#that 13 year age difference hitting him square in the face as he’s just trying to have a convo with his coworker

[nico-di-genova]

Alex realizing he’s old.

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 13

Every coin has two sides

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Namjoon focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 10.3k ⤑ warnings: descriptive violence, body horror, near-death of a main character, prejudice and oppression of mages, heavy angst. ⤑ note: lol bc last week, i had already written out the entire chapter and just meant to edit and post it last weekend. but then another idea struck me while i was at work, and even tho i meant to just change ONE scene, it started leading to a completely different ending. so lol here i am, one week later, after rewriting half this chapter 💀 this chapter is also heavily inspired by "A Village Under Siege" and "The Attack at Nightfall" quests in Dragon Age: Origins + the world of necromancer bells from the "Old Kingdom Series" by Garth Nix

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

From the distance, an old windmill is spotted over a hill. Its turbines spin slowly with the breeze, and the weathered bricks keep it standing tall after all these years. The distinct landmark signifies one thing.

Hawthorn Village. You’re finally here.

And it’s just as Namjoon remembers it.

Nostalgia hits him as you all cross the bridge that leads into the village. Thatched roofs and walls made of stone and wood. A large well near the center of the square where he used to make wishes upon as a kid. The elementary school he went to, the old church that his parents religiously attended, and the farmlands with livestock and crop mazes.

Much to his dismay, the aftereffects of the nightly terrors have taken its toll on his beloved hometown.

People are trying their best to get through another day, distributing produce to feed the hungry and burning the dead. A blacksmith with tired eyes insistently pounds iron with a hammer to make new weapons that will give them a better chance against the enemies. A militiaman tries to keep up morale, although most of the remaining men are just farmers and workers – none of them trained to fight. Survivors step out of the infirmary tents, wrapped in bandages but still in pain. A small child cries, looking for their parents.

Doom hangs in the air. Haunted and defeated are the faces of Hawthorn’s residents, as the looming threat of another unsettling fight is set before them.

“What’s happened here?” Seokjin asks one of the villagers.

A middle-aged man’s light up when he sees your group. “I haven’t seen you folks before. Have you come to help us? Did our notices finally reach someone?”

It isn’t long until the group is ushered to the local church. Gathered by the altar is the mayor of the village. Dark circles are under his eyes from sleepless nights, but he looks at you all with hope as the villager announces you’re all from a guild. Then, he explains to your party their dire situation.

Decomposing corpses return to life at night with the hunger for flesh, and they have been attacking this small village for the past few nights. From dusk until dawn, these attacks on Hawthorn are relentless. Each night, they come in greater numbers. Due to the necromancer and dark magic being involved, no one has been responding to their urgent calls for help. The local hunters have been summoned to the capital, and guilds often overlook their tiny settlement when they pass by.

All of Hawthorn fears that tonight will be the worst attack yet.

“You’re our only hope,” the mayor pleads. “Hawthorn won’t stand a chance otherwise.”

The Oathkeepers look at Seokjin, but his eyes are on Namjoon. He feels the rest of you looking at him too. As if it’s up to him to decide whether his hometown is worth saving, or if the quest at hand is deemed too dangerous to assist. Allowing him to back out now before they’re obligated to see things through, no matter what the risk.

“Of course we’ll help,” Namjoon decides without hesitation. “Tell us what you need.”

Tonight, things look pretty grim.

Morale within the village is at its lowest. After multiple perilous nights of terror and gruesome deaths, the ones still alive are worried they’ll be next. That nothing will remain of their beloved Hawthorn once the sun goes down.

“Someone has to know something about the necromancer. We have to find out who is terrorizing the village and what their motive is,” Namjoon concludes as you all gather outside the church to debrief. “We also need to help the residents prepare for tonight’s battle: teach them how to properly hold weapons, encourage every able-body to help with the fight, and inspire them to defend the land and their community.”

“Leave the villagers to us,” Seokjin offers, gesturing at himself and the members of his guild. “We’ll do our best to get everyone ready before sundown. You just focus on finding that necromancer.”

“Taehyung and I are going to look at their resources,” Hoseok informs, surveying the infirmary tents. “I might be able to make something for the injured.”

“We’ll check on the blacksmith,” Yoongi says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “He was in rough shape when we passed by. Half of the villagers aren’t wearing proper armor and are carrying broken weapons. Repairs need to be done if they want to stand a fighting chance.”

“Taverns are a great source of information,” Jackson mentions as he eyes the local pub. A smile touches his lips as he wonders out loud, “Maybe I can even convince the owner to give out free shots of courage to the fighters.”

“Then Jungkook and I will talk to the farmers,” Namjoon decides as he looks at his familiar, who nods his head in agreement. “The notice mentions that they’re the ones who suspect dark magic is at hand. Maybe one of them saw something that can give us a clue to where our necromancer is.”

With a solid plan set, the party breaks off to their assigned tasks.

Tonight still looks grim, but there’s hope.

With success, they might be able to turn everything around before nightfall.

“Any luck?” you ask when you see Namjoon and Jungkook circling back to the village square after a while.

“Not really,” Namjoon mulls with a sigh.

“They said the horde comes from all around the village. One night, they’re skeletons from the village’s graveyard. Another night, they’ve come from the nearby lake or from the thickets of the woods,” Jungkook explains with a frown. Whoever they talk to seems to have different descriptions of the undead creatures. “Most of the villagers are too busy trying to stay alive to keep track of what’s been causing the dead to rise.”

“They did confirm one thing, though,” Namjoon adds before he throws a glance at his familiar. “They heard the sound of bells.”

“Bells?” you echo, looking between them.

“It’s how the necromancers summon the dead,” Jungkook simply explains. “Without them, they’re just like any other mage.”

“Good to know,” you mutter, shivering at the thought of hearing strange bells in the middle of the night. At least, if nothing else, you’ll be able to take away their advantage.

Still, a mage that has the skills to control the dead must be incredibly powerful.

“How is everything here?” Namjoon asks as he looks around.

“Good. Jin is a natural at raising morale,” you reply, looking over to where a small crowd chants Seokjin’s name. The others in his guild have been teaching them how to use their weapons, and although they’re still clearly unskilled, their progress is still quite an improvement from before.

“Hoseok-hyung looks like he has things under control in the infirmary,” Jungkook points out. The nurses and patients around him are in awe at the simple potions he had given them, claiming that he must be a miracle doctor. They also look smitten over Taehyung, who’s soothing voice calms and comforts the bedridden a bit.

“Yoongi-hyung, too,” Namjoon notes when he looks at your familiar, sitting over an anvil and helping the blacksmith craft weapons of steel. With assistance, it seems like the blacksmith will be able to get repairs done in time after all.

Shouts and cheers from the tavern show that Jackson, somehow, persuaded the bartender to give out free ale to the villagers. Although tipsy, their spirits are high, and they seem eager to fight after a round of complimentary drinks.

“I’ll help Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook states, interested in what they’re doing. He approaches the blacksmith, who seems elated to have additional assistance.

“We should probably check on Jackson. Maybe he’s heard something,” you suggest, turning toward the tavern. But Namjoon grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“Actually,” he starts, suddenly a little nervous. He takes a deep breath before he tells you, “There’s something I need to do first. Before it’s too late.”

At age thirteen, Namjoon awakened the power of magic. The feeling of bestowment is like fire. The initial spark of energy courses through his veins and spreads within him. Mesmerizing, alluring, and dangerous. No matter how much he reads and tries to understand his abilities, there’s always something new to learn, to incantate, and to master through his connection to the Veil.

Magic is both a blessing and a curse. Two sides of the same coin.

At first, Namjoon hated what he was. He hated that he became a mage.

Every night, when he was locked away in Alterwood Keep or WIndshire Tower, he questioned what he had done to be damned with such misfortune.

Magic is what burned his family’s home to the ground. Magic is what got him taken away from his parents, his friends, and his village – everything he knew. Magic is what lured the hunters into killing Ignis, turned Adriel into a beast, and shunned him from his home for so long.

The same home he stands before now.

“This is it,” Namjoon tells you, looking at an ordinary-looking house.

It’s been rebuilt over the years. Shabby, but somewhat similar to what it used to be. The curtains are identical to the ones his mother had put on the windows, down to the same shade of color. The front has pots of flowers that she liked to grow, and as the weather warmed, she’d smile as they began to bloom. Inside, Namjoon is certain he’d find a small collection of books his father would’ve read, and upon his favorite chair, he used to emphasize the importance of education and the pursuit of knowledge.

Your fingers thread through his. “Are you ready?”

He looks at you and nods his head.

At age nineteen, shortly after he was transferred to Blackstone Castle, he finally started to see magic as a positive force in his life.

Magic is what brought you all together, intertwining your fates with each other like red strings of soulmates. Magic is what makes the ordinary, unassuming shop at New Haven come to life and keep you all safe and happy. Magic is what brings him back to where it all started, with you by his side.

Years have passed since that fateful day he was taken from his parents. He’s started to accept that magic is a part of him. For all its wickedness and destruction, and all its serenity and wonder. Two sides of the same coin.

He just hopes, as he raises his hand to knock on the door, his parents will accept him as well. Magic and all.

The door swings open. An older woman stands on the other side. “Yes, can I help you?”

There’s a polite but cautious smile on her face, and deep dimples on her cheeks that match Namjoon’s. The resemblance between them is unmistakable.

“Hi Mother,” Namjoon greets her with his own nervous, dimpled smile. His hand squeezes yours for assurance. “It’s me. Your son.”

Confusion turns to recognition, which turns from surprise to disbelief. You watch as the woman looks at Namjoon like he’s a ghost.

“Y-You. You shouldn’t be here,” she stutters, lip trembling as her eyes water. Her hand is pressed to her heart as she steps away from the door. 

An older man notices his wife’s distress and comes to the door as well. He puts an arm around her and frowns at you two, not seeming to recognize the young man who has his height and strong build. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Father, it’s me,” Namjoon tries to say, but his voice is small. He’s starting to think that this is a bad idea. “Kim Namjoon. I’m your son.”

Like the woman, the man is initially shocked by the news. But then, his eyes narrow at Namjoon angrily. “What are the likes of you doing here, boy? Don’t we have enough to deal with?”

Namjoon visibly stiffens at the harshness in his father’s voice. “I’m here on a quest. I’ve come to learn that our village is under attack.”

“My village doesn’t need your help!” his father yells, spit flying as he holds his wife protectively. “Magic is what got us into this mess! Magic will make things worse!”

“Let’s get out of here,” you quietly urge, frowning at their hostility.

This is like his nightmares. Their looks of hatred and disdain burn under his skin, searing themselves into his memories. It’s hard for him to breathe, it’s hard for him to think. Suddenly, he feels so small. Like he’s a child again, standing before the fires that destroyed his home and took everything from him.

“Get away from him if you know what’s good for you, little girl,” the man warns, finally noticing that you’re there. “He’s something Wicked. His magic put us all in danger and ruined our lives!”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon chokes out. The words that he wanted to tell his parents after all these years. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out! Do not come here again!” his father interrupts as his mother bursts into tears, burying her face into her husband’s shoulder. He grabs whatever is closest to him and waves it in a threatening manner. “Get away from our house before you destroy it!”

