In fact, I would suggest it as it is meant to be held when it’s done and you may as well get a feel for it.”

At his prompting, Virgil did. He reached into the box and shifted a few to the side. Eventually, he started picking a few up. “I like the crescent shape for holding the most he said,” holding a blue one up, but I don’t know.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Patton asked.

“Oh, um,” he mumbled. “I dunno.”

“Well here,” Patton said, reaching for the box. He dug through it and pulled out every single crescent moon shaped pendant and lined them up. “What do you fancy?”

Virgil considered them all for a long moment and then tentatively pointed the purple one out.

“Great!” Patton said. “Then, we’ll use that one.”

Virgil nodded and Patton picked up the pendant to drop it into his hands. His fingers curled over the shape and he seemed satisfied by the choice, so Logan turned to Patton. “Your turn,” he said.

Patton happily grabbed out a heart shaped blue one, but then paused and exchanged it for a purple one. “We match!” he said.

Virgil smiled slightly at his enthusiasm, and Logan dug out a blue crescent moon shape for himself. “Now that you have your base, you get to choose the engraving.” He opened up the instruction book to the correct page and showed it to him.

Virgil looked over the two pages of designs with carful focus. He wavered between the spiral sun and the flames for a moment, but eventually settled on the flames. Patton chose the interlocking hearts design as anticipated; it was his favorite, and Logan chose the spiral sun design for himself.

“Now, I’m going to engrave this design onto yours,” Logan said getting out the thin pen like instrument and dipping it into the slightly glowing bottle of potion he’d set out. “In the meantime, Patton will show you what we have for decorations.”

He was careful to get the symbol as perfect as he could and then started on Patton’s. Patton apparently managed to corrupt the boy because both of them came back with brushes and glitter to add as decoration.

Logan shook his head and handed them their freshly engraved pendants. “Apply the glitter how you like,” Logan said, moving on to his own engraving. Once he was finished, he selected some glow in the dark paint to decorate his own.

 Once he’d finished decorating his own pendant, Logan looked up. “Are you finished?” he asked.

“Yep!” Patton said, shoving his pendant at Logan while Virgil nodded. Virgil had been far less enthusiastic than Patton, having carefully brushed glitter into the flame design only whereas Patton had haphazardly covered his own all over with glitter. Logan took both pendants.

“This,” Logan said, bringing over a different potion, “is used to make sure the decorations never fall off. It basically allows the other substances to become a part of the stone. “It isn’t too dangerous, but I’d suggest you stand back for the moment.”

 Virgil stepped back farther back than was strictly necessary and gave the potion bottle a wary look. Logan moved all three pendants to the prepared surface (else they ran the risk of also getting stuck to the table) and put on gloves, having learned that magically gluing rocks to ones hands was not fun years ago. Then, he carefully drizzled a bit of the potion onto each rock. The rocks fizzled loudly, and Virgil gave off a startled yelp before toppling over flat on his face with his wrist glued to his sides.

“Oh no, honey,” Patton said immediately crouching next to him. “I’m sorry. We should have warned you about the noise.”

Logan wasn’t sure what type of action he’d tried to take when the sound started up, but whatever it was, it had caused him to move his arms fast enough that he’d activated the binding potion and it snapped his wrists to his side, overbalancing him.

 Patton’s hands hovered over the startled boy, but he didn’t touch. After a few moments, it was clear that the magic keeping Virgil’s hands at his side released because his hands slowly crept forward to push himself up, so his face wasn’t planted against the ground. His eyes still looked incredibly startled.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Virgil blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.

Logan took his words as permission to move without risking startling him more. Virgil’s eyes bopped back and forth between him and Patton a few times as he crossed to his wall of potions and grabbed one.

 He also selected a clean cloth from a basket on his way over to them. “A light healing potion,” Logan explained as he knelt in front of Virgil. He uncorked it. “May I?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil said with a frown. “I’m not even bleeding. It’s barely anything.”

“Which is why it’s a light healing potion,” Logan said. “You are sure to bruise with the way you hit. This will prevent it and make it stop hurting.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed after a moment. Logan dribbled a bit out onto the rag. After a moment of thought, he touched the damp part of the cloth with his own finger, just to quash any fears that it would harm him.

 “It will tingle slightly,” Logan warned. Virgil tilted his face to let him dab it onto his nose and the light scrape on his face. His nose scrunched up and he moved to rub the sensation away quickly only to have his arms slam back to his sides.

Patton caught him so the sudden involuntary movement didn’t cause him to fall back, and then giggled when Virgil titled his head to what could only be described as pout back at him.

“Aw, poor thing,” Patton cooed, reaching forward to rub a hand across the top of his nose and then his forehead where the potion had been applied for him.

 “Better?” Patton asked.

“You’re really bad at this being captors thing,” Virgil commenting, willingly leaning back into Patton. Patton just smiled happily.

Logan took the bottle and got to his feet, before returning it, and then glanced at the pendants as Patton helped Virgil to his feet. The pendants had stopped fizzing, so Logan felt okay reaching in and grabbing them all.

He handed both Patton and Virgil their pendants when they walked closer to the table.

“And now for the actual enchantment,” Logan said. “For today, I already prepared the potion up to the last step as it has to sit for a few hours, but I will show you the last step and eventually teach you everything if you are still interested.”

 Virgil nodded, but said. “No more noises?”

Logan smiled. “No more noises,” he confirmed. Then he pushed forward all of the ingredients he was about to put in the pot for Virgil to study one by one before putting them each in it in the correct order. Then he demonstrated how to stir it correctly and told him how many times, though he doubted he’d be able to retain all of the information from this one demonstration. “There,” he said, setting down his spoon. “Now we just all put our pendants into the pot, and they should be ready in 25 minutes.”

 Logan showed Virgil around his potion’s lab while they waited, explaining what certain pieces of equipment did and a bit about his organization system. Virgil followed him around, looking at the things he pointed out curiously. He, however, got very distracted when Logan showed him one of the experiments he’d concocted. It was a thick liquid that was super attracted to itself and would form a small ball that could be disturbed by touching it. He seemed to like the sensation of squishing it down onto a table… over and over and over again.

“We should get him a ball of yarn,” Patton said out of the corner of his mouth. He may have been enjoying watching Virgil play with the substance more than Virgil was enjoying playing with it himself. And that was saying something.

21984

Eventually, however, the pendants were finished, and he dragged Virgil away from his new toy to show him the finished product.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Is it supposed to be warm?” Virgil inquired.

“Yes,” Logan replied. “It’s temperature changes based on if the magic on it senses a threat or not. Warmer temperatures mean you are safe.

“Oh,” Virgil said softly, hand squeezing around it. “I like it.”

Logan found himself smiling. “I’m glad. It’s yours.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“If you would like, I’m sure Patton has some suggestions if you’d desire a way to keep it attached to your person. He in particular likes to make them into necklaces or clip them to his clothing.”

Virgil looked over at Patton and nodded shyly. Patton immediately perked up. “I’ll go get some supplies!” he said.

  Chapter 14

“So then,” Patton was saying. “We ran to the stables.”

“We went to gazebo first,” Logan cut in.

“Right, we tried to go to the gazebo first,” Patton corrected, “but Mr. Deknis was over there tending to the tomatoes, and we knew he’d tell Mama the second he saw us. So, then we turned around and went to the stables.”

Virgil tilted his head, listening to the story Patton was telling. Patton was not the best storyteller. He tended to get lost in the middle and embellish, though Logan always corrected him. It was still very entertaining to watch though because he got incredibly animated. He’d even toppled himself over in excitement a couple of times.

 Virgil squeezed the small pillow he had in his lap. He… wasn’t 100% sure what was going on. Logan and Patton had settled him on the blanket covered ground near Logan’s bed and proceeded to feed him snacks and talk about a lot of different things. It had started with them talking about what they’d done that day, and when Patton had made reference to something Virgil hadn’t understood, the two of them ended up talking about things from their childhood.

Virgil found himself entranced by their stories about playing in and running around the castle. It was all so different from what Virgil had experienced.

 “…but, right as we were about to get to the ladder to climb up into the hay loft, Logan tripped!” Patton said, arms whipping around him. “He fell into a container of grain for the horses and it spilled all over the place. He tried to get up but grabbed the edge of the water trough and apparently it wasn’t very secure because it fell over and soaked him. So, then he was wet and covered in grain. He looked hilarious.”

“I did not!” Logan protested, but it did not sound like all of the other times he’d corrected Patton’s stories that night.

 Patton looked over at him. “You did! You woke up the cute stable hand and he laughed himself silly at you, and by the time we got you even partially cleaned up, your dad had already found us. That’s how we got caught.”

“I have no recollection of these events,” Logan clearly lied, his cheeks a bit flushed.

“Liar,” Patton claimed. “You complained about picking grain out of your sheets for weeks.”

“No,” Logan growled.

“Yes! It’s okay. It was a good laugh.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed on him, and he looked pissed, but a second later, his expression lightened up. “You know what else was a ‘good laugh’?” he asked.

 There was a second of silence before…

“Don’t you dare Logan.”

Logan looked him directly in the eye. “Patton was thirteen,” Logan started, but was interrupted the next moment when Patton lobbed a pillow at his head. Logan grabbed the pillow and leaned forward to smack Patton back with it. “He was thirteen and had just ‘discovered boys’ as his mother and my father called it when they attempted to explain his behavior to me. The focus of said ‘discovering’ at the time was the son of an ambassador from Lamir” who was staying for the summer, a seventeen-year-old boy by the name Bernardo.”

 Virgil flinched back as Patton suddenly threw himself across the semicircle they’d made with their bodies to tackle Logan to the ground. He watched as they ineffectually wrestled on the ground for a few seconds before Logan, voice strained continued to speak, while battling Patton’s hands away from his mouth.

“Patton’s only knowledge about flirting… ow… at that point was laughing at everything someone said and touching their arms and shoulders.” Logan managed to flip himself onto his stomach which was a horrible move as far as Virgil was concerned. It put him at a disadvantage to get out of the pin. However, Patton just kept reaching for his mouth and didn’t bare down on his neck to try to cut off his oxygen like Virgil expected. So, perhaps it was a rational move. “Our parents were speaking leaving Patton, Bernardo, and I in the garden,” Logan mumbled into the ground. “Bernardo said something ‘funny’ and Patton went to slap his shoulder while laughing, but shoved too hard… Patton did you just lick my face?!”

 “And I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up!” Patton threatened. That was a… weird fighting strategy.

Logan paused to consider his options. “He shoved Bernardo into the fountain and when Bernardo asked him why he did that, he ran away and wouldn’t talk to him the rest of the summer!” Logan rushed out.

Patton reached over and grabbed the nearest pillow, proceeding to whack him viciously in the back of the head. Logan was lucky the nearest object was a pillow and not something any sturdier. “It’s not funny!” Patton yelled, smacking him even more, which was when Virgil realized Logan was laughing despite the pinning and pillow pummeling. “It’s not!” Patton said. “I really liked him!!”

 “He was seventeen!” Logan said. “It was never going to happen!”

Patton groaned and rolled off of Logan to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. “But he had so many muscles,” Patton said. “He probably could have thrown me 10 yards.”

“And that is… a benefit?” Logan asked, rolling over onto his side to face him.

“You don’t. Get me.” Patton tilted his head to look at Virgil. “Anyway,” he said. “That is the story of how I died at 13.”

Virgil stared at him, and Patton’s forehead crinkled looking at him.

“Is something wrong, honey?” he asked.

 “What was that?” Virgil asked.

“What was what?”

Virgil just blinked at him. Patton seemed to think for a moment.

“Oh, did you think we were fighting?” Patton asked. “Like, really fighting?”

“You weren’t fighting?” Virgil asked.

“No, sweetie,” Patton said. “We were just playing.” He popped up into a sitting position. “Well, play fighting, but emphasis on play!”

Virgil looked over at Logan for confirmation. “No one is harmed nor was there any intention to harm each other,” he assured.

Patton grabbed the pillow he’d been smacking Logan with. “Like this!” he said. “Bap.” Unlike how he’d smacked Logan ruthlessly, he basically just touched Virgil’s shoulder with it.

 Virgil squinted at him.

“Bap!” Patton said again, smacking him again, this time with a little bit more force and on the cheek. Virgil’s nose scrunched up. “Pillow fight!”

“Pillow fight?”

“You try,” he said, pointing to the pillow in Virgil’s lap.

Virgil glanced down at the bands around his wrist. “Um…” he said. “I don’t think I can?”

“Oh, right,” Patton said with a frown. He bit his lip and glanced over at Logan. “Maybe…”

“Ill-advisable,” Logan said.

“But…” Patton said. “Pillow fight.”

“We would have to be very cautious and make sure there were no weapons in the area.”

“No weapons but pillows!”

 “Fine,” Logan relented to whatever was going on. “Let’s clear the area.” Virgil watched them with mounting confusion as they removed everything within a few meters radius of him except for pillows and blankets.

“There!” Patton said after a minute. “All done!”

“What are you doing?” Virgil said.

“We’re going to have a pillow fight,” Patton said.