Namjoon obliges, stepping away from the door. He looks deeply hurt as he tries again. “But Father—”

“Do not call me that!” he barks as he gives him one more hateful glare. “We don’t have a son. Not anymore.”

Then, he slams the door shut.

“That went well,” Namjoon comments, sarcasm thick in his voice. He sits on a broken crate in the alleyway the two of you end up in and sighs. “I feel like an idiot.”

Part of him had known that, maybe, his parents weren't going to give him the warmest welcome. Part of him even thought that, perhaps, his parents wouldn’t recognize him.

Still, it hurts.

It hurts that he had expected otherwise. That he had hoped his parents would listen to him and forgive him. That they’d come to accept him.

But they’ve made it more than clear that Hawthorn Village and the house he grew up in is no longer his home. And that the parents who raised him are no longer his family.

Namjoon always knew this scenario could’ve been a possibility. And yet, he foolishly wanted to be wrong.

“Joon…” Your voice calls out from behind him, but you seem at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes, feeling incredibly dejected as he keeps his back to you. “I shouldn’t have bothered. I should’ve known it’d be a waste of time.”

And it hurts. It hurts so badly.

Knowing that all his efforts to return home — and all the punishments he took for running away — were fruitless. That no matter how hard he tries to be good and understand his magic, nothing will change.

In the end, Ignis really died for nothing. And that’s probably what hurts the most.

Namjoon half-expects you to scold him for dragging you along. For you to comment how you knew this was a bad idea, and that you both have other important things to worry about right now.

Instead, you approach him and gently wrap your arms around his neck. Your body is pressed against his back, hugging him from behind. Neither of you speak as he stiffens under your touch. But he places his hand over your arm in a wordless request to stay.

And you do. You stay with him, kissing his tear-stained cheeks and wishing you could do more to comfort him.

But to Namjoon, this is enough. Being with you is more than enough.

When the sun goes down, the dead awakens.

Villagers of Hawthorn scramble indoors, locking themselves inside and barricading the doors and windows. The church bells are quiet, not to be rung until morning light. Everywhere is an eerie silence, and those left to fend off the inevitable enemies swallow their fears as they train their eyes on the horizon.

There, a green fog mixes with the misty air, and the putrid stench of rotting flesh slowly advances toward them. Death is coming, and with it, alarming numbers of the undead.

“All right, everyone!” the mayor begins, taking command of the last line of defense. The odds are heavily against them, but he has to keep up what little morale they still have left. “We’ve driven off this evil before. We can do it again for one more night. We fight, or we die trying!”

With that said, the villagers charge in. Battle cries ring out as they use their pitchforks, shovels, and scythes to attack the incoming herd.

But they only get so close before the fear sets in.

Death looks them in the eye. Corpses with lifeless, glowing eyes, flesh rotten and decayed, and bones visible as they unhinge their jaws and let out an unsettling groan.

Some of them flee the opposite direction, running away from their foes. Some stand frozen, panic seizing them in place. Some, unable to stand the horrid smell, drop their weapons and retch out their stomach’s contents.

The villagers don’t stand a chance.

Then, they begin to hear it.

In the dark, rural farmlands, the sonorous sound of bells toll. Yet, when their eyes gaze to the local church, the large brass on the tower is completely still. If it’s not from the church, where are the bells coming from?

A scream pierces the air. The mayor turns to see a woman swinging an axe around violently. Her eyes are wide with terror, fixed on something before her, but there isn’t anyone around her. She continues to scream at something to get away from her as she slashes the air.

Two friends suddenly turn on each other. The two men have been buddies for years, and it’s like they don’t recognize their friend. They have that same, wild look in their eyes as they grab each other and raise their weapons.

The mayor’s heart hammers in his chest as they turn against each other, mistaking alley for enemy. “Men, what are you doing? Stop it!”

But it’s too late.

Blood splatters. Followed by cries of agony.

Horrified, the mayor gets away before they try to hurt him as well. As he runs, he grabs a woman’s shoulders and tries to warn her not to listen to the bells. But when she turns to face him, her face is completely disfigured. The flesh looks like it’s melting off her skin, bone and muscle peeking as she smiles wickedly.

“What’s wrong, mayor?” the woman asks, but her voice sounds off. Another voice is layered over hers – deep and raspy, almost demonic – that clearly isn’t her own.

The mayor lets her go and shrinks back in fear. As he looks around, he sees that the undead have somehow surrounded him. They stand there and watch him with their lifeless eyes. Their rotting flesh. Pitchforks, shovels, and scythes in hand.

Mysterious bells continue to echo, drowning out his screams.

“Do you hear that?” Hoseok asks from beside you. The two of you are stationed a little away from the village, near a part of the woods that locals claim was one of the spots the dead have risen from. It’s foggy and creepy, and you’ve been eyeing the thicket and expect a horde of undead to stumble from beyond the trees.

But it’s been dead quiet.

Even as you hold your breath and stand perfectly still, you can’t hear anything.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

Hoseok glances over at you with a frown. “I hear the ringing of bells.”

The sound of footsteps crunching on leaves and twigs catch your attention. Seokjin calls out to you and Hoseok as he and Namjoon appear from the fog. “We need to regroup. Something is happening at the village.”

“What do you mean? Are they under attack?”

Neither of them answer you. The concern on both their faces only makes you worry more as you and Hoseok follow them toward the old windmill where the rest of your party is waiting. It’s a little closer to the heart of the village, and you can hear some commotion going on, like the villagers are in the throes of battle.

You spot Taehyung in his raven form, flying from the direction of the village and landing before you and Hoseok. When he transforms into his human form, he reports, “The recently deceased have risen, but they’re not the biggest problem.”

“Then who are they fighting?” Namjoon asks, eyebrows furrowing together.

Taehyung leans against Hoseok for support, bringing his palm against his forehead like he has a migraine. “They’re fighting each other.”

Silence follows the unsettling news.

Seokjin is the first to break it. “What the hell is going on?”

As if to answer him, you all hear it too.

The haunting, sonorous sound of bells in a nearby distance.

Hearing them sends a chill up your spine. And knowing that they’re beckoning death makes them even more terrifying.

“We need to get the bells,” Jungkook reminds you, turning away from the village to look you in the eye. “It’s the only way we can stop their madness.”

“We’ll have to be quick,” Namjoon agrees. “Or Hawthorn won’t make it to sunrise.”

There are seven necromantic bells. Each is more difficult to wield properly as their size and power increases. And, without proper care, the bells have a negative effect on the ringer that could backfire to certain death.

As you and the others approach the village, you hear the chime of the first bell.

It’s been a long day. Traveling the long roads to the village by carriage and on foot. Helping the residents prepare for the gruesome attacks tonight. Getting ready to face a powerful mage hiding somewhere nearby.

Sleep. The first bell sings. And you’re hit with a wave of drowsiness.

Yoongi catches you before you collapse on the ground. His eyes are tired, as if he hadn’t slept for days. In a slurred mumble, he commands, “Stay with me.”

The others aren’t faring any better. Long yawns and slow steps plague your group. Some of them look like they’re about to slump over and fall unconscious. You and the other mages ignore the lull of the bell and stay awake and alert. With tired eyes, you try to scan for the source of the sound and see a shadow slip into a building.

“There,” you point out, readying your wand. You follow after it with half your party close behind you. Seokjin stays behind with his guild, promising to catch up. Jungkook looks lethargic as he kicks open the entrance a few times before nearly tumbling inside.

A home abandoned is what you’re met with. The people living here seem to be gone, hurriedly leaving in the middle of making dinner. Flies swarm the rotting food, but it doesn’t look like anything else has been touched.

“Be careful,” Jackson warns, going further into the house. He uses his wand as a light, cautiously going from room to room to make sure the coast is clear.

It looks empty. But you know it isn’t.

You feel someone watching you all from the shadows.

When you turn to face the main room, your eyes widen when the figure emerges. Shrouded in tattered robes and carrying a bandolier of old bells is the necromancer. Deathly pale as a ghost, thin and bony like a skeleton, and decayed like the very creatures they summon. 

The necromancer — a truly Wicked creature — isn’t human at all. It’s a phantom.

It towers over you, face covered in darkness. In its hand is the second bell, which rings and beckons the dead with every step it takes toward you.

A burst of flames comes from your wand, aiming right at the necromancer’s face. Fire catches on its robes, but the necromancer seems unphased. Even as it’s burning alive.

Behind you, wooden boards split and break, and arms of the dead reach through the window to grab you. A startled scream escapes your lips when something does.

You’re pulled tightly to Namjoon’s chest as he leads you away from the doors and windows. He keeps a wand pointed at the necromancer as he holds you protectively. From your peripheral vision, you see Jackson, Hoseok, and the familiars trying to keep the horde out.

Distracted, you don’t notice the necromancer tucking the second bell away and taking out the third one from the pouch. With two hands, it rings the bell – up, down, left right – each toll causing different sounds from one bell, but they make a dancing tune that compels your legs to move on its own.

“Namjoon!” you gasp, trying to hold onto him. Mechanically, one foot marches over the other. Against your will, you leave his side. Neither Namjoon nor the other boys could stop you as their own feet seem planted in place, unable to move.

By its command, you spin around and start to slowly head straight toward the window, into the reaching arms of the undead. The boys call out to you, and you try to resist the magic. Every fiber of your being tries to hold you back from being torn apart by their greedy hands and mouths.

But your body won’t listen. You continue to march forward.

With all his willpower, Namjoon leans as far as he can and reaches toward you. His fingers grasp the back of your clothes and he yanks you backwards. You stumble a bit, but you reach back and cling onto him, anchoring yourself as he pulls you closer.

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, wrapping both of his arms around you.

Relief washes over your face, even as your legs continue to move on its own, you and Namjoon hold onto each other. With the wand still in your hand, you manage to point it at the necromancer and cast a spell of frost, just as it takes out two more bells.

The necromancer freezes. Icicles form around it for a few seconds before it shakes it away. Namjoon’s eyes widen when he realizes something.

Magic is very effective against the necromancer.

Just as he realizes this, the phantom necromancer starts to rapidly swing the bell in its left hand.

Whispers from beyond the grave seem to float around the room with the fourth bell, disembodied and ambiguous. The voices are in every direction, layered with the quick and steady rings. And Namjoon swears one of the voices is calling out to him.

His eyes look for who is calling him, and his gaze turns toward the crowd of undead by the window. Then, his eyes widen when he hears the chime of the fifth bell.

One of the skeletal remains starts to look familiar to him. The clothes are tattered and weathered, but the scraps of what’s left are the same from that day, slightly charged from when the hunters burned him. Flesh and muscle start to form around the skeleton, bringing back the teenage boy Namjoon once left behind.

Impossible.

Ignis, alive and well, is among the horde. His first friend since he’s become a mage.

“Namjoon,” Ignis calls out to him again. His voice is echoing and weak, but it’s still very much the same as he remembers.