“But I…”

“We’ll temporarily allow your restraints to be in the third setting like when you’re in the closet.”

Were they serious? Were they stupid? Virgil could have killed them dozens of times with the second setting and now they were giving him even more range of motion?

 “You have to promise not to try to hurt anyone though,” Patton said. Virgil stared at him dumbly, as Patton held out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Patton nodded solemnly. “We lock pinky fingers and make a promise. It’s the most binding promise in the universe.”

Virgil looked at his finger, confused. He’d never heard of that type of deal. “What kind of magic is it?”

“No magic,” Patton said. “Just friendship.” Virgil tilted his head but brought his hand up so Patton could twine their fingers together. “Now, promise you won’t hurt anyone.”

“I promise I won’t hurt anyone,” he said.

“It’s a deal!” said Patton, squeezing Virgil’s finger with his own briefly before drawing away. “I trust you.” Virgil felt a rush of something that was no type of magic he’d ever come into contact before but was definitely far more powerful.

 Logan came over to them and waved his hand over the restraints on Virgil. They buzzed slightly and Virgil looked between them. “So, I just hit you with pillows?”

“Try not to hit too hard near the face, and Lo and I should probably take off our glasses before we start, but yeah,” Patton said, taking his glasses off as he said it. It was yet another foolish move on his part. “It’s fun, and it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay…” Virgil said.

“I will demonstrate,” Logan said as he took a pillow and smacked Patton in the stomach.

“Hey! No fair!” Patton giggled. “We haven’t started yet!” This did not deter Logan however, as he continued to smack Patton with a pillow.

“On the contrary,” he said. “It has started, and we’re getting you first.”

 “No,” Patton whined, but the way he crumpled to the ground under the onslaught seemed far too staged to make Virgil worry. He didn’t even try to curl up into a ball or to protect his head, just taking the hits and giggling.

Logan looked up at Virgil and motioned with his head. Virgil inched over and looked down at Patton. Logan slowed for a few moments. “Go on,” he urged.

Virgil bit his lip and reached forward to smack Patton lightly with his pillow which seemed to do nothing to him but renew his peels of giggles. From there, it was easy to continue. Logan picked up the pace of his strikes and he and Virgil proceeded to ‘fight’ Patton until he couldn’t breath through his laughter and pushed the pillows away, curling up on his side to recover.

23897

“No what?” Virgil asked when Patton sat up.

“Now I get vengeance!” Patton said, popping to his feet and smacking Logan in the face. “Help me Virgil!” So, Virgil turned on Logan and he and Patton gave the prince the same treatment. Then, because it was only fair, it was Virgil’s turn, though they were a lot more careful with him then they’d been with each other, and really Patton spent more of the time checking in on Virgil then actually hitting him with the pillow. It was nice. Fun. And when Virgil pushed them away, they pulled back. Then, it was Patton’s turn again and they went around teaming up on each other and sometimes just smacking at each other at random.

  Eventually, they slowed, and all ended up laying near each other on the floor.

“Well, that made me hungry,” Patton said, sitting up and stretching. “I asked Mama to make us a bunch of mini sandwiches with different flavors. I’ll go get them.”

He hopped to his feet to walk over to where they’d stored the food earlier in those little glowing magical balls Logan had for food preservation.

Logan and Virgil sat up too, and Virgil offered him his wrists.

“Right,” Logan said with a blink. He made a motion and Virgil could feel the magic weighing down his hands once again. He’d almost forgotten, Virgil thought with an internal sigh. They’d given an assassin free range of motion, had a pillow fight with him, and almost forgotten to restrain him again. What was Virgil going to do with these idiots?

 Chapter 15

Patton strolled up to the doors to the royal wing, his arms crossed casually around his middle.

Kalani raised an eyebrow as he approached and gave her the most innocent expression he could. “Whatcha got there, Pat?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he asked, as his sweater squirmed. “What do you mean?”

She considered him for a moment. “Well, I see nothing suspicious here,” she said. “Do you Owen?”

“Nothing,” he replied without hesitation.

Patton grinned at them both.

Kalani leaned in like she was going to tell him a secret. “Who is it?”

Patton made a show of glanced around like he was hiding it from anyone passing by. Then he shifted around to pull up just the bottom of his sweater.

 A small black paw reached out from the depths of his sweater and swatted at the air.

“Ah, I see,” Kalani said, reaching out to touch the little paw. “Hello, Mittens.”

Patton giggled as Owen poked the cat’s stomach gently through the sweater, making her wiggle a bit and try to bite him.

“Well,” Patton said. “I better be off with my totally normal sweater.”

Kalani nodded and stepped to the side, and Patton was free to head down the hallway to Logan’s room. Patton knocked on the door with their new extra secret knock and Logan all but ripped open the door. “I’m late. I have to go,” he said, darting past Patton.

 Patton smiled, happy that his plan to be running a little late to come watch Virgil had worked so well, even though he felt a little bit guilty about it. He hoped Logan wasn’t late to his meeting, but he also knew that if Logan had noticed Mittens, he wouldn’t have let her into the room.

Virgil was already out of the closet, sitting on one of the chairs. Patton came in and smiled at him. Unlike Logan, Virgil’s attention was immediately drawn to the oddly shaped lump in Patton’s sweater.

“You’re not very good at hiding things,” Virgil said.

24500

“It worked on Logan,” Patton defended himself.

“Logan was about to rocket into space if you didn’t show up in 5 seconds,” Virgil pointed out. Patton just shrugged, and Virgil tilted his head. “What do you have?”

Patton grinned wide and carefully pulled Mittens out of his sweater. She did not resist this maneuver at all, simply purring. He held her up for Virgil to see. “Ta da!”

“A cat?” Virgil said.

“This is Mittens,” Patton said. He then turned to Mittens. “Mittens, this is Virgil. I thought I’d introduce the two of you!”

Virgil blinked at the cat. Mittens blinked back. Patton thought maybe he should have let them sniff each other from under a door before doing this.

[carry-on-kissing-snowbaz]

Dracula (COC Day 16)

Day 16: Crossover Day

I have been working on this for awhile and thought it would be fun to use it for crossover day :) So here’s a Dracula AU @carryon-countdown

My other COC fics can be found here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Word Count: 1202

Simon

Simon adjusted his hat so that it sat on his unkempt curls just right and straightened his coat with a sharp jerk on the lapels. The mirror revealed to him a confused and overall unprepared man. He sighed unhappily and turned away, not needing any more discouragement for his trip.

He planned to meet Count Grimm at Castle Pitch in only a few days time and he already felt completely unfit for the task. It was true that generally speaking he was a halfway decent solicitor, but this client was different. His father had made all the necessary arrangements and had, at last minute, decided to back out. He was now delegating the job to Simon. The Count was said to be charming, cultured, and quite intimidating. They’d only corresponded through a few short letters but already Simon knew his father’s choice was a mistake; Simon was being hopelessly outclassed.  

He turned and grabbed his bags, frowning at the thought of days in a train and on horseback. Simon didn’t mind travel so much; he just hated feeling constrained for such a long period of time. There was a part of him, living in the bustle and activity of London, that yearned to exist away from the expectations that existed for him there.

As he reached the bottom of the stairway he saw his dad standing against the doorframe, blocking the view of the carriage waiting on the street for him. He smirked and pushed himself off the wall, rubbing his thin mustache as he approached Simon.

“My son, I know you’ll make me proud,” He said.

Simon bit his nail nervously.

“Thank you for giving me this wonderful opportunity, father.”

His father nodded, as if he’d been waiting for Simon to say that since he’d given him the job a few weeks ago. It felt like he was testing him, trying to figure out whether or not Simon could properly carry on the Snow family legacy. He straightened and cleared his throat.

“Well, I think I should probably get going,” Simon said.

With that, Simon walked away from his father without so much as a proper goodbye. It was just the way they were, no hugs or other embellishments of love. Sometimes Simon wondered what it would be like to have someone tell him they loved him, he hadn’t heard the words since his mother had died when he was a young boy. 

As he approached the carriage he felt his stomach flip nervously. He hadn’t the slightest idea why, but he felt as if he was on the edge of something dangerous, as if whatever lay on the other side of this journey would threaten to undo the balance that was his bland existence. As he threw himself onto the seat with a grunt he decided that, even if that were the case, he was ready for a change. He only hoped he wouldn’t screw it up.

As Simon left the inn he’d been staying at in Bistritz, he had to try to peel off one of the women who worked there from his body. The staff had been giving him strange looks the entire time he’d been there, some of them were even making the cross symbol when they came across him. On more than one occasion people, both employees of the establishment and the locals, had warned him that it might be best for him to simply head back home. They felt that he was not fit to handle whatever awaited him at Castle Pitch. Simon tried not to panic over the warnings; after all he couldn’t abandon the job and come back home to his father empty handed. But he couldn’t help but feel a frisson of unease after so many had tried to send him away.

As he settled in to the carriage, the entire inn came out to see him off. Their faces were solemn and not one of them waved Simon off as he left. Somehow that frightened him more than all of their collective warnings had.

At the Borgo Pass there was no awaiting carriage as had been designated before hand. Simon sat, perturbed, next to his luggage and wondered what had possibly gone wrong. He sincerely hoped the mistake had not been one of his own making. He knew his father would have his hide if he ruined this business transaction over miscommunication. 

“Sir,” the driver said.

Simon looked up at him.

“Yes?”

The man’s eyes darted around fearfully before settling on Simon’s once more.

“Perhaps we should go back to the inn, it appears that your ride has-“

Before he could finish his sentence a macabre looking coach pulled up in front of them. The rider was mysteriously disfigured by a pair of large and dark spectacles and an oversized top hat. Normally Simon would have thought the outfit was ridiculous but something about the man had him feeling more disturbed than humorous. 

“Thank you but it appears my ride has come,” Simon said.

The driver nodded and backed away, his eyes fearfully locked on the strangely dressed man.

Simon greeted the man affably and then proceeded to get inside. 

The ride was a frightening one, the thunder making Simon jump and the lightning throwing strange shadows over the countryside. At one point he heard the sound of wolves and fretted that their howls were getting closer to them. The driver assured him that everything was fine, but he didn’t feel soothed by it. At some point he could have sworn he saw a blue flame off in the distance and remarked about it to the driver but the driver only shook it off and claimed it must have been lightning.

Finally they arrived at Castle Pitch. The driver took his luggage and disappeared after only vaguely directing Simon to where he should go. After clearing his throat several times and straightening his tie, he finally knocked on the door to the strange estate. 

The noise the heavy knocker made was nearly deafening and set Simon’s heart racing. He expected to wait several minutes for an answer but was surprised when, almost immediately, the door was thrown open.

Inside stood a tall and elegantly dressed man, all in black. His skin was quite pale and his hair was as black as the rest of his clothing. His mouth was a deep red, which stood out in stark contrast with the rest of his appearance. But it was his eyes that made Simon stop in his tracks and forget all of his manners and business aims. His grey eyes were so startlingly beautiful that they madeSimon’s throat feel funny and his stomach feel jittery. The man was gorgeous, the most attractive person that Simon had ever met in all of his life.

“Please come in Mr. Snow, you’ll get drenched if you stay out there any longer,” he said, “My name is Count Grimm. But you may call me Basilton. Or Baz for short.”

Simon sucked in a sharp breath.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said quietly, “Sir.”

Then he crossed the threshold and entered the strange castle to await whatever it was that the hypnotic lord wanted of him.

[sour--strawberries]

Meow Cafe, part 11

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

universe: Figaro universe, cat cafe!au - Tony works as a barista in a cat cafe and Steve is totally smitten by him and Tony’s overly fluffy cat, Figaro

summary: The work on new Meow Cafe has started, and an unexpected reunion happens.

length: 6 395 words

warnings: this fic belongs to Figaro universe, not focused on tickling, but has some from time to time (none this time)

a/n: aaah, one more chapter to go! don’t worry, the last part is already done, it needs some polishing, so it will be up till end of this year! (it will be also the chapter where new cats will appear!). remember that reblogs, likes and feedback means love!

———–

Meow Cafe, part 11

(part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12)

The days were passing slowly, but were hectic in their own way. Pepper was finalizing the transaction and gathering supplies for the renovation of the new and better Meow Cafe. Natasha took Oliver to his new home and sent Tony and Steve daily updates on how the orange cat was settling in (very good, he still loved to sleep in every threshold possible and Steve couldn’t help but to smile wide each time he saw Natasha and noticed that her clothes were covered in orange fur).

Summer was ending and Steve had to sit down to work and plan a new school year for his students. Tony, on the other hand, became a little anxious, wishing Meow Cafe would open sooner as staying at home for so long was getting on his nerves.

Unfortunately, it started to show.

“I am asking for the last time. Who. Did. This?”

Steve tried to arrange all the materials for the syllabus on the coffee table, deciding in which order he should put them in. He didn’t like to repeat each year the same program, as art was all about creativity and different interpretations, but he will keep it organized, just to be safe from the school director. Mr Fury could be demanding and quite unpleasant when things didn’t go according to his wishes.

“You really think you will get an answer for this, babe?” Steve asked, not lifting eyes from the numerous pages spread in front of him. Maybe he should focus a bit more on sculptures this year, still having in mind the great architecture of Rome.

“One of them will crack sooner or later,” Tony replied, crossing arms over his chest. Figaro didn’t react to accusations and was spread leisurely on one of the cat shelves, his tail swooping gently and showing that he wished that his human would stop making a ruckus and not disrupt nap time. Gizmo was also on the cat shelf, clearly lurking and avoiding Tony’s gaze. Yet, neither of the cats admitted to digging in the big potted plant near the TV, throwing black soil out and into the wooden panels.

“Get down here and show me your paws!” Tony demanded, pointing his finger to the floor for emphasis. At the scream, Gizmo hid away, and Figaro’s tail swooped with more force. It was hard to say who did it, as both cats could be guilty, even if Gizmo acted more afraid. But that was just Gizmo, always easily scared and more delicate, while Figaro had high self-esteem and believed that whatever he was doing, he was doing good. It was humans who didn’t understand.

Steve tried to not smile too apparent, and God forbid, laugh, pointing his angry boyfriend’s attention to him. Maybe he could take Tony out for the weekend somewhere. Not far, just to change the environment. And without cats. That would be the hard part, talking Tony into leaving his babies, but Steve had a feeling all of them could benefit from this. And they had to use the last moments of Steve’s freedom before school starts all over again and he would go back to teaching. Just then, when Steve moved a photo of the Triton Fountain he took during his trip, something else caught his attention. Under it, there was a photo of a cat, one that resembled a whole lot Gizmo. He found the edge of the photo, and slowly pulled the whole thing to himself, holding the last issue of the newspaper he had bought this morning and didn’t look through yet. Tony always mocked him for buying newspaper, claiming that he could find everything on the Internet for free, but Steve liked the feeling of real paper under his fingertips. Not mentioning that torn out pages, scrunched up into paper balls were the cheapest and one of the most entertaining cat toys for Gizmo and Fig, and throwing them paper balls and watching the two cats chase them around, was always fun for all of them.

Smoothening out the newspaper, Steve noticed that he was looking at the lost and found a section of the newspaper. He quickly skimmed through the column, finding the photo again and reading the text below, his eyes widening with every word. He looked back at the cat shelves where Gizmo, unhelpfully, hid away to not be faced with Tony’s wrath, but he was becoming more and more sure of it. He knew that some cats looked alike, but there were too many similar points.

“What?” Tony asked, noticing his boyfriend’s twitchy movements. “Whaaat?!” he demanded again, when Steve shook his head and folded the newspaper, hiding it away.

“Nothing!” he squeaked out. He can’t let Tony see it. Not yet. Not until he would be one hundred percent sure.

Tony drew his eyebrows together in anger and left the relieved cats alone, stomping to his boyfriend instead. “Show me the newspaper,” he said, reaching his hand for the periodical. Whatever was there, he wanted to know.

“It is nothing—”

“Show me!”

“It really is nothing!”

“You promised to never lie to me again!”

Darn. Steve bit his bottom lip and looked away. He did. He should have known that the relief driven promise would come back and bite him in the butt. Feeling defeated, he reluctantly handed the newspaper.

Tony took it, anger changing into victory as he unfolded the paper and looked at the page Steve had been studying a minute ago. At first, he didn’t see anything interesting, but Steve saw the exact moment when he did. Tony’s whole body convulsed and he drew the paper closer to his eyes, not believing what he was seeing. He read the text and quickly did the math in his head, even counting on fingers for double check, a totally unnecessary move as Tony was good with mathematics. It all fitted. The date, the neighborhood, the cat in the picture.

“Gizmo!” Tony called, lowering the newspaper. “Gizmo!” he tried again and it was the desperation in his voice, that made the black and white cat peek out. Green yellow eyes. White whiskers. Black dots on the nose. “Takk?” he asked, waiting for a reaction, but Gizmo’s ears only twitched as if he heard something he didn’t in a really long time. His real name.

It all hit Tony at once and it made his head spin, not in a good way. “Ty stole him…” Tony whispered. According to the column, a cat like Gizmo disappeared from his backyard, the same day as Tiberius brought Gizmo into the Meow Cafe. All Ty had to do was to take his collar off and discard it somewhere. It was so easy and so cruel.

“He stole him!” Tony cried out, turning to Steve. “Why was I so stupid?!”

“Babe…” Steve said softly. He hated that Tony could so easily blame everything on himself. It wasn’t his fault or anyone at Meow Cafe. They all wanted to help the seemingly stray cat, even if the prime condition the cat arrived to them was suspicious, but they saw a man trying to do a good deed, and didn’t question it. They should have pushed him more, but none of them expected it to be a scam and a way to get close to Tony.

“I can’t believe I believed him, what is wrong with me?!” Tony was beating himself. How could he be so blind? Finding a stray cat. He should smell a scam. He should know better.

“Tony, you couldn’t have known—”

“You don’t get it!! I skipped two grades in elementary school, I should be smarter than this—”

Somehow, the comment made Steve laugh and as soon as he had an occasion, he grabbed Tony in his arms and wrestled down to the couch, kissing his dumb genius breathless.

***

“Takk!”

It was the first time, Tony and Steve saw Gizmo looking so happy. When a burly blond with musculature even greater than Steve’s stood in the door, the black and white cat took the shortest way down from the cat shelves and trotted to the man, his tail standing straight and eyes widen.

“Takk, you mighty beast!” the blond called, when Gizmo jumped on his chest and the guy cuddled the cat close. “What a joyous day for us to be reunited!”

Steve and Tony stared with varying degrees of shock, Steve’s dumbfounded face purely because of the way the stranger was talking, which he should already know as he was the one who called the guy, but he thought that maybe he was an actor and caught him in the middle of rehearsal. Tony’s was soon explained.

“Wow, he is hot,” Tony whispered, staring at the long-haired blond and his square jaw. Definitely his type. He felt Steve’s burning look on him. “Outside! It is hot outside! Would you like some water?!” he rambled out, his cheeks becoming pink and Steve narrowed eyes. Riiight. They were having a pretty hot end of summer, with a lot of rain and clouds.

“Thank you, but I ought to be on my way,” the guy smiled, and it was bright and sunny, and Tony felt a bit weak in the knees, unprepared for that. Steve harrumphed and elbowed him in the ribs, causing his boyfriend to squeak. “My brother is awaiting Takk’s return. He wasn’t himself without him.”

“Oh, right! Tony suddenly remembered. "Before you go, I need to see a proof that Gi— Takk is your cat,” he said. Maybe the warm reunion should be a sufficient sign enough, but Tony decided to be twice as careful from now on. The blond fished out his wallet and took out a photo, handing it to Tony. In the photo, was the blond guy, having his arm wrapped around a pale, black-haired man with a stoic expression, holding a cheerfully looking Gizmo. There was a second photo below that one, clearly taken from hiding as it was a little bit blurry, but it was safe to say that it was the dark-haired men, holding Gizmo in his arms and smiling gently at the cat. Tony could feel the bond between them just by looking at the photo. Steve also looked at the photos, just to be sure, but there was no doubt that Gizmo and the dark haired man had something special.

“Fine with me,” Tony said, handing the photos back, and quickly looking at Steve, who smiled and nodded his agreement.

“And as promised,” the guy hid the photos back and took out an envelope instead, “the reward for keeping Takk safe.”

Tony smiled gently, not imaging that he could ever accept money from a fellow cat lover. “You can keep the money. Or even better, you can donate it to a cat shelter.”

“That I shall,” the blond guy smiled back, impressed by such noble behavior. He kneeled down with Gizmo and put a brown collar with a gold oval medallion on the cat’s neck and attached a leash to it. “It’s time to return home, Takk. Say your farewell,” he told the cat, stroking his face. Gizmo turned back and looked at the people who took care of him in the last weeks. Maybe Tony was imagining things, but it looked like if Gizmo bowed his head to them, his human’s regal behavior rubbing off on him.

“Bye, Gizmo! Stay close to home,” Tony smiled and petted the cat’s head for the very last time. Steve did the same, hoping that nothing would again disrupt their peace.

“Takk, my friends!” the blond called for goodbye, laughing at the surprised expressions of the two men. “Takk means thank you in my language,” he explained and went out of the apartment, Gizmo trotting next to his longtime no seen friend, all excited to be on his way home.

“Huh,” Steve said, locking the door behind the guy. “So, he is Norwegian, but talks like Shakespeare,” he thought out loud, “do you remember his name?” Steve asked. It was in the column, but it slipped his mind.

Tony sat on the couch and pursed his lips as he was thinking. “William,” came out eventually.

“No, not William!” Steve laughed. Maybe Tony was great at math and science, but it seemed that he had real troubles with remembering people’s name. “I think it was something like… Thud?”

Steve didn’t have any more time to think about the name when he heard a quiet sniffling. He looked back at Tony and noticed that his boyfriend was swallowing tears and trying not to break.

“Aww…” Steve cooed and sat on the couch next to Tony, letting him cuddle into his side, and cry quietly. Gizmo was back home after nearly a two months of being absent. Tony couldn’t imagine the pain the dark haired man had to endure.

“Do you think he will be happy?” Tony asked, sniffling his words, meaning the cat.

“Of course,” Steve replied, rubbing his boyfriend’s arm soothingly. “He is going back home.”

“Happier than he would be with us?” Tony asked after a while.

Steve smiled while thinking about his answer. He couldn’t imagine any cat being unhappy with Tony. “He is going back to his family, Tony,” he replied in the end and kissed the top of his boyfriend’s head, hoping that it was enough of an answer. “Oh, hey, Fig!” Steve said, when Figaro, practically out of nowhere jumped on Tony’s lap, wondering what the commotion was about. He observed the whole situation out of his hiding spot, not understanding why all his cat friends were disappearing, but also feeling that they were not in danger. It was a weird feeling.

“And you are back to being an only child,” Steve smiled, scratching the fluffy cat under his chin, just where the white spot was.

Figaro purred as an answer, and curled into Tony’s stomach, taking advantage of the moment for a quick cuddle. He felt that his friend needed more company.

Tony sniffled, petting his cat, and being petted by Steve himself. The apartment looked empty again. But he had Steve and Fig and he wasn’t really alone. It was all good, and maybe one day, life would put another cat in his way, but for now, it was fine the way it was.

***

“We will end on this today. For the next class, read chapter five and think about the differences between Roman and Greek sculptures. Class dismissed!”

It wasn’t an everyday occurrence that Steve let his students free before the assigned hour, but the lecture was done, students behaved good and they all earned an earlier break. It definitely didn’t have to do anything with the fact that it was Steve’s last class and he wanted to get out as soon as possible.

“Remember that your first art project is due until end of this month! I won’t accept anything delayed! If you have any questions you can ask me now!” Steve called after the walking out group of chattering teens, hoping that none of them would turn around and ask him questions. He was just being nice, not counting that anyone would take on his offer. Luckily, no one did, and after the class emptied, Steve packed his things and walked out, already smiling at the perspective of the afternoon.

“Are you ready?” he was asked as soon as he stepped out of the room and almost jumped a foot up. “Woah, easy!” Natasha laughed, secretly enjoying sneaking up on her fellow teacher.

“Oh, did you end the class early today too?” Steve asked, walking down the corridor with Nat, trying to make their way out, before the halls would fill with screaming and running teens.

“Yhm. I think I would accompany you today. If you don’t mind that is,” she smiled, her eyes sparkling happily. It was no secret, that each day after Steve was done teaching, he rushed to the new Meow Cafe to help with setting up the place and meet his friends and boyfriend, where they stayed till late hours.

“I don’t,” Steve smiled back, noticing some orange fur intertwined into Natasha’s black sweater. “Aw, Oliver slept on it again?”

“Dammit,” Natasha frowned, looking down at herself and trying to pick the fur out, “I thought I cleaned it well.”

“You know how it is, when you have a cat, everything becomes a cat,” Steve laughed, not so much bothered by the black fur on his clothes anymore but finding it alarming when he woke up and had strands of long fur in his mouth. That should not happen. “How is Oliver doing?”

“Very good,” Natasha replied. They went outside and turned their faces to the sun, enjoying the crisp Autumn air around them. “He tripped Clint over last night. It was hilarious,” she said, giggling, and it was rare to see her giggle. Owning a cat was serving her well. “And how are the things between you and your barista?” Natasha asked, well aware of their eventful past.

“Very good,” Steve parroted, smiling broadly and meaning every word. Maybe it wasn’t the wild heat anymore, but he and Tony were going steady and Steve had a feeling that Tony was the one. Of course, he didn’t say anything yet, knowing that they both could rush into things, and there was no need for that. They loved each other and were not only boyfriends, but partners. It was something Steve never had before. “How are Clint and Bruce doing?” Steve asked, his voice gaining a teasing note. Natasha still didn’t admit to dating them both and living in a threesome, but Steve knew better.

Natasha looked away and bit her cheek, trying to hold a smile back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in a neutral tone. Of course. Too bad that Bruce had two sphinxes, because additional fur on Natasha’s clothes would point against her.