Hoseok, and Jackson are looking in the same direction, stunned. Namjoon would’ve thought they’re also seeing Ignis until he hears the names they call out.

“Mina?”

“Adriel!”

A sense of confusion draws Namjoon out of the spell. He doesn’t see Adriel or Mina in the crowd, but he sees Ignis. Are you two seeing someone different?

Taehyung grabs both Hoseok and Jackson before they could step closer to the window. “Don’t. You’ll get hurt.”

Yoongi and Jungkook block the window as well, trying to keep you and Namjoon safe. He doesn’t realize it, but Namjoon’s grip loosens around you from the shock. The spell from the third bell still lingers, causing you to move away from him again, but Yoongi easily catches you this time.

“Is that—?” you begin to ask, but Yoongi shakes his head.

“It’s a trick,” he says as he tightens his hold around you. “Whoever you see isn’t there.”

Namjoon’s heart drops a little when he realizes the fourth and fifth bell must’ve brought back memories of a deceased loved one. An old friend to each of you that had passed on. Their voices. Their likeness.

“Hyung, you have to get the bells, Quickly,” Jungkook reminds him as he glares at the phantom necromancer. “Before it uses the seventh one. That’ll cause death to everyone who hears it.”

That means there’s only two more bells left, and the last one is deadly. If there’s a chance to stop the necromancer, it has to be now.

The necromancer tries another combination. It exchanges the fourth and fifth bell for the second and sixth ones. With the second, it’s able to summon the dead, beckoning them to come to it from beyond the grave. And with the sixth, it has complete control over them, binding them to its will. Within its shrouded face, its eyes begin to glow an eerie yellow the moment it wields the sixth bell.

Namjoon casts a bolt of lightning from his wand, but the necromancer vanishes before it hits. The bells ring somewhere that he can’t pinpoint, and he sees you and the others regain control of your bodies and try to look for the necromancer all over again.

“It couldn’t have gone far,” Namjoon reasons, scanning around. All of you are on high alert, wands ready to strike the moment the phantom necromancer appears.

Then, he hears the sound of wood breaking. More reinforcements join the previous herd and start to come inside. Namjoon completely loses sight of you and the others, using gusts of wind to blow the undead back and knocking them against walls and furniture. He calls out to you, but the disembodied groans, the stench of rotting flesh, and the sight of disfigured creatures keeps him from looking for you.

One of the creatures he comes to face is Ignis. Or at least, what looks like him.

“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you,” Namjoon says, pointing his wand at him. It feels like his Harrowing all over again. Being forced to face his biggest regret.

Ignis has his wand pointed at him as well. It’s a broken stick. The old, dirty clothes that he wears barely covers his chest and waist, but there’s a deep wound where the hunters have stabbed him through the heart. There are burn marks from when they had set him on fire.

Namjoon feels a burst of hot air as a fireball flies past him. He counters it with a water spell, dousing the flames before it hits him. The two elements collide as steam fills the room, causing Namjoon to lose sight of his old friend.

Sparks of lightning flash to his right, and he barely dodges an electrifying bolt. The attack hits a picture frame behind him, and the glass shatters as it falls on the floor. Wind sweeps up the broken glass and hurls it toward him, and Namjoon levitates the broken boards in front of him and uses them as a shield to protect himself.

Spells after spells become a dance between offensive and defensive attacks between Namjoon and Ignis. He can feel himself getting tired. The overuse of magic is causing his hands to blacken. He’s breathing heavier, and pain shoots from his arm when it got hit with a critical ice attack.

But Ignis is slowing down too. He’s proven to be an incredibly difficult opponent. But like Namjoon, Ignis is panting for breath and from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist is inky black of magic overuse. The wound on his chest expanded, bleeding heavily, yet he still stands. Stubbornly, he continues to point his wand at Namjoon, still wanting to fight.

However, Namjoon knows he needs to end it now.

While in battle, it seems like the others have taken care of the undead herd, but the necromancer’s whereabouts are still unknown. He can hear them shouting at him, but he doesn’t know what they’re saying. All he can focus on is the opponent before him.

Needing to end the fight, Namjoon tries a new spell.

Keeping his eye on Ignis, he slowly crouches and puts his hand on the ground. The earth moves beneath his fingertips, and covering the house are thick vines. They come from one side of the house, through the window, reaching across the floor and ceiling, and finally snagging Ignis. He seems surprised when they wrap around his wrist and disarms his wand, and around his ankles to immobilize him. 

The surprise turns to worry when one of the vines wraps around his neck.

Then, they begin to tighten.

Namjoon tries not to react as he watches his old friend die by his hand once again. He feels the sting of tears threaten his eyes as the wand falls on the ground and Ignis begins to choke.

As much as Namjoon wishes he could go back in time and undo his old friend’s death, as much as he’d like to think this is the real Ignis and not some undead creature wearing his skin, he knows his friend is long gone.

He points his wand at Ignis, the tip of it heating with a fire spell.

But before it’s cast, Namjoon is knocked to the ground. As he comes to his senses, he realizes three horrifying things.

First, the phantom necromancer had been there the whole time. It’s been ringing the bells, conducting them like a puppeteer. And Namjoon is its puppet with strings.

Second, it isn’t just Namjoon that was being controlled by the bells. His party has been immobilized, forced to watch as Namjoon fights Ignis. But Jackson – who was standing closest to the phantom – manages to break from the spellbound restraints, covering his ears to block the sound. Out of willpower and determination, he puts one foot over the other to sneak up on the necromancer. Until, finally, he yanks the hoister of bells before the necromancer has a chance to grab the seventh and deadliest one.

Third, the moment that the necromancer is no longer in control, Yoongi lunges at Namjoon with his hand curled into a fist. Jungkook manages to grab Yoongi’s waist, but they both topple over and knock into Namjoon. The three of them are on the ground, and Namjoon realizes that Hoseok and Taehyung are yelling at him too, but their voices are where Ignis is.

Or what he thought was Ignis.

It isn’t an undead creature caught in the vines of his spell.

It’s you. This whole time, it’s been you.

“Let her go, Namjoon!” Hoseok screams, trying to yank the vines away from you. Every time he pulls one away, another takes its place. They start to tangle around him and Taehyung as well. He can feel it grabbing his ankles and see it wrap around Taehyung’s hand as he tugs on the one around your neck.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know if you’re even breathing. Your body looks lifeless as they continue to constrict your chest and your neck.

Taehyung curses and tries to shake off the vine that’s spreading up his arm and toward his neck. Hoseok’s mind is spinning, wanting to use a fire attack to burn the vines, but afraid that it’ll hurt you and Taehyung. And Namjoon is still dazed from the effects of the bells.

Seokjin finally catches up after helping the surviving villagers. His eyes widen when he sees what’s happening and immediately rushes to you with his sword at hand.

“Hyung!” Taehyung exclaims as Seokjin carefully cuts the vines to free the three of you. Hoseok immediately catches you, and to his relief, you’re still alive. You’re still breathing, but barely.

“Is she okay?” Seokjin asks, his hand still around his sword. The Oathkeepers have jumped into battle with Jackson, trying to take the necromancer down with standard magic spells now that the bells are not with it.

“She’ll be fine,” Hoseok says as he sees Yoongi rush toward you. He hands you off to him. “Watch over her, hyung. We have to help Jackson.”

Yoongi merely nods. His hands are trembling a little as he holds you in his arms, taking you somewhere safe from the fight.

Namjoon finally snaps out of it when he sees Yoongi passing by. He catches a glimpse of you too, but Jungkook shakes his shoulder and urges, “Hyung, come on, let’s go. They need us.”

Slowly, Namjoon stands and his eyes narrow at the necromancer. The spells are aggressive as it targets Jackson, trying to get its bells back. The Oathkeepers surround him, protecting him as they use their weapons against the powerful mage.

“Push it toward the vines,” Namjoon instructs, and they do. Each swing of an attack that the Oathkeepers land, and each spell cast from Hoseok and Jackson causes the necromancer to step closer and closer to the vines where you were.

One of the vines manages to snag the necromancer’s ankle. Another starts to wrap around its arm. Everyone watches as a being associated with death struggles to free itself from the plants that are full of life. But that only tangles it up even more, constricting it until it can’t move at all.

Then, Namjoon stands before the necromancer. He still has a bit of magic in him, and with it, he unleashes a small fire. Just like he had accidentally casted all those years ago, when he first awakened his power.

This time, it’s with purpose as the flames engulf and destroy everything before him.

There’s an unnerving feeling that settles throughout the remains of Hawthorn Village.

All night, the Oathkeepers gathered everyone they could find and brought them to the church. They figured it would be easier to protect everyone if they’re all in one place.

Priestess and the faithful Devoted clasps their hands so tightly in prayer, their knuckles turn white. Mothers hold their young children close, comforting them as best as they can. Men guarding the inside of the chapel anxiously pace with their hands hovering over their weapons, anticipating that they’d be the last line of defense if your party fails to stop the necromancer.

It’s been a long night.

The fighting and shouting beyond the church door lasts for hours.

But beyond the horizon, there’s a silver lining of hope. Dawn breaks, and a new day begins. As the sun rises, so does their salvation.

Word spreads of what you and the others have done. How you all saved the village. How Namjoon defeated the awful creature that’s been terrorizing them.

“Didn’t you have a son named Namjoon?” one of the villagers asks, but Namjoon’s father shakes his head and denies it. There’s a frown on the old man’s face as others have gathered to talk about the news.

It’s finally over. Their village is saved. They’ve survived those perilous nights. And it’s all thanks to the guild that came to help them.

Stepping outside, the morning light greets them. Fighters return to embrace their loved ones after the long battle. Children cheer with joy for their heroes, and tears are shed from relief between reunited families and partners.

Among the fighters, there’s Namjoon and his group.

One of the boys – the one with a slender build and a sharp face – has you on his back. The others are worn and exhausted, but seem okay from the distance as they help support each other back to the village. And Namjoon, with two of his comrades holding him up, keeps trying to disregard his own injuries as he worries about yours.

The concern on his face, the remorse and sorrow in his expression – it’s just like when he was a kid on that fateful day.

“How do you reckon they did it?” another villager asks him, looking at the direction that Namjoon’s father is staring at. It would be easy to reveal the truth. That Wicked mages are among them, and the entire village would be full of distrust and anger toward them.

“Who knows?” the old man says instead, and turns away from the group with a frown.

Magic may have gotten them in this mess, but in an ironic twist of fate, magic is what saved them.

For the first time in days, Hawthorn Village is promised a good night.

The mayor and the surviving villagers hold a small ceremony to honor the deceased and to hail your party as heroes. It will take time for their tiny village to recover. Even with the threat of the necromancer gone, there’s still fear of the night and what it could behold. But the mayor is confident that they can rebuild.

You’re then taken to Hawthorn’s inn to recover. Luckily, no one else is severely injured, but you and Namjoon have the worst of it.

Hours pass, and you’ve yet to open your eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Hoseok reminds him, wrapping a cloth bandage around Namjoon’s arm. “That necromancer made you guys attack each other.”