“Yeah, you don’t,” Steve laughed, not bothered. If Natasha wanted to keep it as a secret and not say anything until they all were ready, he won’t force her. Didn’t mean he won’t tease her. “Oh, do you know if Bruce will be at the cafe today?”

“No, he has evening school today, maybe he will appear around 8 pm — sneaky!” Natasha gasped, shoving Steve in the arm and laughing together with him.

They took the subway and soon were in the neighborhood of the new Meow Cafe. It was just a few blocks away from the previous location, which still counted as a manageable walking distance from Tony’s apartment, which was good. It wasn’t as close to the main street as the previous location, and maybe it was better. It would for sure minimize people coming to get a coffee to go and point customers willing to stay and bond with the cats, without the unnecessary rush.

“We are here,” Steve stopped, letting Natasha take the sight in.

“Oh. It… looks nice,” she said wanting to be polite. It didn’t look nice at all. The building was clearly not used for a long time and the paint was falling off the walls, not mentioning the graffiti on one side. The windows were covered with black foil, including the big front window, so similar to the one that the previous cafe had, to hide everything from the people walking by. The place looked quite depressing in comparison to the shiny new buildings around it.

“They will fix the outside soon,” Steve explained, “I saw the projects and it will fit right in with the neighborhood.”

“The building looks big,” Natasha observed. Putting aside the poor look, the place had potential.

“Yeah, it is almost twice as big as the previous cafe. More room for cats!” Steve laughed and he knocked on the door, letting everyone know about his arrival before entering. “Hi! I brought a guest!”

“Hi! Come on in!” Pepper called, leaning out from her place on the spacious couch, sitting with Happy and Rhodey. The small group was in the already done part of the cafe, with walls painted in warm brown colors and latte stripes, and some furniture, stacked in a corner and still waiting to be placed. The only available furniture was the couch, covered in plastic wrap for safety until painting would be done, and small plastic tables in front with empty boxes of Chinese food. The place smelled of fresh paint and exotic spices, and it was a harsh combination, but Steve and Nat quickly got used to it.

“Long time no see!” Rhodey called to Nat when she and Steve approached and Pepper stood up to greet her properly, boys quickly following.

“It looks much nicer here,” Natasha smiled, loving how the paint made the whole place look cozy. She could imagine the whole cafe done in such colors and she already knew it was a good choice.

“How’s Oliver?” Pepper asked her friend, and everyone sat down, the girls talking about cats, while Steve asked Happy and Rhodey was there any more work left for him and how the progress was going.

“We finished installing the bar today,” Rhodey said, pointing to the bar area, “it is fully functional so we don’t need to drink instant coffee anymore!” he grinned, the next second standing up to properly greet their guests and serve them a cup. Steve watched a bit amazed, how efficient Rhodey was with the sparkling new and, in his eyes, highly advanced coffee maker. Maybe it was mandatory for all of Tony’s friends to pass a barista exam. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if that was the truth. Soon, he was presented with a cup of latte with sugar, while in front of Natasha was a double espresso, strong and black.

“The whole back office is done,” Happy summed up, listening all the renovations that already took place, while Rhodey had been preparing coffee. That included the office, cat room, kitchen and bathroom for workers. “Half of the cafe needs painting and changing of the panels, and then we have to do the bathroom for clients and the playground.”

“Playground?” Natasha asked, surprised by the words, taking a sip of her espresso.

“For the cats,” Pepper picked it up from there. “It will be an area specifically designed for cats, without access for the customers. Some pillows, toys, cat shelves, to rest and play, while customers could observe. We will put in there a lot of hiding spots in case one of the cats decides that they don’t want to be seen.”

“And then the outside. The signboard is in the making together with curtains and pillows for the furniture. We have painters scheduled. It should go smoothly now, it was a pain to fix the whole installation, it is an old building and we needed to take all precautions to not— you know,” Happy’s voice dropped. He didn’t need to say it. The fire. The official cause of the fire was faulty installation, but the opinions among the crew of Meow Cafe were divided. Very divided.

“Um, where is Tony?” Steve asked, trying to change the topic.

“He and Janet are in the kitchen. They are testing some recipe,” Pepper answered, “and I think they were saying something about trying out new uniforms?”

As on cue, there was a hearable swing of the door, and Janet’s head peaked out through the double door, the same model with an easy swing used in all restaurants. Some sweet, warm scent of spices made its way into the room and it showed how well ventilated the kitchen was.

“Good, you all are sitting!” Jan brightened, and before anyone could ask why exactly they should be sitting, Jan popped her head back into the kitchen, took a three-second break, and then leaped out again, opening the bar area and standing outside. “Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention, please!” she announced, putting both hands around her mouth. It wasn’t necessary, as everyone already turned to her, curious what was going on. “Straight from the runaway, I present to you, the new Meow Cafe uniforms!”

And…

Nothing. The group exchanged perplexed looks.

Janet huffed her cheeks out. She turned to the door leading to the kitchen, and stomped her foot impatiently, the rubber sole of her sneakers barely making any sound. “TONY!! Get your ass here, or I will drag it out!!”

The comment made everyone chuckle a little. That was Janet, going from super sweet to super angry in less than a second.

There was another three-second break, and Janet almost jumped back into the kitchen, when the door opened.

The usual Meow Cafe uniforms were quite simple. They were aprons, black, with embroidered logo on the chest, and a big pocket in the front. Standard off the shelve. When Tony walked out, everyone saw that the new uniforms were not so different. The apron didn’t change, it was still a classic cut, just instead of the pocket being in the center, there was a smaller on the side, near the hip, and there was a second one, the same size, on the opposite side, on the chest. It was knee length and had a dark grey stripe of material around the middle, for a better fit. The used material was in steel grey color, which was less formal than the classic black from before. What made it stand out, was the accessories.

Why Tony was reluctant to go out, became quickly explained. At the top of his head, was a headband with cat ears attached, black with brownish stripes, the color resembling Figaro’s fur. It was not the end. On Tony’s hands were big gloves, cut out to look like cat’s paws, with pink paw pads, and also the same color as the ears. The fingers were cut though, and Tony’s own fingers were visible. It made sense, seeing that workers had to somehow write orders and serve coffee. It was surprising that Janet didn’t draw any cat whiskers on Tony’s cheeks to complete the look, but maybe she dropped that idea because of the goatee on brunet’s face.

The reactions were divided, from Natasha’s staring in shock to Rhodey quietly laughing at his friend’s new cat look, but it was Steve who won everything, by chocking on his coffee and spraying it out of his mouth on everybody.

“Ew! Steve!” Natasha scolded, wiping her face off.

Tony’s mouth dropped as he just noticed his boyfriend and Natasha among the crew. Jan had to time it out like that on purpose. “You tricked me!!” he pointed a paw at his friend, finger pointing at the beaming girl.

“Doesn’t he look great?!” Jan buzzed, obviously proud.

“Um… Janet…” Pepper started insecurely, while the rest of the group was drying themselves off and grumbling, except Rhodey who was still chocking with laughter. And Steve, who was still staring at Tony. “It's… It’s nice,” she said clumsily, unsure how to end.

“I know! And the material is easy to wash too! No more coffee stains! And this!” Jan took Tony’s hand and showed the pink paw pads. “Can be used to wipe off the tables!”

“Shouldn’t agree to let her design the uniforms,” Happy leaned to his wife and whispered, and Pepper grunted, knocking the man away.

The group didn’t say anything. No one wanted to hurt Jan’s feelings. Maybe Natasha wouldn’t mind, always speaking what was on her mind, but it wasn’t her place.

“By the way, I was joking,” Jan ended the silence and pushed Tony closer to the group, making him stumble. “Only the apron is for the cafe, I made the rest to make Steve spit coffee out,” she smirked, pleased that her plan worked.

Everyone breathed out in relief, especially Pepper. She took the hem of the apron and rubbed the material between her fingers. “It is really great, Jan!” she started and everyone followed with praise.

Steve didn’t say anything and kept looking from his blushing boyfriend to Janet, finally stopping on the girl. “So, can Tony keep the ears?” he asked, and if Tony wasn’t blushing enough before, his face just exploded with red. Luckily, he had his paw gloves to hide into.

“Sure!” Jan smiled, stripping Tony off the uniform and passing it along the group to get all the feedback she could, before she would start sewing for everyone. She encouraged Tony with another push and practically made him stumble into Steve’s lap.

“Aw,” Steve cooed, holding his boyfriend, feeling enamored by the cute behavior. “Come here, my kitty,” he said and pulled Tony closer, kissing him once, not wanting to push it in front of the group. It seemed to work and after the last grumble, Tony sat next to Steve and pulled the gloves off, but left the headband in his hair. Just for fun.

“I am thinking of putting here a cat’s face,” Jan smiled, squeezed between Rhodey and Pepper, and drew a circle on the lower pocket with her finger, showing where the pattern should be. “Maybe in a white thread!”

“Hey, weren’t you baking something?” Happy asked, remembering why Tony and Janet went to the kitchen in the first place. Jan almost jumped out of her place, but Tony was faster and stood up first.

“It is fine, I will get it,” he said, motioning for the girl to sit down, “I got the mittens for it,” he took the previously discarded cat gloves and walked back into the kitchen. When he came back, he was holding a tray with giant cookies on them. “The oven turned itself just as we programmed it! Dig in!” he smiled, setting the tray down and taking two cookies with himself, for him and Steve.

Steve looked at the giant oatmeal cookie that was handed to him, seeing nuts and raisins in the dough. He took the first bite, and the taste and combination of spices definitely rang a bell in his head.

“Wow, those are really good!”

“Delicious!”

“Way better than the one we used to serve!”

“What recipe did you use?”

“Steve’s!” Tony announced happily, and all eyes turned to him and the blond, and it was Steve’s turn to blush, as he was not used to be the center of attention. “I hope you don’t mind,” Tony said, turning to his boyfriend. Of course, he first used the recipe and then thought about asking for permission.

Steve shook his head and nibbled on the cookie. He didn’t mind. “It is not really my recipe, it was my grandma’s,” he said and remembered the afternoon when as a little kid he was helping his granny measure out the ingredients and knead the sticky dough.

“To Steve’s grandma!” Rhodey called, raising his cookie and the rest followed, paying a tribute to the woman.

“Really, really good,” Natasha nodded, biting the cookie again, and she wasn’t big on sweets to start with.

“Umm…” Steve said, and all eyes turned to him again. “If you want, you can use this recipe in the cafe,” he offered. Maybe if his friends liked the cookies, the customers would too.

“Are you sure?” Pepper asked. It was a family recipe after all.

“Sure,” Steve smiled, again remembering his past, and this time memories of him and Bucky stuffing their faces with cookies in secret appeared in his mind. Those were good times. “I think my granny would like that.”

Pepper smiled and agreed. The new cafe was given a wonderful new start.

“New aprons and new cookie recipe! We are starting strong!” Janet cheered, and everyone nodded.

“Speaking of starting strong…” Pepper said and looked briefly at her husband, who smiled at her encouragingly. “I want to introduce another change,” she said, turning directly to Tony.

Oh uh. That was the moment. Everyone froze and Tony especially. Of course, Pepper always claimed that Tony would have a spot in the cafe, as long as he wants the job, and while he trusted Pepper, there was no solid guarantee she would hire him back.

“I thought for a long time about and I think it would be the best if…” Pepper made a pause and took a breath, “Tony would become a co-owner of the new Meow Cafe.”

“Me?!” Tony’s eyebrows raised up, and the surprise was lost in the general cheering of the group.

“That’s a great idea!”

“You deserve it, Tony!”

“Go, Tones!”

“What do you say, Tony?” Pepper asked with a smile. “I am promoting you from the head barista to a co-owner. Are you interested?”

“Peeeep…” Tony drawled, brushing both hands through his hair, unsure what to think yet. It was a huge honor, but also a huge responsibility. His fingers caught the headband with cat ears and he took it out of his hair and looked at it. If he became a co-owner, it would mean no more goofing around. No more being late. No more serving the customers, but planning and managing a group of people. And, if he was being honest with himself, he liked being a barista. He liked having direct contact with clients, and looking after the cats and job flirting with customers, granted he didn’t want to do that anymore seeing that he had Steve — his inner turmoil was interrupted when Steve put a hand on his knee and squeezed in a loving gesture. Tony’s breath hitched. If he would take the job, he would have a lot less time to spend with Steve. And…

“I really appreciate it,” Tony looked at his friend, and smiled, emotions clear in him, “but I will say no. Having my old job back is good enough for me.”

The group was disappointed and Steve smiled sadly, but understood, somehow expecting this.

“Are you sure? Maybe think about it a little more—”

“No,” Tony shook his head, interrupting Pepper, “I am sure. In fact, seeing that you want me back, I would like to become a half-time worker, instead of a full time.”

“What?! Why?!” it was Janet who cried the words out, and everyone gaped at Tony, Steve included.

“Guys, I can’t serve coffee and pet cats till rest of my life!” Tony laughed. He loved his job, but it was time to start new projects. During his free time, he got back into graphic designing and made a portfolio and had big plans. Time to focus on that, and treat Meow Cafe as a stepping stone and form of relaxation. “I am pushing thirty and—”

It was the worst timing for Steve to take a sip of his drink, as he started to choke on the liquid, quickly putting both hands to his mouth to avoid spitting on his friends again. Tony quickly patted blond’s back, helping him to calm down.

“You are thirty?!” he called out, unnecessarily loud after the coughing fit ended.

Tony narrowed eyes, sending the blond a calculating look. “In a few months, yeah, why?” he asked, and his tone told Steve to very carefully pick his words.

Steve felt a note of panic. He looked among the group and saw Rhodey and Pepper looking back at him, and he suddenly remembered that they were Tony’s peers, and very probably were the same age. Not that it mattered anyway, comparing to Steve’s twenty-eight years old, it was barely any age difference, but he always assumed that Tony was younger than him. Twenty-four, top twenty-five. He looked for help to Natasha, but the girl only kept smiling, eagerly waiting how he would get out of this one.

“Are you the same age as… everyone else?” Steve turned to Janet, and he could hear Tony roll his eyes. The brunet girl looked young, but so did Tony, and he couldn’t trust his eyes anymore.

“I am actually forty, but I keep up well,” Janet answered with a huge smile and giggled at Steve’s mortified look, as the blond totally bought it.

“Jan is a freshman in college,” Happy took pity on the baffled Steve, “and so is Bruce, if you want to know.”

Steve nodded, feeling that he made a fool out of himself. Slowly, he turned back to Tony to check if his boyfriend was still glaring at him. Unfortunately, he was. The group started talking again and Steve pulled Tony closer to himself.

“So, you were not joking when you told me that I can drink from white mugs when I get older?” he asked in a whisper, remembering the occurrence that took place in Tony’s kitchen during the movie marathon for their shared friends. That seemed to break the ice and Tony giggled in humor. He smooched his idiot boyfriend, and turned to join the conversation, that currently was on a topic about hiring a new person to fill in Tony’s absence.

“Don’t worry!” Tony called, ceasing the chatter. “I already have a replacement,” he smiled, calming everyone down. All eyes turned to him, waiting for the news. Tony just smiled mysteriously, enjoying the attention. He leaned to take Steve’s cup and took a sip of the nearly cold latte. “But it is not set in stone yet. You will find out soon. And can I get a proper coffee?! Do I have to do everything around here?!” he called dramatically and stood up to go to the coffee machine, Rhodey soon following and arguing that the coffee he had made was fine, and Tony was being a pain in the a–

Steve kept smiling, listening to the chatter around him and the sound of coffee beans being ground.

Big plans, big changes, but less and less time to adjust.

————————

<— previous part   next part —–> 

[unfolded73]

This Graceful Path (14/19)

Summary: Emma has just moved in with Mary Margaret and started working as a deputy in the Storybrooke sheriff’s department when she meets Killian Jones, the town’s introverted harbormaster. When a prominent Storybrooke resident is found murdered, Emma tries to juggle solving the case with new friendships, parenthood, and romance. A Season 1 Cursed!Killian AU.

Rating: Explicit per CSBB guidelines (violence, sex); more of an M on unfolded73’s scale. The sex, when we get there, is not extremely graphic in nature. Same with the violence.

Content Warning: This fic contains two major character deaths, one canon and one not. (You’re already past them.)

Total word count: ~ 75,000

Acknowledgements: Thank you to @j-philly-b for betaing this monstrosity. Thank you to @caprelloidea  for all of the read-throughs and cheerleading; not sure I could have written it without your excitement early on. Thank you to @teruel-a-witch for the original prompt on tumblr which sparked this fic. Thank you to @pompeiiablaze for the wonderful art which accompanies Chapter 3 and 9 and one later chapter. Thanks to the CSBB mods ( @sambethe in particular, who had to look at my check-ins) for your support and for enduring my neuroses.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 – AO3 Link

Chapter 14

Emma took a bite of her English muffin, glancing over at Henry where he sat across from her at Mary Margaret’s table, glaring at the plate of food in front of him. “You need to eat some breakfast, kid.”

He shrugged, somehow looking younger and older than his ten years all at once. “I’m not hungry.”

With a sigh, Emma pulled her chair around to sit closer to him. “Can you at least tell me what’s wrong?”

His eyes were full of guilt. “I guess I thought, with the curse broken, things would be… different.”

“Different how?”

“I mean, for one thing, I thought we would all end up in the Enchanted Forest somehow. I thought there would be a castle, and knights in armor, and… and jousts and stuff. Instead, it’s…” He gestured around them. “It’s this same world, except you’re unhappy, and you and your parents are being all weird with each other, and my other mom is locked up in jail.”

“I’m not unhappy,” Emma lied. “And as far as Regina goes, she hurt people, Henry. You yourself said—”

“I know what I said. But… I mean, she wasn’t all bad, as a mom. On Saturdays, sometimes she would take me to the comic book store. And when I got sick, she would bring me chicken soup and let me watch as much TV as I wanted.”

“That does sound pretty good,” Emma agreed, feeling a stab of jealousy in her gut. The adult in her knew that invalidating Henry’s positive memories of his adoptive mother would be the wrong thing to do, but it didn’t stop a dark, selfish part of her from wanting to do just that.

There was a tentative tap on the apartment door, and Emma was saved from thinking of what else she should say. With a pat on Henry’s shoulder, she got up to answer it.

“Killian.” Emma’s heart began to hammer at the sight of him standing on her threshold.

“I’m sorry to bother you so early, Emma, but something has come to my attention that I thought you needed to be aware of right away. May I come in?” He was all politeness and formality, like they barely knew each other, and it made her chest ache.

“Sure.” She stood out of the way, letting him into the apartment. Working to school her expression to a neutral one, Emma crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “What is it?”

“Cool,” Henry intoned, his eye catching on Killian’s hook. “I knew you were Captain Hook. Did mom tell you that I knew?”

Killian smiled a small, tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “She did.”

“Did you have a pirate ship? What was it like?”

“I’m sure Killian…” She paused. “Is that even your real name? What am I supposed to call you?”

“Killian Jones is my actual given name, as it happens,” he said.

“I’m sure Killian doesn’t have time to talk about that right now,” Emma said firmly to Henry. “What did you come to tell me about?”

“It’s more something I need to show you, involving that man August Booth. You know him?”

Emma frowned, remembering her last encounter with August at the police station. “Yeah, he told me…” She winced. “He told me he was Pinocchio, and I dismissed it. Why, what about him?”

He gestured to the door. “You’ll need to come and see for yourself.”

~*~

The door to the rented room at Granny’s was open when they arrived. An older man — Marco, Emma remembered his name was — sat at the bedside, at first blocking Emma’s view of the person in the bed. When she came far enough into the room to see August, she froze.

“What the hell?”

“He’s turned entirely to wood,” a woman explained. Emma looked up at her in confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m the Mother Superior from the convent, Emma. I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced.”

Emma stuck her hand out to shake automatically, her eyes darting back down to the wooden man in the bed. Killian and Henry continued to hover in the doorway. “And who are you really?” she asked the nun.

The Mother Superior smiled. “I’m the Blue Fairy. You can call me Blue. And this is Geppetto,” she said of the man silently weeping over the bed’s occupant.

“Of course it is,” Emma muttered under her breath.

“Emma,” he said, looking up at her with tear-filled eyes. It feels as if you were a baby just yesterday.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said, feeling sorry for her abruptness, but unable to stop herself. “So what happened here? I mean, besides the obvious.”

There was a commotion at the door, and then Mary Margaret and David crowded into the small room. “Thanks for calling us, Blue,” David said.

“The magic that was keeping him a man was part of the curse, in a sense,” Blue explained. “The curse kept us all unchanging. We didn’t age. We didn’t experience the passage of time in the same way that the outside world did. While Emma and Pinocchio grew up outside of the curse, the rest of us were frozen. But it also held back the magic that would have returned Pinocchio to what he was. As soon as Emma started to weaken the curse, the connection that Pinocchio had to the curse also weakened. He started to turn back into wood.”

“So now that the curse is broken, he’s stuck like this?” Emma asked.

“Yes, as long as there is no magic in this realm, there is no way to return him to a human,” Blue said.

Marco continued to weep, his shoulders shaking as he clutched August’s wooden hand in his own aged ones. “Please, Emma. You’re the Savior; surely you can help him.”

“I’m sorry, Marco,” Emma said, glancing over at Killian. “It doesn’t sound like there’s anything we can do.”

Killian stepped forward. “There might be a way,” he said. Everyone looked at him curiously, Blue with no small amount of distrust. He cleared his throat. “I find it impossible to believe that Regina cast this dark curse without some kind of loophole for magic,” he said. “And as a pirate with a nose for sniffing out treasure, I think I have an inkling as to where it may be hidden.”

“Her vault?” Emma guessed. “Graham thought she might be keeping his heart there… and it is just now occurring to me that he may have been right about that. Holy shit,” she muttered, and then looked guiltily at the nun in the room. “Sorry, Mother Superior. It’s like a shock that keeps on happening.”

“Her vault is one possibility,” Killian conceded, looking annoyed. “But there’s also a secret basement underneath the library. I would wager there’s something important there.”

“How do you know?” Emma asked.

“Pirate,” he answered enigmatically. “I can show you how to get down there, Savior. Worry not.”

“There’s no need for her to go alone,” David said. “I can go with her.”

“David, it’s fine, I’m sure you guys are busy with your… kingdom or whatever.” Emma fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m coming with you,” he said with finality, glaring at Killian. It wasn’t the first time that it occurred to Emma that she and her parents knew way too much about each other’s sex lives, now that the curse was broken.

“Fine,” Killian said, “but we should stop by the pawn shop for something first.” Without waiting to see if they were following, he swaggered out of the room and down the hall.

“So,” David said quietly to Emma as they followed at a distance. “Are the two of you still…” He waggled his finger back and forth.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Captain Hook dumped me.”

The mixture of relief and indignation on his face almost made her laugh. “He did what?”

“Well, not dumped me, exactly. But we’re on a break while we figure some stuff out.”

“If a father’s opinion means anything, I don’t approve of you dating a pirate,” David said. “On the other hand, Killian was a good friend to me while we were cursed.”

“While you were cursed, exactly. I don’t really know any of you now,” Emma said.

David stopped walking down the sidewalk in front of Granny’s and grabbed Emma’s arm. “You do, Emma. Our cursed personalities weren’t that different from the real us, especially after you came to town and the curse started to weaken. Snow and I still loved each other. And we still wanted to take care of you, to keep you safe.” He sighed heavily. “As much as I hate to admit it, if Killian cared for you while he was cursed, then that was real. And he probably still cares for you now.”

“Are you two coming or what?” Killian called from across the street. Without responding to her father, Emma followed.

“What happened here?” Emma asked when she saw the broken window pane in the door of Gold’s pawn shop.

“I happened,” Killian said, opening the door. Emma stared at him, unsure whether to be more annoyed that he had broken in or that he was admitting it so baldly to the sheriff as if he just assumed she wouldn’t do anything about it. “What?” he asked off of her expression. “I had to get my hook. It was my property, and Gold stole it. And while I was here, I noticed it wasn’t the only thing he stole.”

He pulled a large case out from under one of the counters, pushing it at David. “Is that not your family crest?” Killian asked, tapping the embossing on the case with his hook.

David nodded, reaching out to open the clasps. His eyes lit up at its contents. “My sword,” he said, lifting it out.

It felt like yet another shock to her system, seeing David armed with a sword. Another realization that all of this fairy tale stuff was really happening.

“Great, so what do we do now?” she said.

“Maybe we find you a weapon too, while we’re at it,” Killian suggested.

Emma shifted aside her jacket, revealing her shoulder holster. “I’m good, thanks. I don’t know the first thing about wielding a sword. And why do we need to be armed, anyway? What exactly are you expecting to be down there?”

Shrugging, Killian made his way back toward the front of the shop. “Who knows that the Evil Queen was capable of bringing to this land?”

~*~

“Henry suspected there was something important about this place,” Emma said as they made their way into the darkened building that the clock tower loomed over.

“Indeed,” Killian said. Slotting his hook behind a wood-paneled wall, Emma heard something click and the entire wall receded up into the ceiling, revealing doors covered by a monstrous mechanism of chains and gears. Killian flipped a switch and the gears began to slowly turn until they reached a specified position, at which point the doors opened with a metallic scraping sound that rattled Emma’s teeth. Behind the doors was an old-fashioned cage elevator.

“It’s manually operated,” Killian said. “The two of you get in, and I’ll lower you down.”

Emma nodded. “Okay.” She and David stepped onto the shaky metal platform, and David reached up to pull down the gate that would close them in the cage.

“Lower the gate when you’re ready for me to bring you up,” Killian said. “Good luck,” he added as he worked the crank that initiated their descent. Soon, he was out of sight entirely, and the temperature became noticeably cooler.

Emma glanced at David. “Is this a normal thing for you? Picking up a sword and charging into who knows what?”