It doesn’t make Namjoon feel any better.

“I nearly killed her,” he laments. At Blackstone Castle, Hoseok once swore that if Namjoon ever hurts you, he’d kill him. Truly, this warrants his friends to turn against him like others have done before.

But somehow, they don’t.

Hoseok finishes up and examines his work. “To be fair, she did a number on you too.”

Namjoon is told to rest, but he can’t bring himself to let his guard down. He keeps thinking there must be a catch. That, perhaps, the others are still angry with him and are starting to resent him.

“Namjoon-ah, come eat,” Seokjin calls out for him, gesturing for the mage to sit at the table. He serves him a bowl of stew the innkeeper made. “Be careful. It’s still hot.”

“Hyung, are you healing okay?” Jungkook asks again – probably for the fourth time that hour alone. He frowns at the bandages Hoseok put on him, and there’s genuine concern in his big, doe-shaped eyes. “If you need anything, let me know. Got it?”

“Be careful, hyung. You don’t want to hurt yourself again,” Taehyung scolds when Namjoon nearly bumps into something. It’s the closest any of them have been stern with him all day, yet Taehyung frets over him like he does with you and the others.

Even Yoongi strikes up a casual conversation with him, flipping through a book of Devoted scriptures he’s found. “What is this garbage they’ve been teaching you?”

Namjoon frowns. “Hyung, what are you doing?”

“There’s nothing else to read,” he states with a scowl.

“I mean, why aren’t you angry at me?” Namjoon asks, his heart still full of guilt. You mean so much to all of them, and what he did is unforgivable.

“You didn’t mean to hurt her,” Yoongi simply replies.

“But I did it,” Namjoon protests, feeling a bit frustrated. He doesn’t get it. “Why are you all so nice to me after what I’ve done? Why don’t you hate me?”

Isn’t this how it always goes? Why is it so different this time?

“You’re family to us, Namjoon,” Yoongi tells him. “We could never hate you.”

Namjoon wants to believe that, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to. Not after what he did to you.

Whenever he feels overwhelmed and stressed, Namjoon likes to run to clear his mind. Usually, it’s along the river near New Haven, where he can relax beneath the shade of a tree he liked afterwards. But as he lets his feet take him somewhere, he finds himself by the Hawthorn Lake.

Most of the villagers have gathered here as the late afternoon sun colors the skies with reds and oranges of twilight. To honor and mourn the lives that were lost the past few nights, they’ve decided to hold a small ceremony for them. And standing a short distance from them is a familiar face.

“Where’ve you been?” Namjoon asks, walking up to him.

Jackson is quiet as he watches them. The villagers pray and hug each other, and some sing hymns and play instruments by the shore. Paper lanterns are lit and sent off into the water, representing both hope and remembrance, as well as grief and loss. With the setting sun hitting the water’s surface, it matches the small flames being carried across the lake.

It’s a beautiful ceremony.

“I wish we could’ve done something like this,” Jackson quietly confides without looking at Namjoon. “For Adriel, Mina, and everyone else we lost at Blackstone.”

“We still can,” Namjoon tells him, facing the lake as well. It might be difficult now, but maybe when things settle down with the hunters, they could go back to the lake by the castle and hold a memorial for them one day.

Silence passes as the sun continues to sink. For once, it’s a peaceful evening. And the somber songs start to turn to ones of celebration as a relief washes over them. Tonight, they no longer need to fear the dark.

“You know, I wanted to take up this mission so I could bring them back,” Jackson confesses. “Adriel sacrificed himself to give us our freedom. I’ve been trying to enjoy the gift he gave us, but it isn’t fair that he’s dead while I get to live outside the prison he desperately wanted to escape from.”

Namjoon frowns. “Necromancy is dark magic, Jackson. What if it backfired?”

“I didn’t care. I would’ve used whatever they had to bring them back: bells, tomes, ritual circles,” Jackson lists as he looks at the stash of bells he’s been carrying with him. “Whatever it took. Wouldn’t you want to do the same for that old friend you told us about? The one you saw during the fight?”

Ignis.

Immediately, Namjoon thinks of how the bells convinced him that his old friend had come back. How it took his shape and form, and how it used his voice.

“If I did, he wouldn’t have been the same.” He’d probably be no different from any of the other undead they saw last night. A shell of a human with its spirit gone. A mere illusion of what he once was.

“I probably wouldn’t have been the same either. Had I tried, I would’ve lost a sense of who I am and become a monster like that necromancer phantom,” Jackson concludes with a frown. “That thing we fought… it wasn’t human. It was truly Wicked.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. The necromancer felt like it had lost its humanity a very long time ago, and now just wanders into towns and villages to torment and cause chaos.

“Here.” Jackson holds out the bells to Namjoon. “Make sure to destroy them.”

Namjoon takes it, and he can feel the weight of its power in his hand. “What’s your plan now?”

“Don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out,” Jackson replies with a small shrug. “I might stay here for a bit and help them rebuild. The guys at the pub really liked me.” 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep.

For a while, you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the warmth of Hoseok’s healing magic before he applies an ointment to your wound. You hear the sweet tune of Jungkook’s song as he sings to you. You feel Taehyung brush the hair away from your face and press his lips against your knuckles. You hear Seokjin bargain with you – a kiss from your handsomest boyfriend if you open your eyes. When you do, you see Yoongi sleeping on a chair nearby, and you’re certain he hasn’t left your side since you were brought here.

But you don’t see or hear from Namjoon. You force yourself to sit up as the memories of last night come back to you.

In all the years you’ve known Namjoon, he’s always been a strong person. He has thick skin and a level head, and is eloquent and witty with his words. He shoulders a lot of the hard work so you and the others don’t have to. Whenever you need advice, comfort, or someone to rely on, he’s always the first person that comes to mind.

But Namjoon is also human. He can’t always be strong.

And while the details of the fight are still a bit foggy to you, there’s one thing that haunts your mind. The absolute horror on his face when Namjoon finally realizes it’s you he was attacking.

Yoongi stirs when he senses you’re awake. “Where are you going?”

Caught halfway to the door, you stop mid-step and ask, “Yoongi, have you seen—”

Just then, the door opens. Jungkook blinks in surprise when he sees you out of bed. “Oh? You’re awake?”

The others start to crowd in when they hear you’re up. You’re met with relieved sighs, lingering touches, and questions about how you’re feeling from all of them. But as you look around, you notice someone is missing.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

The boys look at each other, exchanging glances as if they don’t know what to tell you. Then, Jungkook speaks up. “He went to get some fresh air. He feels really bad about what happened.”

“I should talk to him,” you decide, determined to find him. You want to look for him anyway. “Do you know where he went?”

Soon, all of you are outside the inn. It’s incredibly empty by the square, and you learn that it’s because most of the villagers have gathered by the nearby lake. From what you’ve heard, it seems Jackson and Namjoon heeded over there as well.

“You’re the girl that was with that boy, aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost didn’t realize someone was talking to you. Then, you turn to see a familiar face. A woman that looked at you with terror and coldly slammed her door at your face yesterday. Namjoon’s mother.

“I am,” you answer, honest but a bit guarded. Now that you have a good look at her, you can see how much Namjoon takes after her appearance. He has the same high cheekbones, the same shape of her eyes, and the same deep dimples in his smile. She stares at you as well, but she doesn’t say a word. Self-conscious, you ask, “Is… Is something wrong?”

She blinks and shakes her head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You don’t sense any hostility from her this time. Rather, you feel like she’s genuinely curious about you. Perhaps, after the battle and hearing people talk, she had a change of heart about her son.

“That’s all right. I must look terrible.” 

You laugh awkwardly, trying to dust off any dirt from your clothes and fix your hair. Magic helps make you look presentable enough to go out, but you’re still exhausted from fighting all night. Your spells are still weak from overuse, your current clothes are battle-worn, and you’re in a dire need of a bath.

“Actually, you’re quite beautiful,” she quietly admits, and you’re taken aback by the compliment. She looks away from you. There’s a sadness in her eyes as she asks, “How do you know him?”

She doesn’t need to name him for you to know who she’s talking about.

“We’re…” Friends? Lovers? Housemates? Family? “Together. He’s my partner.”

She still doesn’t look at you, but you can see the frown form upon her lips. “And you know what he is?”

“That he’s a mage? Of course I do.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

You blink at her, confused. “Why would it bother me?”

Her gaze lifts to meet yours, and she stares at you for a long time. It begins to occur to you that, although she knows that Namjoon is a mage, she doesn’t know that you’re one as well. To her, it seems outlandish that a human would willingly love a mage.

“He’s a monster. At least, I believed so,” she finally tells you. “I blamed him for ruining our lives. Don’t you know how shameful it is to have a child cursed with magic? The whole village shunned us for years.”

“Perhaps that’s a problem with your village’s beliefs and not your son,” you retort with a scowl. “His affinity to magic isn’t the only thing that defines him. He’s a good man with a kind heart, and while he’s many things, a monster is far from it.”

Remorse flickers on her face. “Forgive me. It seems you care an awful lot about him.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her so earnestly. “Whether he’s a mage or not, he’s still Namjoon. And I love him.”

Again, his mother stares in silence. She seems baffled, and, perhaps, a bit guilty. For a moment, she hesitates, and just when you’re about to walk away, she asks, “And… is he happy?”

You glance back at his mother. “You can always ask him yourself.”

“No, no. It’s too late for that now. It’s better that he doesn’t know I talked to you,” she backtracks, but there’s a small hint of relief to know what’s become of her son after all these years. “Thank you for indulging an old, shameful woman. I’m glad that he has someone like you who loves him for all he is.”

Night has fallen over the village of Hawthorn. But for once, it’s met with laughter and festivities of celebration. Jackson spots his new friends from the pub and introduces them to him. A guy named Mark invites them both for a drink and to hang out as the lantern ceremony continues.

The moon shines brightly as its light reflects against the lake’s surface, and the glow from paper lanterns being carried across the water is a breathtaking sight.

“Namjoon.”

But despite all the people and festivities around, all you see is him.

Namjoon leaves Jackson and the others and sprints toward you, but stops himself before he gets too close. His hand reaches out to touch you out of habit, but he holds it back. He swallows the fear and hesitation building within him before he plasters a nervous smile. “Hey, baby.”

You look him over, not saying anything at first. Your eyes seem fixed on the bandages he has around his arm. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

His smile fades. A short chuckle of disbelief escapes his lips. “How is that the first thing you ask me when I’m the one that hurt you?”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve killed you!” His voice raises, causing a couple passing by to look at you two. He steps a little closer and frowns. “I’m sorry, baby. I swore to myself that I’d always protect you, and I put you in danger. I don’t ever want to put you in that situation again.”

“Namjoon…”

“So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

You seem to know where this is going. He could see the shakiness in your breath and the way your eyes water. “Namjoon, stop…”

“I think it’s better that I stay here at Hawthorn.”

This decision didn’t come easy. But after hearing that Jackson planned to stick around, he figured he’d stay with him. Help the villagers rebuild. Reconnect with old friends and maybe even his parents. Make this place feel like home again.

It seems like a reasonable idea, but the hardest part is leaving you, the family you brought together, and the shop that became your home. As Namjoon stands before you, he knows he doesn’t deserve any of them. Not you, not the others, not the shop.

“You don’t mean that.” You’re crying now, and even as you wipe your tears, you can’t bring yourself to stop.

In all the years Namjoon has known you, you’ve always been a strong person. You carry an admirable confidence when it comes to your magic. You’re as kind as you are protective of the people you care about. You’re capable of handling yourself when faced with difficult situations.

Before he realizes it, he reaches out to you again. His hand cups your face and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, wiping your tears away. “I’m so scared of hurting you again.”

“And I’m scared to lose you.”

But you’re also human. There are times when you’re not always strong.

It dawns on him that you, like him, are terrified that your magic has hurt him. That you think the reason he wants to stay at Hawthorn is because you attacked him.

“You’ll never lose me,” Namjoon promises. Because he knows, even if you’re far apart, he’ll always think about you. In his dreams, in his thoughts. You’ve already claimed every part of him like a fire. “I love you.”

“Then don’t stay here,” you tell him. “Come home. With me.”

And it strikes Namjoon that this is what he’s been searching for his whole life. All the times he’s tried to return to his family, and all his efforts to understand his magic were to get what you’ve given him all along. Acceptance, trust, love. 

Namjoon nods his head, swallowing back his own tears. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, smiling with relief. And on that beautiful night, with the moon shining brightly and the paper lanterns glowing in the water, he kisses you.

Hawthorn is just as Namjoon remembers it.

The small, farming village with a tight-knit community. Every morning, the villagers rise at the crack of dawn, tending to their animals and crops, fishing by the nearby lake, and selling their produce at the marketplace. His parents still live here, and so do many of his childhood friends and their families. And when he looks around, he sees the familiar buildings of the old windmill, the local church, and homes made of thatch roofs and mud and stone walls.

Even when he was forced away, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else could be his home.

Years later, after finally returning to the village, Namjoon realizes he couldn’t be any more wrong. He had once thought – while trapped in a tiny room in Alterwood Keep – if he ever made it back here, he’d never want to leave. That this place was his village. This place was and will always be his home.

“Ready?” Hoseok asks, looking at you, Namjoon, and Jackson. The three of you nod as all wands are drawn over the necromancer bells.

With the power of four mages, the powers are sealed away and their tempting call to beckon the dead is nearly silenced. They look like ordinary bells, but should anyone try to ring them now, it’d be muffled and mute. Its effect is significantly weak with the magical seal intact, and the bandolier of bells tucked away in Jungkook’s pack.

“Let’s get out of here,” Seokjin decides once the spell is done. His hand slips around your waist protectively, weary eyes double-checking that none of the villagers have seen you guys use magic.

“It was nice seeing you guys again, man,” Jackson says, hand clasping Hoseok before he pulls him into a quick hug. He does the same to Namjoon and adds, “I’m glad you changed your mind. It doesn’t feel right to separate you all for some reason.”

Namjoon smiles a little at that. “Feel free to stop by at the shop anytime, Jackson.”

“I’ll know where to find you.” There’s promise in his voice that he’ll keep in touch.

Your party heads out of the village, receiving final thanks from the mayor and some of the other villagers for your help. Namjoon pauses when he sees his parents among them. His father merely nods at him and says, “Take care of yourself, Namjoon.”

“Thanks. You too,” he replies, a bit stunned. His parents leave it at that, shuffling away as Hoseok calls for him not to fall behind, but for Namjoon, that is more than enough.

When he catches up to you, you’re at the bridge that enters the village. He pauses and takes one more look around at the old windmill, village, and the farmlands. It really hasn’t changed that much since he was a child.

But Hawthorn no longer feels like home to him.

“Ready?” you ask, offering your hand to hold.

Around you, the others state how they’re looking forward to going back to New Haven. Yoongi complains that he needs a bath and a long nap. Jungkook wrinkles his nose at his muddy pants and mutters how he’s eager to start his meticulous laundry routine. Hoseok and Taehyung invite the Oathkeepers for food and drinks at the shop once you’re all back, and Seokjin complains how he’ll end up doing the majority of cooking.

Namjoon smiles fondly as he watches you all. Then, he nods and takes your hand.

These days, home to him is a small, ordinary, and unassuming shop in a bustling trading town. It’s a building that’s much bigger and more extraordinary on the inside than it is on the outside, with a tavern, a parlor, a mysterious door by the entrance that fulfills a person’s greatest desires, and bedrooms on the upper-floor curated to their residents’ tastes and styles.

Lately, home is waking up to bread baking and coffee brewing when Seokjin and Hoseok wake up early to start the day. It’s afternoons when he’s reading a book and listening to Yoongi playing the piano in the parlor, or Taehyung and Jungkook giggling as they play games with each other. Home is evenings when Jimin stops by with a bouquet of flowers for you, and all eight of you are gathered together for dinner as the weariness of the day melts away in each other’s presence.

To him, home is picnics by the river with you, basking beneath the sunlight of a gorgeous day. Home is debating what fruit is the best at the marketplace, and ending up taking home both of your favorites anyway. It’s childishly teasing each other with pranks and mischievous spells, and then finding ways to be in each other’s arms by the end of the day.

Home is with you.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 12: Adrenaline

"You are such a bloody, fucking arsehole!" Harry shouted, as he burst into his partner's room at St. Mungo's. "I can't believe you."

"Could you lower your voice, please?" Draco asked, he was gingerly rubbing his temples.

"No, I cannot bloody well lower my voice!" Harry seethed as he looked at the other man. Draco was pale and quite obviously in pain, his slender frame resting stiffly against the mattress. "I am unbelievably pissed with you."

"Yes, well, I have a concussion and my head is pounding-"

Harry growled, "Well whose fault is that?"

"Potter, I am begging you to save the theatrics until my potion has kicked in and I'm not seeing sounds," the other man groaned. "Literally begging."

"Well you should have thought of that before you jumped in front of those arseholes who were shooting a stunner and bombarda at me."

Draco groaned and let his head fall back against the pillow, "This has got to be karma. Having your ungrateful arse as my auror partner is karma for all of my past sins. Merlin have mercy."

Harry opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by one of the nurses, Matilda if Harry remembered correctly. "Auror Potter, I'm going to need to ask you to step out of the room."

"Thank fucking Merlin," Malfoy sighed.

Matilda raised an eyebrow, "I'm going to need Auror Malfoy to strip down so we can put his dislocated, and partially shattered, hips back together. It's also going to be fairly painful."

"Good," Harry growled, "Remember this next time you try to put yourself in harm's way for me."

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. After a heartbeat, Harry shoved his glasses up into his hair so he could scrub his hands over his face.

(Read more below the cut)

As the adrenaline faded from his system, Harry's body started to feel a bit weak, legs quaking slightly, his heart hammering against his ribs, breath coming a touch too fast. He staggered away from the door and over to the row of chairs along the wall for people to wait.

Draco cried out in pain on the other side of the door and his fists clenched. He wished he hadn't said that; the other man being in pain wasn't good and he wished he could take it away.

Harry wasn't sure how long he sat there with his head in his hands, hearing the occasional outcry from Draco's room, before Ron showed up and clapped him on the shoulder.

"How is he?" Ron asked as he collapsed next to him.

"Ouch, fuck!" they heard shouted from the room across the hall. "That fucking-" a pause as the other man groaned, "hurts."

"Not great," Harry replied.

Ron nodded, "But conscious."

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, "You've finished processing those wankers?"

"Yes," he affirmed. "It was lucky, actually, that Malfoy blocked the spells," he said. "The cases behind you would have exploded with even the slightest hint of magic touching them."

"Great," he said with a sigh, feeling even more guilty.

"He's going to be okay," Ron said softly and to his horror Harry felt tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

"How do you even know that?" Harry asked, "No one told you he was going to be okay."

Ron snorted, "If he wasn't you would have burned everything to the ground by now."

His best friend probably wasn't wrong about that. He couldn't even bear the thought of losing Draco without feeling like he couldn't breathe. "He shouldn't have done that," Harry said finally.

Ron shook his head, "Done what? His job?"

"He shouldn't have put himself in the line of fire," Harry replied. "Not for me."

"Right," Ron said, "Just like you shouldn't put yourself in the line of fire for him, but just last week-"

"It's different," Harry said vehemently.

"It wasn't different for him," Ron said quietly. "I sat here having an identical conversation last week, only it was you in the bed." He shook his head, "Look, mate, you know I'm not ever one to advocate for talking things out, but..." he trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid.

The trouble was that Harry didn't know how to respond, didn't know what to say to Ron or Draco. Before he could come up with anything, Matilda came out of Draco's room. She nodded at Harry, "You can go in now," she offered.

"Is he going to be here overnight?" Ron called.

"He's regrowing bones, Auror Weasley. Yes, he'll be here overnight."

Ron winced, "I'm going to go pick up Indian and bring it back. The food here is terrible."

"Thanks," Harry replied.

"Go on," Ron said, nudging Harry toward the room. "Go get things sorted."

Harry sighed, but squared his shoulders and stood up, moving toward the door and summoning every ounce of his Griffyndor bravery.

When he got to the door he knocked before entering. The moment Draco caught sight of him he groaned, "Potter, please. I can't take the lectures right now. Regrowing bones is a bitch."

Harry drew up a chair beside his bed and didn't say anything for a moment. Then he took a slow deep breath and said, "You terrify me."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and then winced in pain.

Harry continued before he could say anything, "And I know I sound like a complete hypocrite-"

"Too right, you do," Malfoy grunted.

"But it scares the shit out of me," Harry pressed on. "Draco I can't-" he broke off, shaking his head and the other man turned his head to look at him more fully. "I can't lose you."

"And you think that I can lose you?" he countered.

"I don't know," Harry said, "I don't know." He rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't think I can do this anymore."

He glanced up in time to see the hurt flash across Draco's face before he reigned it in. "Fine. That's fine. Put in the transfer request and I'll sign it."

"No, I mean all of it," Harry said, clearing his throat. "I can't do the cases, I can't be the reason that people get hurt." He shook his head, "I'm tired, Draco. I'm so tired.” He swallowed, "and I want my life to be more than this."

Draco looked away, staring unseeingly at the set of drawers across from his bed. "Well, I wish you the best then," the other man replied, voice cold as stone.

Harry swallowed and summoned up a bit more courage, "Leave with me," he said.

"What?"

"Leave with me. Let's start our own business, we can become private investigators and get out from under all of the bureaucratic bullshit. Or let's do anything else. Literally anything. You want to have a coffee shop? Done. Quidditch supply store? I'm there. Want to remodel homes? Count me in. I will do anything that you want to," Harry closed his eyes, imaging it, then he said, "because if we're not Auror partners anymore, I can finally tell you the truth."

"What truth?" the other man asked hesitantly.