“More normal than I would like, no thanks to Regina.”

“So why does she hate Mary— Snow White so much? Is it that whole ‘fairest of them all’ drama?”

David raised an eyebrow at Emma. “You haven’t read Henry’s book very carefully, have you?”

“I might have skimmed some chapters. I didn’t know it would be on the test,” she groused.

“When Snow was a child, she told Regina’s mother that Regina was in love with the stable boy, and didn’t want to marry Snow’s father. It was innocently done, but the result was that Regina was forced to marry Snow’s father, and the man she loved was killed. Regina never forgave Snow for that.”

“Okay, that sucks for Regina, but Snow White was just a kid. Seems like it was really Regina’s mother who was to blame.”

The elevator came to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the shaft, nearly knocking both of them off of their feet. “I agree, but there wasn’t any reasoning with the Evil Queen,” David said, lifting the gate of the elevator.

Emma had to admit to herself that when she had been picturing a basement, she was thinking maybe a concrete floor, exposed pipes, some utility closets. What she instead found herself in was an underground cave. Somewhere, a slow drip of water echoed off the rocky walls.

“Okay, so what exactly are we looking for? A chest labeled ‘Regina’s Magic: Keep Out’?”

A low rumble, so low that Emma felt it in her chest more than she heard it, came from behind them. Emma turned and noticed movement. For a second, she thought that the rock wall was crumbling, but a source of golden light revealed itself as what she thought was the rock continued to move. And then she realized it wasn’t rock at all; it was a creature. Wings unfurled, and the low, rumbling roar sounded again, much louder.

“Is that a fucking dragon?” she asked David.

“Yeah.” He pulled his sword from the scabbard. “That’s exactly what that is.”

The dragon took to the air, coming right at them. Emma pulled out her gun, aimed, and fired several times at the creature. It seemed to have no effect on its speed or trajectory, only making it screech, the sound echoing off the cavern walls and almost causing Emma to drop her gun. It swooped low over them as it passed. David took a swing with his sword but missed.

“I’ve fought this dragon before,” he said as the dragon reached the other side of the cave and wheeled around.

“You have?”

“Yeah. I know what we’re here for. There’s a potion inside the dragon.” His battle stance, knees bent and sword raised, made him look every inch the prince from a storybook.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I put it there.”

The dragon made for them again. Emma fired her remaining round into its chest. David started to swing his sword, but it was too late; the dragon’s wing caught him in the chest, flinging him several feet away to collide with one of the rocky walls of the cavern.

“Dad!” Emma screamed. He was silent, knocked unconscious by the blow. The dragon turned around, preparing to make another pass.

“Screw this.” Emma dropped her gun and picked up her father’s sword from where it had fallen near her feet.

The dragon began to come at her again, wings flapping and stirring up dust and gravel from the cavern floor. Emma held the heavy sword in two hands, clutching the pommel with all of her strength.  She wasn’t even sure if she could swing it effectively, it was so heavy, but maybe she could at least stab with it. Waiting for her moment, she noticed a glowing spot in the dragon’s throat. The dragon got closer, and Emma stared at that spot. She didn’t see anything else. Not the dangerous wings or talons. Not the head, full of sharp teeth. Not the fearsome eyes. Just that spot.

She thrust upward with all of her might, feeling the sword make contact and her shoulders nearly wrenched out of the sockets with the force of it. There was an otherworldly scream, and then a rain of ash and dust that forced her to drop the sword and cover her face with her arms. The scream seemed to echo forever, filling her ears and her brain and her everything with horror. Then there was silence.

Emma gradually unfolded herself, opening her eyes. There was ash everywhere, and the dragon was gone.

Lying at her feet was a gilded, egg-shaped container. Numbly, Emma picked it up.

~*~

The elevator rose, and Emma knelt at her father’s side. “Come on, David. Dad, whatever. Wake up.” She had used up much of the rest of her strength dragging him into the elevator cage, and now she held his head on her knees, the metal grate pressing uncomfortably against her shins.

Abruptly, the elevator cage stopped, rattling her teeth. Emma looked up, the door into the library still a good fifteen feet away.

“Killian?” she called.

“The mechanism’s stuck.” He peered over the lip of the opening, his hair disheveled and hanging down over his forehead. “Did you get it?”

“We got it, but David’s hurt.” Placing his head down gently on the floor, she climbed the wall and opened a hatch in the ceiling of the cage. “I can climb up,” she said.

“Throw me the potion, and I’ll get it to the Blue Fairy,” he said. “Stay with David, and I’ll phone the paramedics to come get him out.”

Emma eyed him. That did seem like a more sensible plan than leaving an unconscious man alone in an elevator suspended above a mysterious cave. “Okay,” she said, going back for the egg. She climbed up again, and then tossed the egg underhanded up to Killian. He caught it between his hand and hook.

“Thanks.” He winked at her. “See you later, princess.”

~*~

“Mr. Jones.” Tom Clark stood up nervously from the desk at the sheriff’s station where he had been sitting, and then sneezed violently. “Can I help you?”

“No,” Killian said, throwing a punch and enjoying the satisfying sound of his fist connecting with the dwarf’s face, enjoying the way he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

“Do you have it?” Regina asked, her voice edged with impatience.

“The Savior and her father fought well,” he said, lifting the keys off of Sneezy’s belt with his hook and tossing them over to his hand. “The mission was a success, and furthermore, they should be out of our way long enough to get this business concluded.” He unlocked the cell, holding the door open and bowing obsequiously as she stepped out.

“Where is it?”

Killian pulled the small potion bottle, glowing with its own internal pink light, out of his pocket and held it up in front of Regina’s face. “Any idea what it is?” he asked Regina.

Regina made a grab for it, making Killian jerk it back, the neck of the bottle clutched securely between his thumb and forefinger.

She glared at him. “I’m going to need that if you want me to cast this spell.”

“And you’ll have it,” Killian responded, “as soon as I know you won’t find a way to double-cross me first. For now, you can look, but you can’t touch.” He overemphasized each syllable of that last statement, swaying into Regina’s personal space with a leer.

Regina rolled her eyes, but she did lean close to examine the potion more carefully. “Well, I’ll be damned. How did Rumpelstiltskin get his hands on something like this?”

“Why? What is it?”

“It’s the essence of true love. One of the most powerful spell ingredients there is.”

Killian put the bottle back in his pocket. “I wouldn’t know. Can you work with it?”

Regina’s eyes gleamed with promise. “Oh, I certainly can. With the other ingredients I have hidden in my vault, we can bring magic to this town permanently. I’d like to see them try to lock me in jail then.”

Killian huffed, heading for the back door. “Let’s get a move on, then, and save the villain monologuing for after the spell is finished.”

~*~

After twenty minutes passed and no paramedics, Emma realized that something was very wrong.

David was breathing steadily but he was still unconscious, which worried her.  

She pulled out her phone, but they appeared to be just deep enough underground that she was getting no signal. “Shit. Sorry, Dad,” she muttered, “I’ve gotta leave you down here alone for a minute.”

Climbing the wall of the elevator for the third time, her fingers aching from the bite of the sharp metal grate, Emma got her feet underneath her and stood up on the roof of the cage. Reaching up, she was able to get her fingertips over the lip of the opening. Fortunately for her, pull-ups had always been one of her specialties. Her arm muscles flexing, she pulled herself up and over the edge of the library floor, her body half in the library and half hanging over the elevator shaft. She crawled out, gasping for breath.

As soon as she’d used her phone to summon paramedics for David, she called Mary Margaret.

“Emma! Are you and David okay? What happened?”

Frowning, Emma stood up. “Are you not still with August?”

“Yes, I am. I thought Marco might need—”

“So didn’t Killian bring the golden egg thing?”

Mary Margaret’s voice shifted, becoming harder. “No, I haven’t seen him.”

“What the hell, it’s been half an hour. I gave it to him half an hour ago to bring to Mother Superior… Blue… whatever. Where is he?”

“Why didn’t you bring it yourself?”

Emma looked guiltily down at her unconscious father. “I had to stay here with David. He’s fine; at least, I think he’s fine, but he got knocked out.”

“I’m on my way,” her mother said, the call ending abruptly.

Emma looked at the crank that raised the elevator. Her senses humming with dread, she reached out and took hold of the handle, experimentally turning the crank.

The elevator rose easily, and Emma’s heart sank.

Chapter 15

[jbankai89]

Do You Believe In Fairies? [10/12]

A/N: I had to add on another chapter to wrap this thing up properly. Enjoy! :) Those of you who are more history-minded, do not look too closely at the marital traditions discussed in this fic going forward, as 99% of it is totally made up and holds no bearing on real things.

Chapter Ten – Kingly Offerings

 Following his proposal to Otabek, Yuri had no idea what to expect by way of preparations.

Back in the Court, marriages were strictly something that the royals partook in to bind the houses together. Lower classes of Fae were generally too flighty to even consider binding themselves to one person, and often they were too busy seducing mortals to even consider some sort of deeper emotional bond to anyone.

The royal weddings were always a spectacle, however. A dozen days of dancing, drinking, and general merrymaking were held in the couple's honour, though the bonded pair were rarely seen after the formalities of the first day, far too busy celebrating their union in private to grace the others of the Court with their presence.

Yuri did not want something large and ridiculous. Not that they could really afford it, given that Yuri had no form of income, and he did not wish to put Otabek's family in the poorhouse. Had money been no object, Yuri felt as though he still would not wish for something large, as aside from Otabek's immediate family and Guang-Hong, he could think of no one else he wished to invite to the occasion, and he wished to keep it private.

 This was not to be, given that when they returned to the village following Yuri's proposal, a white orchid wound around Otabek's wrist, it did not take long for the whispers to begin.

“Look! A proposal orchid!”

“Do you think the prince knows that his intended has been snatched up by this newcomer?”

“Oh, don't they just look lovely together? That stranger is so pretty, and he moves with Altin like they have known each other all their lives. Who is he?”

 The whispers followed them all the way back to the forge, and Guang-Hong immediately darted outside to greet them. His eyes fell to their intertwined hands and Otabek's orchid, and his eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, I knew it, I knew it!” he cried as he ran up to them, embracing Yuri first, then Otabek, bestowing them each with a kiss on the cheek, which left Otabek looking endearingly flustered at the open show of affection. “When you left, I just had this feeling, and...oh, I knew Yuri was going to propose!”

“Get inside,” Otabek said by way of response, though his tone was less urgent and more amused as he shunted the young man towards the door. “We can talk more away from the gossip vultures.”

Otabek herded both Yuri and Guang-Hong inside, and the moment they crossed the threshold, Olga let out an excited shout of her own, making Matyash jump, and the twins drop their dolls in surprise.

“Oh this is just wonderful!” she cried as she rushed forward and dragged Otabek into a hug. “My boy, engaged... Yuri, Guang-Hong, you two are of course more than welcome into our little family, we haven't much, but...”

“My dear lady,” Yuri said, cutting her off gently as he took her hands in his own, assumed his princely tone, and regarded her with a warm smile. “Your hospitality is more warm and generous than that of all of my former kin could offer combined. I will do all I can to help, of course, but I am afraid that I am still learning the ways of your people, and at the moment, I am somewhat useless.”

“A Fae calling himself useless,” Matyash remarked with a chuckle as he stood up and moved to stand next to his wife. “That is something I never thought I would hear. Of course, traditionally it is preferred that the prospective suitor requests the hand of the intended to the parents first, but in this case, I see no reason to call a halt to this. As my wife said, you are welcome in this family, Yuri.”

Yuri smiled warmly at Matyash as he crossed his right arm across his chest, his palm resting over his heart, and bowed low to the older man.

“I thank you for your gracious hospitality,” Yuri said and smiled inwardly when both husband and wife flushed a little at his praise.

A slight tugging on Yuri's tunic drew them from their discussion, and he glanced down to see one of the twins standing there, her dark eyes, so like her big brother's, were wide and curious.

“Does this mean you'll be my big bwovver too now?” she asked, and Yuri realized it was Katya. He recalled Otabek telling him that she was the one with the lisp.

“Yes, I suppose it does,” Yuri said as he crouched down to smile at the girl, just as her twin zipped up to her side. “Is that all right with the two of you?”

“Beka always attwacts pwinces,” Katya said by way of explanation. “Pwince Jean-Jacques wikes him a wot. I think you're nicer than him though.”

“Am I?” Yuri asked, and she nodded fervently.

“The pwince isn't bad, but he wikes himself better than Beka.”

Otabek snorted, but didn't interrupt their conversation as Anya nodded in agreement and added, “yeah. He thinks he's the best, he thinks Beka is pretty, and wants to marry him, only cos he's pretty though. But Beka kept saying no.”

“Well, I'm glad he did,” Yuri said with a chuckle, “I like your brother very much. And for more than just his looks, though he is very handsome.”

The girls giggled when Otabek went very pink.

 ~*~

 The following days were a flurry of activity for the family. Otabek spent half the time in the forge, taking on as many projects as he could in order to help save for the wedding, which they were all keen to have take place as soon as possible. Yuri was not too bothered by this—though the presence of iron still made him uneasy, despite the fact that it could no longer harm him, but the sight of Otabek without his upper clothing, shining with sweat, it was as though Adonis himself had descended from the heavens. Otabek was just too lovely to not observe.