He took a deep breath and blew it out before sitting up straighter in his chair. "I'm in love with you," Harry said simply.

Draco blinked once, then a second time as he stared uncomprehendingly at Harry. "Potter, what?" Draco spluttered. "I'm the one with the concussion here, not you. Did you hit your head? Are you feeling confused?"

Harry laughed, "No, I'm not. Honestly, everything feels simpler than it has in ages. I don't expect you to feel the same or anything, we can stay friends-"

"Are you joking?" Draco asked and Harry winced and looked down at where his hands were clenched, clasping one another. The other man continued, "You don't expect me to feel the same? How could you possibly think I don't feel the same?"

Harry's head snapped up, "What?"

"Potter, I've been in love with you since the Alvarez case."

"Really?" he asked incredulously. That case had happened years ago at this point. It was one of their first cases together.

Draco nodded, "It's stupid, but watching you with that little boy-"

"Julian," Harry said, nodding at the memory.

"You were so sweet with him and so protective. And I realized that it wasn't an act, it's just who you are and I was doomed." He shook his head, "Of course I'm in love with you, you idiot."

He stared at him for a moment, looked into those clear silver eyes that he loved so much, "Can I kiss you?"

"Very gently," Draco replied, "Because as much as I would like to kiss you, my head is still killing me and I'm not supposed to move my neck very much."

Harry huffed a soft laugh before moving closer. He cupped his cheek and gently trailed his thumb over Draco's bruised cheekbone, trying to avoid causing any more pain. His eyes flicked up to Draco's before he closed them and leaned in touch their lips together. Two soft pecks were all he allowed himself before pulling back and brushing a feather-light kiss over his temple.

"Ah!" Ron blurted from the doorway, making both Harry and Draco jump, "Sorry, I'll come back-"

"Ron, it's fine," Harry said, pressing one more soft kiss to Draco's forehead before collapsing back into the chair beside the bed.

"No, I want to have plausible deniability at the Ministry when-"

"I'm quitting," Harry said.

"We're quitting," Draco added.

Harry grinned at him, "Really?"

"Yes," he said, smiling back.

"And you should quit too," Harry said, turning to Ron, "Come join our private detective firm."

"But first, bring us that Indian food," Draco said.

Ron rolled his eyes, "Years of this," he said gesturing between the two of them. "Years of watching you two idiots pining after one another and that's it. You just decide to quit?"

"Yes, well," Harry replied, clearing his throat, "I think I'm going to need to have more free time than the ministry allows."

"Oh, is that so?" Draco replied with a smirk, his voice smooth like honey.

"Alright," Ron said, "That is enough of that. If you want me to come work with you, we're going to need to nip that in the bud right now."

Harry laughed and held up his hands in surrender.

"I am happy for you two, though," Ron said.

"Me, too." Harry replied. Suddenly looking forward to the future more than he had in a long time.

Day 11: Pinky Promise | Day 13: Drunk

[route22ny]

BY MICHAEL J. MOONEY | PHOTOGRAPHS BY DAVE SHAFER

Staring at the front of the Royal Theater, I feel as though I’m looking backward through time. Taking in the cerulean marquee, the painted red fringe around the box office, the vertical ROYAL sign jutting into the afternoon sky—it’s easy to imagine why the denizens of Archer County flocked here for decades. The theater was a dark, cool respite from the blazing sun, a still escape from the whipping winds of the North Central Plains, a glimpse of entertainment from the outside world.

The theater—or what’s left of it anyway—peers out from the northeast corner of the town square. Without the storied theater, this could be any small town in Texas. Weathered barns and rusted oil pumps dot the landscape. Anchoring the town is the imposing three-story Romanesque Revival county courthouse, with stone archways and provincial peaks. There’s also a small café (Murn’s), a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it police station, a few antiques stores, and a single four-way stoplight swaying in the breeze like an apparition.

The Royal Theater as it is now and as it was then.

This isn’t just any small town in Texas, though. Archer City is the Texas small town. It’s the setting of both the novel and film versions of The Last Picture Show, a coming-of-age story rendered in black and white that earned eight Academy Award nominations, including Best Writing (Adapted Screenplay), Best Directing, and Best Picture. In Larry McMurtry’s book, published in 1966, the town is called Thalia. In the movie, directed by Peter Bogdanovich and released in 1971, it’s called Anarene—a name taken from an abandoned town 8 miles away. But rest assured, both places are Archer City: the looming courthouse, the blinking stoplight, and the Royal Theater, where so many of the most dramatic moments of The Last Picture Show take place.

The novel, which McMurtry called a “spiteful” book intended to “lance some of the poisons of small-town life,” received critical acclaim when it was published. But it was Bogdanovich’s film that truly introduced the entire world, in utterly unromanticized fashion, to the intense, sweeping sagas of everyday life in Archer City. The Last Picture Show turned this particular and peculiar town into art.

Both the novel and movie contain language that was considered lewd at the time. McMurtry’s own mother, Hazel, once said that after reading the first 100 pages she hid the book in the closet and called her son that night. “Larry, honey,” she said to him, he revealed in his 2002 travel memoir Paradise, “is this what we’re sending you to Rice for? Those awful words!”

The film, with its nudity and frank depiction of teenage sexuality—including Cybill Shepherd’s first and only topless scene—absolutely scandalized upright, moral Americans all over the country. Nowhere more so than in Archer City, where it was regarded at the time as a “dirty” movie.

Now, 50 years after the film’s release, the town’s past dalliances with Hollywood are somehow simultaneously scuttled and omnipresent. There’s no billboard at the city limit announcing the place’s cultural significance, no notation on the water tower. But there are echoes of the art formed here, about this place, along every street, around every corner. Some might even feel the spirit of McMurtry, who passed away in Archer City earlier this year.

Over the last five decades, Peter Bogdanovich, a New Yorker who operated in Los Angeles, has told the story of the movie’s origin many times. He’d seen the novel in a store, liked the title, saw what it was about, and immediately put the book back down. Then actor Sal Mineo, who’d starred alongside James Dean and Natalie Wood in Rebel Without a Cause, gave Bogdanovich a copy of the novel, saying he thought it would make a good film. Bogdanovich still didn’t read it, but gave it to his wife, production designer Polly Platt, and asked her to read it. When she inspired him to finally read it himself, he was intrigued by the challenge of conveying small-town life in Texas and eventually co-wrote the screenplay with McMurtry. Bogdanovich, Platt, and McMurtry took a long road trip scouting locations in Texas, but ultimately the director realized he wanted to shoot the movie in McMurtry’s hometown.

Set in the early 1950s, the story follows three teenagers—the co-captains of the football team and the so-called prettiest girl in school—through their senior year of high school, as they each struggle to make sense of adult concepts like love and sex and the fragility of human life. Sonny Crawford is the sensitive, thoughtful boy from a broken home. Duane Jackson is Sonny’s lovelorn best friend who escapes first into the oil fields and then the Korean War. Jacy Farrow is the coquettish rich girl who yearns wholeheartedly for something beyond the confines of her surroundings. The Last Picture Show also famously includes an ensemble of carefully rendered adults trying to cope with their own expired dreams and broken lives.

McMurtry repeated over the years that the characters he created weren’t based on any real-life individuals, but the people of Archer City always suspected otherwise. A man named Bobby Stubbs, who was photographed with McMurtry in their high school yearbook, believed he was the inspiration for Sonny. Stubbs had a troubled home life and worked nights like Sonny, and he drove the same kind of pickup truck. He was also once hit in the eye by the boyfriend of a girl he liked. “It kinda pretty closely followed me,” Stubbs used to say.

A woman named Ceil Cleveland Footlick was often asked if she was the inspiration for Jacy. She was “very good friends” (her words) with Stubbs and had been voted “Most Beautiful Girl” in her class. For years she brushed off the question, but in 1997 she published a memoir with the title Whatever Happened to Jacy Farrow?

Because of the book’s reputation, getting actors to audition was a challenge. Randy Quaid was cast as Lester, an awkward, sleazy suitor of Jacy’s. He’d only read the parts of the script that involved his character, which mostly centered on Lester taking Jacy to a naked swimming party. “I just thought it was going to be like this B-movie, teenage, soft-porn movie,” Quaid would later say. “Something you’d see at the drive-in.”

None of the young stars had much experience in film. Timothy Bottoms, who’d only been in one movie before, was cast to play Sonny. Jeff Bridges, cast as Duane, had been a professional actor nearly all his life, but at 21 years old, this would be his first major film role. And Bogdanovich cast Shepherd as Jacy after seeing her face on the cover of Glamour magazine.

Most of the adults in the movie were played by established Hollywood actors, including Cloris Leachman, Ellen Burstyn, and Eileen Brennan. For the role of Sam the Lion, the wisdom-dispensing owner of the town’s pool hall, Bogdanovich cast Ben Johnson, the champion-rodeo-cowboy-turned-stuntman-turned-Western-movie-icon. At first Johnson turned down the part on account of the foul language, but Bogdanovich called in a favor from his director friend John Ford, who convinced Johnson to do it.

Almost as soon as filming started, real life began imitating the art being created. While making a movie about illicit sex and barely veiled scandal, the set was awash in illicit sex and barely veiled scandal. The actors spent a lot of time drinking and smoking together in their hotel rooms 30 minutes north in Wichita Falls, and that led to drama. Bottoms fell in love with Shepherd. Bogdanovich started an affair with Shepherd, dissolving his own marriage while his wife, Platt, continued to work on the movie. (Most mornings Platt styled Shepherd’s hair.) “It was quite a soap opera,” Burstyn said in the documentary Picture This: The Times of Peter Bogdanovich in Archer City, Texas.

This was everything the locals had feared: all the immoral luridness of Hollywood, right here in a part of Texas not so comfortable with unwholesomeness that didn’t stay behind closed doors.

Outside of Archer City, it was a different story. The movie received great reviews from coast to coast. Johnson won the Oscar for Actor in a Supporting Role and Leachman won for Actress in a Supporting Role. The film is still beloved today and maintains a spot in the coveted National Film Registry.

But at the time of its release, most of the locals disapproved. Strongly. The Los Angeles Times ran a story about it with the headline “Movie Riles Town It Depicts.” McMurtry, who was involved in Bogdanovich’s vision, eventually got so annoyed by the vicious gossip in town that he sent a letter to the editor of the Archer City newspaper, challenging anyone in town to a public debate.

His offer went unrequited.

Archer City’s population is 1,848, only a couple hundred larger than it was when McMurtry grew up there in the ’30s and ’40s. The town is the seat of Archer County, created in 1858 by the Texas State Legislature and named after Branch Tanner Archer, former secretary of war of the Republic of Texas. Ranching and oil have long been the predominant industries—by late 1926, there were more than 400 oil wells within 13 miles of Archer City—but many people are increasingly attracted to the town for its proximity to prime hunting.

Many of the locations where The Last Picture Show was filmed are gone now. Where Sam’s dusty pool hall once stood, with its door flapping in the wind, there’s nothing but an empty dirt lot. The Rig-Wam Drive Inn, the burger joint where Jacy dangled french fries over Duane’s head as if he was a trained seal, is just a plot of asphalt and patchy grass. The West-Tex Theater in the neighboring town of Olney, used for the interior movie theater scenes, was torn down in the mid-’80s. Today it’s a small, quiet park with a gazebo.