At the same time, Olga had taken his measurements, and she and Katya had insisted upon putting together his wedding garb, while Yuri's offers to help were politely rejected. Yuri tried to keep from laughing at Katya's laments that she wished he was a girl, because a wedding dress was so much more fun to make than simple men's garb. He left the women to it, while he and Guang-Hong wandered off together to the flatlands to try and decide upon a worthy gift for Yuri's beloved.

“I don't want something too gaudy or ostentatious,” Yuri said as he and Guang-Hong soaked their feet in the cool river, the hot summer sun beating down on them relentlessly as they sat there. “Otabek does not seem to really enjoy being the centre of attention, but I want something...nice.”

“What about a bloom encased in false amber?” Guang-Hong asked as he regarded Yuri. “Glass coloured to look like amber, with a flower inside, maybe a rose or daisy, to symbolize the two blooms you gifted him with before?”

“Or pressed blooms between panes of glass,” Yuri added as he leant back against the grass and gazed at the sky. “But glass can be expensive...”

The sound of hoofbeats drew Yuri and Guang-Hong from their talk, and they both glanced up at the same moment to see a troupe of riders in expensive-looking garb making straight for them.

“Who is it?” Guang-Hong asked, and began to get up, but Yuri's hand on his arm stilled his movements.

“I think I know,” Yuri replied softly, “just relax, I do not believe that they will harm us.”

The galloping of the horses got louder as the troupe made its approach, the one in front on a sleek black stallion, the man himself with black hair and dressed in an emerald green. Everything from his steed to his clothing screamed of his high standing in society, higher even than a lord or lady—this was a prince, Yuri was certain of it.

Yuri stood up and tugged Guang-Hong with him. As the prince and his servants (or advisors, Yuri wasn't certain) slowed to a stop, he bowed low.

“Your highness,” Yuri said as he straightened up, and the man smirked. He dropped down from his horse and drew his sword, a fine longsword with some sort of inscription upon the blade, though too far away for Yuri to read it. Despite possible threat of drawing his weapon, Yuri had the strangest impression that the man wished merely to show off the weapon, but not use it.

“You know me?” he asked as he stepped forward, and cocked a brow at Yuri. Yuri could not help but mentally remark at the physical similarities between the prince and Otabek—save for their eyes. Where  Otabek's were dark and warm, this man's was a deep ocean-blue—but not unkind.

“By reputation,” Yuri replied with a small smile. “We have a friend in common.”

The man raised his eyebrows, and sheathed his sword.

“You must be the famous Yuri, then,” he said, “the mysterious stranger who swept my intended off his feet as easily as breathing, when my attempts over the last year to win his favour yielded nothing.” Yuri nodded, uncertain what else he could say following such a statement.

“I am, your highness,” he replied. “I care very much for Otabek, and was pleased when he accepted my proposal.”

“I see. Prince Jean-Jacques is my name, crowned prince of this land, and son of Leroy, the king. You speak similarly to myself, as though you come from a royal line,” the prince remarked, arching a brow as he took a step closer to Yuri. “I have never heard a peasant speak as you do. What is your House?”

“I have no House,” Yuri replied, and the prince eyed him with disbelief. “I am in exile, your highness. I was forced out for my defence of Otabek.”

“Your defence of him?” the prince asked, and arched a brow. Yuri nodded.

“My king had kidnapped him, secreted him away to our lands as a gift to me.” Yuri wrinkled his nose, and dropped his gaze as he continued his story. “I demanded Otabek's freedom, lost the challenge I set to my king, and as a result, he, myself, and my Companion were all exiled. Otabek brought me here immediately after it happened.”

“I remember this kidnapping,” the prince said, “it occurred not a month past. When I spoke to his parents however, he said that he was taken by—oh.” His eyes widened, and Yuri shifted nervously. “You're Fae, aren't you?”

“Not anymore, your highness,” Yuri muttered, and he felt his face burn with shame. “My power was stripped from me when I was exiled. I have nothing left.”

“Hmm, not necessarily,” the prince said as he grinned at Yuri, some sort of odd winning smile that Yuri found strangely irksome, though he did not dare to let it show on his face. “I have a proposal for you and your...friend.” the prince's gaze flitted to Guang-Hong momentarily, then back to Yuri.

“A...proposal?”  

“You needn't look so nervous,” the prince said teasingly. “I have no intention to come between you and my beloved, but weddings are expensive ventures, especially for a blacksmith. Certainly, they are more wealthy than some, but nowhere near rich enough to warrant planning a wedding like it is nothing.”

“Then what are your intentions?” Yuri asked, and the prince grinned again.

“I would like to offer you employment at the castle,” he said, and Yuri stared, certain that he'd misheard him. The prince pressed on before Yuri could interject, however. “I would not ask you to live there, my Otabek would not like that, he is a simple man, he needs only the barest of necessities to be content.”

“What sort of employment?” Yuri asked curiously, “I am afraid I know very little of the ways of human life, and I cannot see what use I would be to you.” He exchanged another bewildered look with Guang-Hong, then once again looked back to the prince, who was still grinning at him.

“Oh I believe you would be very well-suited for the job I have in mind,” he replied, “I wish for you to go through our records of Faery Folk, and correct it. I am not asking you to betray the secrets of your kind, merely adjust what our records say of how to appease or entreat with them. I am afraid that our current records are horrifically out of date, and we have lost many young men to them to your former people over the last few decades. I would pay you quite handsomely, certainly more than enough to give my Otabek the wedding he deserves.”

“I have no love for the monarchs of my former land,” Yuri began, his head bowed a little as he spoke. “Further, I would have no protests to the work you have offered, and indeed, I thank you for the opportunity. I must confess that while I enjoy the hospitality of the Altin family, this feeling of uselessness is not very pleasant to me. I have one request however, and I do apologize for my rudeness...” Yuri paused, taking a breath to brace himself for possibly going too far, but hearing this Prince Jean-Jacques speak as though he owned Otabek's heart made him feel slightly sick. The prince nodded once, inviting Yuri to continue.

“Do not call my Otabek your Otabek,” Yuri said firmly. “He chose me, and I must admit it is irksome to have you refer to him as such, when it is not you he chose to be with.”

Guang-Hong gasped at Yuri's brazenness, and at the same moment the prince's two companions leant towards each other and started to whisper rapidly. In contrast to the others, the prince smiled at Yuri, less like he had just demanded something of a monarch, and more like he had told him a particularly amusing joke. He strode forwards, rested a single finger under Yuri's chin, and tilted his gaze up until their eyes met.

“Quite a demand from one who is, for all intents and purposes, a peasant in my kingdom,” the prince purred while Yuri strove to keep his expression neutral. He did not know what to expect from this royal, and quite suddenly he rather wished he'd had the forethought to ask Otabek more about him.

“JJ!” a sudden voice cried out, and both Yuri and the prince whipped around to see Otabek running towards them, his eyes wide. “JJ, don't! Leave him alone!”

Otabek skidded to a halt next to Yuri, and tugged him back out of the prince's reach. Yuri stumbled into his side, and pressed a hand to Otabek's chest to stop himself from falling.

“Leave him alone,” Otabek repeated firmly, one arm wrapped possessively around Yuri's waist as he frowned at the prince. “Please.”

“I was doing nothing wrong, Otabek, I swear it,” the prince replied smoothly, and offered Otabek a warm smile. “I was merely ceding my defeat to him for your lovely hand.”

Otabek flushed a deep scarlet, and the arm around Yuri's waist tightened slightly.

“I've asked you before to not make comments like that, it makes me uncomfortable,” Otabek said, and the prince bowed.

“Apologies, Otabek. I am afraid sometimes I forget myself where you are concerned, and it is difficult to control my wayward tongue,” the prince said, and his eyes fell again to Yuri. “I suppose that is what lost me your hand, my lack of respect for you.”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Allow me to make it up to you, then,” the prince said with another bow to Yuri, Otabek, and Guang-Hong. “I offer you the castle's rose gardens as space for your wedding, the castle's priestess, and anything else you should require for your special day. And, of course, Yuri, the job is still yours if you want it.”

“Job?” Otabek asked as he turned to Yuri, and he reached out to squeeze the brunet's arm gently.

“I'll explain later, I promise,” Yuri murmured, and Otabek inclined his head once.

“That is very kind of you, your highness, but we wish to have our wedding in simplicity, not extravagance,” Otabek said to the prince, and bowed once. Yuri felt himself gasp at his brazenness in the face of a monarch, but amazingly, the prince did not appear offended by the rejection. Instead, he bowed deeply to Otabek and Yuri in turn.

“I understand,” the prince said, and turned to Yuri as he chirruped once, calling his horse forward, and closed his hand over the reins. “Yuri, come to the castle when you have decided whether or not you want the work. Ask for me by name, you should have no issues with the servants barring you from seeing me. Good day.”

Without another word he got back on his horse, called to his attendants to rejoin him, and they rode off.

Yuri felt his entire body sag with relief as he watched the prince disappear, and he turned to Otabek, who was smiling at him with vague amusement that Yuri did not share.

“What on earth were you thinking, Otabek?” “What?”

“Speaking to your prince like that!” Yuri cried, his eyes wide with fear. “What if he had executed you for your insolence? I can't tie myself to you if you have no head!” Yuri was breathing harshly, alarmed over the possibility that in a split-second he could have lost his precious Otabek—his own insolent remark at the prince not a full ten minutes prior notwithstanding.

“Yuri,” Otabek said, his voice ringing with patience as he smiled at him warmly, “this is not the Fae Court, the rules here are different. What you saw was not insolence...well, it would have been, had I not known Prince JJ personally, but we are...acquainted. I would not call us friends, but certainly closer than strangers. He is a bit...frustrating to deal with, but he and his family have never been harsh or cold monarchs, they care for their people. They always have.”

Yuri shifted closer to Otabek, and wrapped his arms around the human's—fellow human's, Yuri reminded himself—waist, and clung tightly to him.

“Everything here is so strange, it scares me, the...the...life here is so perilous, and I am in fear of losing you so often, and I think, Gods above, what if something happens, what if I do lose you?” Yuri gazed up at Otabek as he spoke, his voice catching, and he felt tears sting his eyes. He couldn't lose Otabek—he simply couldn't.

“I'm not going anywhere, Yuri,” Otabek murmured as he moved to cradle his cheek, and kissed him lightly, “just breathe, it's all right, everything is all right.”

“Why does this conversation sound so familiar?” Yuri asked suddenly, and Otabek laughed.

“I do recall falling apart quite spectacularly when I was taken by...” Otabek hesitated briefly, “...him, I'd say your distress is hardly unwarranted, my Yuri.” Otabek paused, and kissed him lightly. “It will take time to adjust to human culture, do not pressure yourself, be patient with yourself.”

Otabek rubbed Yuri's back as he spoke, and Yuri hugged him tightly as he arched up for another kiss.

“Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve you,” Yuri murmured as he reached up to brush his fingers along the edge of his jaw, “you are just so...lovely.”

Yuri smiled when he saw Otabek flush pink at the compliment, and rested his arm securely around Yuri's narrow waist.

“Come home with me and tell me about this job offer that Prince JJ mentioned,” Otabek said encouragingly, just as a soft cough sounded not far from them, and they both turned to Guang-Hong, who had been sitting off to one side quietly. He smiled warmly at them, his eyes glimmering with mirth over the fact that he had been momentarily forgotten by the couple, though he did not appear at all offended.

“Let's all go home,” Yuri said in an effort to smooth over the awkward moment, and with one arm wrapped around Otabek, he reached out the other to join hands with Guang-Hong, and the three of them headed back towards the forge.

“Tell me,” Otabek repeated as they moved, “what is this job that the prince spoke of?”

“Oh, ah...he wants Guang-Hong and I to update their records of my people, erm, former people. I think he wants to find ways to stop them from taking the firstborn sons, but I didn't think it would be wise to tell him that that would be impossible until the present king is gone. I feared he might attempt to go to war, and such a thing would be foolhardy, to say the least. Humans do not stand a chance against an army of Fae.”

“I wish I could disagree and have more faith in my own people, but after seeing the Court...” Otabek trailed off and shook his head. “Perhaps it is best if you humour him, and not share that tiny detail with the prince, should you take the job.”

“I don't intend to—tell him, I mean,” Yuri clarified, “the job I will take, if you think it's a good idea. Will the prince not try to keep me away from you?”

“I see no reason why you shouldn't,” Otabek replied with a small smile. “As I have said, our prince is not like your Court was. He is not a vindictive man—full of himself, yes, but never cruel. If you would like to take the job, I see no reason why you shouldn't.”

Smiling warmly at the approval of his fiancé, the trio fell silent as they finally made it back to the forge.

 That night, after a sumptuous meal prepared by Otabek's mother, they spent the evening before the fire, warm and content while Yuri and Guang-Hong listened to the family exchange stories, some true, some fanciful, all the while sitting next to Otabek, their hands intertwined, while Guang-Hong sat at his side, his knees drawn up to his chest, and a small smile upon his face. After the accident of excluding him that afternoon, Yuri and Otabek had been more careful to include Guang-Hong in their conversations, so as to ensure that he did not feel left out. The young man appeared highly amused by their efforts, but neither did he stop them. Guang-Hong seemed to be highly amused by their habit of becoming so wrapped up in each other that they forgot who else might be present, though Yuri did not allow this quiet permission to encourage him to ignore Guang-Hong, and in fact had the opposite effect. His former Companion, now simply his friend, was like a little brother to him, and he never wanted to do anything that might imply that he was a burden on him.

 “There is something I have not told you,” Guang-Hong whispered a little while after the Altins had headed to bed, leaving Yuri and Guang-Hong alone curled up before the dying fire to talk in private.

“Oh?” Yuri asked, “and what might that be?”

“A young man from the market, a fiddler and son of a fish monger, he has been approaching me when I go into town. He is...” Guang-Hong paused and bit his lip, his cheeks flushing a faint pink as he sat there. “He reminds me of someone, but I cannot place who. Someone from my former life, I think. Is that even possible, your h—Yuri?”

“He could be a reincarnation of someone you used to know, that is not outside the realm of possibility,” Yuri replied. “I knew of a few young men our former monarch would enchant, but not take, and he would revisit them every few hundred years, when they were once more upon the earth after being reborn.”

“I like him,” Guang-Hong proclaimed with that same small, shy smile. “Would it be possible for you or Otabek to invite him to the wedding, so that I may dance with him?”

Yuri chuckled, wrapped an arm around Guang-Hong's shoulders, and pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek.

“It is done, my friend.”

Guang-Hong's expression brightened, and he rested his head on Yuri's shoulder. Yuri shifted his gaze to the glowing embers in the hearth, and watched them until Guang-Hong began to nod off. He guided his friend up to his bed before joining Otabek, and curled up into the warm embrace of his beloved, and began to count the days until they could finally tie themselves together.

He could hardly wait.

A/N: If you like my work, please consider throwing a few bucks into my Digital Tip Jar. I am a starving artist, and I like not actually starving to death :P you can also support me on Patreon, where I am posting all things related to my upcoming cookbook. Simply Vegan.

DYBIF Masterpost

[voluntarydemise]

The 100 S3 Hiatus Diary

Once again, let me present to you a chronicle of our fandom’s most glorious hiatus moments. In truest hyperbole fashion we did not scale back after last year’s already impressive BS recordings. Here’s all the drama we managed to fit into the 257 days between the Season 3 finale on May 19, 2016 and the Season 4 premiere on February 1, 2017:

FYI: Entries are mostly focused on the Twitter fandom unless otherwise noted. Also beware, this diary deliberately generalises from the loud few to the many. 

Day 2: Emma Caulfield of EW writes a *love letter* bashing Bellamy into a verb and adjective. Half of the fandom cackles, other half is ready to “bellamy” her. 

Day 3: Ongoing belittling of Jasper’s PTSD in tandem with outrage from same people that show didn’t depict enough PTSD victims.

Day 6: #GiveBellamyBlakeABoyfriend circulates and is amusingly shared by lovers and haters.

Day 7: Kass Morgan is confronted with fandom members defacing and even burning her books. Because we are classy.

Day 10: Tumblr heats up when Johnny Depp beating Amber Heard gets compared to how Bellamy treats Clarke. Because bisexuality. Oh yes.

Day 11: Devon zings Harry Styles - and popstars in general - for trying to act. Somewhere Shawn Mendes cries a tear. 

Day 12: The Fandom-is-Broken article hits. Outrage everywhere, while our fandom is like “yup, sounds about right”. 

Day 15: Bob at Phoenix con says Bellamy wouldn’t have sided with Pike had Clarke returned earlier. Somehow he gets hate for that. Still unclear why. Most likely for no reason at all. 

Day 16: More Phoenix con: Bob utters word “YET”, causes avalanche. Emma Caulfield tweets her and Bob’s are besties now. Fandom responds in typical forgiving ways. 

Day 18: Tumblr has Brollexa gaining traction among BCers, the polyamorous turn it into Clexamy. Not appreciated by the CL fandom. Devon tweet-deletes, shits on cast members for making money off cons instead of donating to charity.

Day 21: Eliza and Bob get nominated for Teenchoice TV Chemistry. Disgust in CL fandom as entertaining as surprise in BC fandom. 

Day 23: Fan at Oz Comic Con asks Eliza about Chemistry nomination and gets booed. Bob speaks slloooowwwhhhuuurr to the iddiiiooootttss on twitter. Most likely entirely unrelated. 

Day 24: Eliza gets called fake/lost/drunk by BC fandom for voicing opinions about Bellarke. Beware of having opinions about ships.

Day 25: Bob replies to hate tweet. Backfires into him getting criticised for passive aggressively focusing on negativity only. 

Day 26: First hiatus hack! Eliza’s instagram. Leads to Alycia unfollowing her. Fandom entertained for a while. Plus the gem of someone comparing Lexa’s death to the Orlando shooting.

Day 28: Alycia cancels Brazil con. In a roundabout way it’s Bob’s fault.

Day 31: On the shipping front Bob  & Shampoo compete against Lexa & Bullet. Because why not. 

Day 33: Somehow BC fandom hits jackpot by criticising both Adina and Mike on same day. For not being pro-BC enough. Adina! Mike! 

Day 35: Layne Morgan attacks Ben Batemen for elevating himself to lgbt+ spokesperson. Fanbase first stunned, then divided. 

Day 37: Second hiatus hack! Layne’s phone. Apparently private numbers get leaked, some idiots message Jason’s wife.

Day 41: Third hiatus hack! (@)emiliascara hacks into Marcus Catsaras’ (Alycia’s boyfriend) icloud, finds footage of him cheating. Catsaras deletes his twitter/fb accounts. Because hell has no fury like a riled-up CL fandom.

Day 42: Lindsey jumps in to fight hackers, (@)morleydebnam jokes about hacking Lindsey.

Day 44: Hacker exposed as guy from Toronto (Michael Brand/Bahramian). 

Day 46: CL fandom overruns and impressively wins 9 of 11 E!Online polls. Still peeved over other fandoms bonding and voting against them. 

Day 48: Jarod speaks up after Alton Sterling shooting. Ends with him getting attacked over *representation* issues. 

Day 52: Eliza vs Alycia in Radiotimes quarter finals. Which fosters minor drama.

Day 56: Layne officially disinvited from clexacon. 

Day 57: Some panelists boycott clexacon after Layne’s exit. Meanwhile the gullible have a clickbait-freakout over O killing Bellamy. 

Day 58: Ben Bateman steps back from clexacon allies panel. (@)riserellamy makes it their mission to get all Arryn-haters blocked by Bob. 

Day 59: Eliza talks freely and excessively about Lexa and Clexa at Brazil Con. BC fandom really wishes she wouldn’t. 

Day 60: From the fanfic policing front: Author gets such harsh attacks for writing Lexamy they pull the fic. 

Day 61: S3 DVD is out! Deleted scenes reheat old rage. While Ricky retweets shade about him not being in the bloopers.

Day 62: #OlicityMafiaExposedClexaParty happens. CL fandom first fandom ever to cheat in a poll. 

Day 64: She said “ship”.

Day 65: Whole fandom aflame over the shit/ship debacle. Shit memes everywhere. Aaron doesn’t give a SHIT. Eliza probably avoids her mentions. Tumblr births Bellarke Drags. The best of days.

Day 66: clexasources promotes WB survey asking people to criticise show. Eliza shall be saved by cancellation. 

Day 67: ELSchaaf claims Eliza speaks condescendingly of Bellarke because she’s threatened by Bob’s popularity. Fandom appalled. In conjunction CLs figure out ELSchaaf is involved with Unity Days. 

Day 68: ELSchaaf on tumblr rampage, invites haters to call her names at con in person. Unity Days reacts swiftly and removes ELSchaaf. 

Day 70: Bellarke Shit necklace sparks controversy. 

Day 73: Wizard Con: Marie says Clarke has *nappy* hair which Eliza laughs at. Racism outrage in some fandom corners. 

Day 75: Jason’s SDCC talk about bi-Clarke getting “with everyone” resurfaces. Not the most well received. clexasources deactivates after Bob+Eliza photo post leads to attacks by followers.  

Day 78: Supposed insider troll Jason Blue stirs up rumour drama of Octavia dying. 

Day 82: Bellarke fanart repurposed as Braven fanart. Bob-birthday charity criticised for being organised by a BC shipper. 

Day 84: Pedowitz stands behind show at TCAs, does neither criticise nor cancel it on the spot, as some had hoped. 

Day 103: Fanfic policing, part 2: Bellamy goes down on Clarke in the commander’s throne. People - ignorant of the concept of *fanfiction* - are mad. 

Day 106: Eliza posts candid pic with guy-boy-friend. Apparently this makes her a lesser lgbt+ ally. 

Day 111: Fanfic’s blowjobgate! Briller&Harper fic on kinkmemes ignites long and nasty Bellarke fanfic community wars. Who gets to and with whom and with how many is not the author’s choice alone. 

Day 125: Tumblr aflame over Bellamy hating Aurora Blake, with usual shades of misogyny and racism. 

Day 130: HYPE article about ADC at Copenhagen Con calls out fans for slightly inappropriate fan behavior. More inappropriate fan behavior in reaction leads to article edits. 

Day 132: Kim retweets Fa Panini’s cute Becho fanart. BC fandom takes that as confirmation of things to come. Mild panic. 

Day 135: A clearly mangled and misrepresented SDCC comment about Clarke and love interest in S4 causes freakout. Because fandom will forever step into all clickbait traps willingly. 

Day 144: The usual bi-monthly kerfuffle about Clarke being forgotten as bi-rep in article. 

Day 145: Layne Morgan sick of TV bi girls ending up with men. Not that stats have discredited this stereotype at all. 

Day 155: Supposed insider troll Jason Blue claims insider cancellation knowledge. Insider arguments quickly debunked. 

Day 159: Photoshopped Variety tweet circulates, claiming show cancellation. Mo Ryan refutes it. 

Day 165: Lindsey stumbles into sexypilgrim drama. Apologises later for wishing people would get involved in causes beyond online outrage. 

Day 166: Press day! Drama day! Fandom-uneducated Nadia voices “Luna is stronger than Lexa”. She may forever feel the consequences. 

Day 167: Nadia tweets “Fiction”, deletes account. #NadiaDeactivatedParty follows. Eliza and later Arryn claim account is fake. Fandom thinks Eliza would rather lie than defend Nadia and her anti-Lexa statement. 

Day 170: Meanwhile in the fanfic warzone: “Bellamy rapes Lexa” gets countered with “Lexa castrates Bellamy”. 

Day 190: Bob reaches annual patience-for-twitter threshold, carries out annual twitter deactivation. States he was made to join. Fandom: lol, ok, see you in a bit. 

Day 199: Bellarke and Clexa both in same Hottest-Ships-of-the-Year list. But fandom can’t share nice things. 

Day 201: Guess who’s back on twitter, guys?

Day 216: BC-shipping jewellery artist called out for making money off Clexa art. Not allowed in the age of receipts. 

Day 219: In spirit of Christmas, Aaron issues Lexa apology. Fandom - less spirited - counters it’s 9 months too late, and never enough. 

Day 221: Katie affirms in slightly too bitter way that show is more than just Clexa. Bad move, girl.

Day 222: (@)bellamysbriller - whom Katie retweeted the day before - is exposed for catfishing and bullying. 

Day 228: More jewellery controversies, as jewellery donations to charities can only come from people who’ve never made controversial statements. 

Day 233: clexaspoilers surfaces, claims access to screeners, reveals Clexa parts. Fandom calls it baiting to make them watch, even though account claims now they DON’T have to watch. 

Day 238: BC fandom gets high on SHE HAS BELLAMY, and actually manages to trend for once. Stunning friends and foes alike.

Day 241: Unity Days report of Lindsey supposedly saying Bellarke is boring. Lindsey gets attacked and goes on twitter detox. BC fandom to blame.

Day 243: Fourth hiatus hack! Ricky’s phone. Beware of Ricky nudes. 

Day 245: Alycia’s management removes The 100 from “known for” section on IMDB. BCers shocked, CLs shrug. 

Day 248: BCers think 600 cookies might be helpful for show renewal. Laughs and eyerolls all around.

Day 249: S4 poster arrives. Cast, writers and fans partake in a who’s-who guessing game with silhouettes. Body shaming leads to #titsoutforeliza, someone leaks S4 callsheets and Funko whitewashes Raven and Bellamy. A busy day.

Day 252: CLs set up White House petition to get Jason fired. A single signature last we checked. 

Day 257: Final hiatus day: (@)the100leaked pops up to generously leak part of the Season 4 finale script and cause mass hysteria. Tadaaaaa! 

And that’s it! See you all next hiatus! Just kidding. I accept more entries, if you can link me to the evidence.