Some places are still here, but different. The restaurant where Brennan’s character worked turned into Booked Up No. 4, one of four bookstores McMurtry set up around the town square before shuttering all but one in 2012. The high school has some of the same old features, though it’s been updated and decorated with a handful of granite statues marking state titles the school has won through the years.

Much of the town looks and acts remarkably like it did when The Last Picture Show was made. Boys about the age of Duane and Sonny still speed through town in pickup trucks. Men the age of Sam the Lion still stop them to talk about football. The dance hall at the American Legion, where Jacy and Duane twirled around the room and Sonny ran into his estranged father, looks like it could host the same event today. On a recent evening, four or five locals were perched on barstools, sipping cold beers, listening to songs on the jukebox. They got rid of the old Wurlitzer years ago, but the updated digital version there now still plays all the Hank Williams Sr. songs from the movie.

In time, feelings in Archer City softened a bit. Mostly, the people here don’t talk much about the movie, or about McMurtry, the town’s most famous son. You can spend all morning at Murn’s Café and all night at the American Legion, the only bar in town, and never hear The Last Picture Show mentioned once. It’s not the source of tension it once was.

The public change of heart was most apparent in 1989, nearly 20 years after The Last Picture Show was filmed, when Bogdanovich returned to Archer City to shoot the sequel, Texasville, based on a book of the same name by McMurtry. This time the townspeople lined up to participate as extras. People came from miles away to sell concessions or to take photos or just get a glimpse of the nearly $20 million production.

“The bad taste that the movie left for some folks, that’s gone now,” then-high school principal Nat Lunn told the Austin American-Statesman at the time. “Especially with money being short in town, they’re ready for another dose of Hollywood.”

By the late 1980s, the three leads in the first film—Bottoms, Bridges, and Shepherd—had all become stars. While the entire budget for the first movie was around $1.3 million, Shepherd alone was paid $1.5 million to reprise her role. Bridges was reportedly paid $1.75 million. Bottoms, who’d complained publicly about Bogdanovich and said he didn’t like any of his co-stars, would only agree to return if he was given an additional $100,000 to fund the Picture This documentary.

In the two decades since the first movie, Bogdanovich’s career had soared and crashed. He and Shepherd had broken up; he went on to have multiple relationships, and she had two divorces. Bottoms was also divorced and remarried, but on the set he confessed the crush he’d had on Shepherd. Platt returned, too, and brought the 21-year-old daughter she and Bogdanovich shared. It became a grand, twisted Hollywood reunion, right there on the streets of Archer City.

Drawn by the potential spectacle of what was by then some sort of love-octagon, media outlets from across the country sent reporters to town. There were long feature stories in both Entertainment Weekly and the Los Angeles Times. By all accounts, though, the entire production served as a therapeutic experience, healing the wounds of the past. At one press conference, the often-sullen Bottoms hugged Bogdanovich. Behind-the-scenes footage caught Shepherd hugging Bottoms. Residents of Archer County took photos of themselves on the set.

But when the movie was released, it tanked. It received middling reviews, earned back only a fraction of its budget, and even today it’s not easy to find on any of the major streaming services.

A lot of people associated with The Last Picture Show are dead now. Stubbs, who claimed to be the basis for Sonny, died in 1992. Johnson in 1996. Sam Bottoms, the real-life younger brother of Timothy Bottoms who played the mute boy Billy, died in 2008. Platt, the producer and production designer who somehow never pulled Shepherd’s hair, died in 2011. Then Brennan in 2013.

In January of this year, Footlick, the woman who wrote about being the real Jacy Farrow, died in North Carolina. Leachman died almost two weeks later. And on March 25, McMurtry, the writer who created all this beautiful trouble, died at the age of 84.

A few days after his death, nobody answered the doorbell at his house in Archer City, a majestic, three-story mansion just down the road from the high school. Looking through the front window, everything seemed to me to be just the way he left it, from the table made from a giant dinosaur fossil to the towering shelves of books in every room. McMurtry bought this place, the biggest home in town, after he won the Pulitzer Prize for Lonesome Dove. He’d wake up early in the morning, type for an hour and a half or so at his long oak table, then go to the bookstore to price antiquarian volumes. Most of the locals would leave him alone.

On the house’s front porch, a single rocking chair was situated to look out over the front yard into the surrounding neighborhood. Someone sitting there could see the comings and goings of a lot of people. As the early-evening wind moved through, the chair began to rock ever so gently.

These days, I sense the people of Archer City think differently of The Last Picture Show. It’s a part of the town’s story, just like the cattle industry and state titles. The movie is even mentioned on the town’s website, though it’s certainly not prominent.

There’s also a tiny park just off the square with a fiberglass horse covered in brands from local ranches and a display that chronicles a bit of the town’s history. The welded metal wall has separate panels for the town’s founding, the first successful oil well drilled here, and the giant fire that swept through in 1925. There’s also a panel explaining how the town was the filming location for The Last Picture Show and Texasville. Bogdanovich’s last name is misspelled.

A couple hundred feet away is the Royal Theater. Most of the building is a burned-out hull, popular for weddings, photo shoots, and occasional performances. The front of the building has been restored, though. It looks just like it did in the movie, the image that begins and ends the film. It’s haunting and beautiful, weathered and damaged—but still here, still standing, still looking at that single blinking light swaying in the wind.

***

The Last Picture Show wasn’t the first movie based on a novel by Larry McMurtry, and it certainly wasn’t the last. You might besurprised by just how many films and TV shows have been made from his novels. Here are a few:

Hud, 1963 (based on Horseman, Pass By) The Last Picture Show, 1971 Lovin’ Molly, 1974 (based on Leaving Cheyenne) Terms of Endearment, 1983 Lonesome Dove, 1989 Texasville, 1990 The Evening Star, 1996

https://texashighways.com/culture/how-the-last-picture-show-changed-the-worlds-view-of-small-town-texas/

[lils-writes-stuff]

Self-fulfilling Prophecy

spencer reid x reader

Best Years Part two | Part one

summary: As the team investigates the mass suicides at Somerville academy, the tensions between the reader and Spencer rise. Ad the reader gets a note from a past memory. 

Warnings: normal Criminal minds things, more slow build up. 

A/N: based on season 7 episode 9 of criminal minds.  

  Y/N sat in her swivel chair at her desk, blue pen in her hand lightly tapping as she was deep in thought. All different kinds of emotions hitting her brain as she tried to put them all together, not knowing if it was something she should worry about or push aside. Her thoughts were soon broken by the smell of a fresh cup of coffee filling her senses. She turned and looked at a smiling Dr. Spencer Reid holding out her mug to her. 

   “You are the best Spence, thank you.” She smiled at him while she took the mug from his large hand. 

   “No problem, really,” he responded with a small smile, leaning himself against the edge of her desk. “You seem like something’s bothering you, what’s up?” 

   His question made her stop. To be honest she didn’t really know what was wrong. One thing she did know was that she was developing feelings for the good doctor in front of her. Other than that, she didn’t know. 

   He watched her pause. Thinking he crossed a line he began to get flustered. 

   “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-I mean,” he stumbled over his words. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he explained.

   She looked up at him shaking her head, “No, no you didn’t.” She reassured him before she paused again trying to think of how to explain her feelings. “I’m not really sure if I’m being honest with you Spence,” she said, placing her mug down on her desk before she crossed her arms. 

   A security thing, Spencer thought as he watched her fold her arms across her chest and lean forward. 

   “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, not really knowing how to respond. Well, he knew how he wanted to respond but it wasn’t the most rational thing to say to someone who he didn’t even know if they had feelings for him also. “If there’s something you need or-or even someone you want to talk to, I’m here.” 

   Her heart fluttered.

   She smiled at him before she let her thoughts get in the way. “Thanks, Spence, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

   He gave a slight nod before taking a sip of his own coffee. 

   “You know I-” Y/N was cut off.

   “Guys,” Hotch said, getting the attention of the team down in the bullpen as he nodded towards the round table room. 

--------

   “Somerville Military Academy, Oceanside, Florida. Five boys were found hanging this morning,” Hotch began as he and Strauss began to explain the case.

   “Five?” Y/N said, a worried tone in her voice.

   “Yes, five,” Hotch said, confirming her doubt. 

   “The bodies are at the medical examiner’s now,” Strauss explained.

   “There’s no photos?” Derek asked, eyebrows raised. 

   “School personnel thought they may still be alive,” Strauss began. “So they cut them out of the trees.”

Y/N let out a slight sigh, an uneasy feeling forming in her stomach at the thought. Spencer looked at her with worry, silently asking her if she was okay. 

All good, she mouthed to him which he responded with a nod.  

   “Jimmy Burbage, Phil Mumford, Jerry Bowden, Jack Briggs, Tucker Calhoun,” Hotch spoke, listing out all the victims in the file.  

   “So we’re walking into a contaminated crime scene,” Derek said, with a slight question in his tone. “We don’t have anything solid?” 

   “ ‘We’re sorry’, was carved in a tree branch nearby,” Hotch answered Derek’s question.

   “This happened on campus?” Emily asked, looking at Hotch. 

   “No, in the woods about an hour away,” he responded. 

   “How long were they out there?” Y/N asked.

   “Six days,” Strauss responded looking at her. 

   Y/N’s eyebrows raised, “Without supervision?”

   “It was an outward bound mission, for the upperclassman,” Strauss responded. She seemed slightly annoyed with her and Y/N just looked away without a question. 

   “What drove them to Suicide?” Spencer asked. 

   “Freshman cadet, Bailey Shelton, hung himself two weeks ago in his room,” Strauss explained.

   “Identical bed sheets, hangman’s knot,” Hotch said, giving more to the explanation.

   “Who takes sheets camping?” Rossi asked, the look of thought on his face showing through. 

   “They would if it was the plan,” JJ said, looking at those around the table.

   “Could be a domino effect,” Y/N said, adding more to JJ’s theory. 

   “Campus would have been on high alert after the first one, so the kids wait until they’re alone in the woods,” said Rossi. 

   “They must’ve made some kind of pact,” Derek agreed. 

   “And there’s something else,” Hotch began. “Six kids went on the trip. Only five were found.”

      Y/N let out another quiet sigh, this seemed a lot more complicated then the academy was probably going to let on. 

   “School officials confirmed Josh Redding is still missing,” Strauss said. 

   “Maybe he chickened out of the pact,” Derek said, trying to find a reason as to why he was missing. 

   “Or was never part of it,” Spencer added to Derek’s thought.

   “Campus is completely off the grid, no internet,” Hotch said. 

   “I can help with that,” Garcia said looking back at Hotch.

   “Which is why you’re coming with us,” Hotch said to her. 

   “Oh,” she responded not expecting that. 

   “And so am I,” Strauss said, causing everyone to look at her. Surprise all evident on their faces.   

   “Isn’t Somerville the director’s Alma Mater,” Rossi asked, to no one in particular really.

   “Yes. The academy has enjoyed a spotless reputation, so the hope is to keep the investigation in house,” Strauss explained.  

   “I imagine there’s a lot of concern for Josh,” Emily stated. “He’s been out there for almost a week.” 

   Everyone looked around at each other for a second.

   “So how’s he surviving?” JJ asked.

-------

   “So, Somerville Academy was founded during World War II,” Garcia began. “It is a hard-core old school, they don’t even have a website.” She finished her statement with a slight mumble. 

   “Socioeconomic breakdown all over the map,” Emily said looking down at the file in her lap. 

   “Yeah so are the ages,” Y/N said as she looked at the pamphlet in her hand. “Students are 12 to 18 years old.” 

   “All on the same campus, in the same dorms,” JJ said, continuing to read what was in front of them. 

   “Same personnel has worked there for a lifetime,” Derek said looking up from his file. “Ron Massey has been superintendent for 30 years.”

   “He’s an alum, as is the majority of the staff there,” Strauss said, giving more detail as to why that was. “Lieutenant Tawes has been his second in command this whole time.”

   “These types of places have their own infrastructure,” Derek said. 

   “Yeah, if it ain’t broken, they ain’t gonna fix it,” Y/N said with a small chuckle evident in her voice.

   “That’s probably why they banned modern technology,” Emily added on to the profile of the academy.   

   “They didn’t need it back then, they don’t need it now,” JJ agreed.

   “Aggressive Motto-” Rossi began. “Vivere est vincere,” he read. 

   “To live is to conquer,” Y/N said as she recognized the phrase. “They raise soldiers, suicide isn’t a part of that mantra.” 

   “Bailey Shelton was only 13-years-old, he was one of the youngest students there,” Spencer said. 

   At this, Y/N wondered into her thoughts again. How could someone so young want to take their life? She thought to herself. Her mind got lost in her own theories while the rest of the team discussed. 

-------

   The team arrived at the academy and all filed out of the SUVs. Spencer and Y/N going to the back to help Garcia with all the equipment that she had to bring with her. 

     “Colonel Massey, Erin Strauss,” Strauss introduced herself to the Colonel. “This is the team I spoke with you about,” she spoke, gesturing to her side. 

   “Agent Hotchner,” Hotch said, shaking the man’s hand. “This is Agent Morgan, Agent Jareau,” He said while the two shook his hand. “Dr. Spencer Reid, Agent Y/L/N, and Penelope Garcia,” the three by the car gave a hand gesture signaling they acknowledged the introduction. 

    Y/N looked at the Colonel for a second, glancing over his posture and facial expression. She got that gut feeling again, but she passed this one off as a wave of hunger.  

     The four with the Colonel began discussing what they were going to do, while the three by the car began unloading. 

  “Why does there have to be so much stuff?” Y/N said as she pulled another tub out of the back of the trunk. Spencer laughed as he watched her struggle slightly pulling out the tub. 

   “Because the Old-timer over there doesn’t allow new technology, we have to bring a whole database in,” Penelope said in a mumble so only the three of them could hear. The two others laughed at her statement while they pulled the last of the things out of the trunk. 

    “Any leads on Josh?” Derek asked as they began to walk towards the three by the car.

   “In that terrain,” the Colonel began. “He’s only capable of moving a mile an hour.” 

   “Puts him in a 60-mile radius,” Spencer said as he pulled a bag from the trunk. “That’s 3,600 square miles to cover.” 

   “Tawes knows those woods better than anybody,” The Colonel said. 

   “We’ve got two agents meeting and we’ll start the investigation here,” Hotch said, turning towards the colonel.  

    “Where’s the place with the most outlets?” Garcia asked, hopeful for a good answer.

    “Best bet is in the library,” responded the Colonel. 

   “Thank you,” Garcia responded. Her, Y/N, and Spencer grabbed the bags and some cadets grabbed the tubs and led them to the library. 

   “Still feeling a little off?” Spencer asked Y/N as they walked towards the library. 

   “Hm- oh yea, kind of,” She responded looking over at him. “I’m not really sure what it is, I think I might just be tired, and this case it just-” she paused, giving a slight shutter. “I don’t know, it just doesn’t sit right with me.” 

   “What do you mean?” Spencer asked eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her. 

   “I think this goes way deeper than a pact-acted mass suicide,” she explained. 

--------

   “Come on, baby,” Penelope said, encouraging the machine in front of her. “Come on!” 

   “I don’t think calling a machine ‘baby’ will help,” Y/N laughed as she plugged in some wires to a receiver.

   “Boo,” Spencer said tapping on a globe in the library. Penelope and Y/N jumped as they turned to look at where the noise came from. 

   “Jeez, you scared me,” Penelope said turning towards him, Y/N doing the same. 

   “Yeah, no kidding.” Y/N said. “I thought he was a ghost.” She lightly laughed before turning back to what she was doing. 

   “You know, older buildings like this emit a low enough frequency that you can’t consciously hear. Because the sensory overload can’t be explained, it wreaks havoc with your emotions. Indicating fear, panic, and dread,” Spencer said. 

   “Hence the feeling of being haunted,” Y/N said as she came to the realization of what his lesson was leading too. He pointed at her nodding with a small smile. 

   “What about the visions?” Penelope asked in a concerning tone. 

   “Your eyes overcompensate for what your ears are missing,” Spencer explained. “That said, I do know a 3-year-old boy who once met a friendly apparition named Leverett Saltonstall.”  

   Y/N giggled at the last statement made by Spencer and also the fact of Penelope’s eyes lighting up. 

   “He was nice?” She asked in a child-like voice.

   “Very nice,” Spencer answered, making Y/N smile while she looked down at the map he just laid out. “You’d think the laundry room would be closer to the dorms,” Spencer said as he looked at the map along with Y/N.

   “It’s not in the basement?” Penelope asked as she typed on her laptop. 

   “It’s on the opposite side of campus,” Y/N said as she used her finger to follow a road. Her hand ever so slightly brushed against Spencer's. A blush formed on both of their faces as they retracted their hands quickly from the map. 

   Spencer cleared his throat, “That’s so strange.” 

   “Yeah,” Y/N said in agreement hoping to God that the moment wouldn’t create an awkward tension.  

   The small moment, they both hoped, went unnoticed to the woman beside them.

 But oh no it didn’t. 

She smiled excitedly at the thought of the two having feelings for each other and how cute they would be together. 

   “Leaves of three, let them be,” Rossi’s voice was heard as he and Emily walked into the room. Emily scratching her arm vigorously. The three turned their heads to look and grimaced at the thought of poison ivy.

   “Oh man, poison ivy,” Y/N said hissing after her words in sorrow for her friend. 

   “Alcohol swabs, stat!” Penelope said standing up from her chair to care for Emily’s needs.

    “Thank you,” Emily said to Penelope. “You know, if I’ve got it, so do you,” she said looking at Rossi. 

   “I’m Italian, it knows better.” He stated matter-of-factly. The three laughed at his statement. “Where’s Massey?” 

   “He’s meeting with the victims’ families,” Y/N said as she sat criss-cross applesauce in her chair.

   “They’re arriving now,” added Hotch as he walked into the room. “JJ, how are Josh’s parents?” 

   Y/N and Spencer turned their heads to see that JJ had entered the room from the opposite door, along with the rest of the team.

   “Upset,” She said. “They sent him here to keep him away from trouble.” 

   “Tawes made it seem like these guys are the only family they have,” Emily said, placing a cotton pad drenched in rubbing alcohol on her arm.  

   “You make it sound like a cult,” Strauss questioned. 

   “Uh, It kind of is,” Y/N said as she looked around at the rest of the team. Rossi nodding his head in agreement looking at Y/N.    

   “This is a well-respected institution,” Strauss responded strongly.  

   “They’re not on trial,” Rossi retorted.  

   “The integral part of this investigation is going to be understanding what these victims lived every day,” Hotch explained. 

   “And with who,” Y/N added. 

   “Bailey Shelton killed himself in Josh Redding’s room,” Derek said, adding to Y/N’s statement. 

   “Was Josh in the room that night?” Y/n asked looking at Derek.  

   “According to the records,” Derek confirmed. 

   “I will dig for dirt,” Penelope said typing away on her computer. Hotch then asked Rossi if he and Emily found anything in the woods.

   “Josh’s tent was secluded. His things were left behind, he just took off.”

   “Massey did say he didn’t get any respect from Josh,” Hotch said. 

   “His parents even said he was hard to control,” JJ added. 

   “His course load indicates increased isolation,” Spencer said looking down at the file in his hand. Y/N leaned over to look at the file he was holding. Spencer noticed this and turned it towards her so she could read it also.  

   “Isolated, smart, angry,” Emily listed off some of the traits they just picked up on. 

   “Sounds to me like it could be a budding psychopath,” Y/N said looking at Emily who nodded in agreement signaling that she was thinking the same thing.

     “What are you saying?” Strauss asked, ready to question what the two women were uncovering. “Josh Redding killed his classmates?”

    Everyone on the team looked at each other, all thinking the same thing now. 

  “Then he’s not missing,” Strauss continued. “He’s on the run.” 

   “And he has been for a week,” Derek added. 

   “One hell of a head start,” Rossi said. 

   “And he has all the skills he could ever need,” Y/n finished.  

---------

   As the sun rose and a new day began and the team all gathered at the academy, the feeling filled Y/N’s stomach again. The feeling spread all over this time, and she didn’t know what it was. She came to a conclusion last night that it was probably about this case because most of the time when she didn’t think about it she felt fine. She needed to talk to someone about, her feelings were usually right and she wouldn’t tell anyone if she thought they were wrong. So as she walked into the library and set her bag down next to Penelope, grabbed her notebook out, and began writing her thoughts. 

   “What are you doing?” Penelope asked her as she looked over at the young woman writing vigorously in the small book. 

   “Trying to know why I have a bad gut feeling,” Y/N explained as she continued to write down her thoughts. 

   “Does this usually help you?” Penelope asked her as she turned back to her computer to type more. 

   “It helped me in school when I knew how to do something but I couldn’t explain to the teacher how I knew how to do it or why.” She remembered back to the times in high school and college when she would grab out her notebook and write so fast that the teacher didn’t even have time to react. 

   “Hey so yesterday,” Penelope said turning away from her computer towards Y/N. “I saw you and boy genius had some sparks fly.”

   Y/N blushed, stopping her writing in her notebook but not looking up. Damn it, I thought she didn’t notice, she thought to herself. 

   “Oh my gosh, you are so crushing on him!” She exclaimed softly seeing the blush on Y/N’s face. 

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quickly as she continued to write.

   “Uh-huh, okay, keep your secret lover,” she said, giving her a silly name. The two went back to what they were doing and keeping quite. Y/N hoping she could talk about her feelings to her later at a better time. Soon Spencer, JJ, Rossi, and Emily walked into the room, breakfast in their hands. Giving everyone their food and all sitting down they began to discuss more into the theory that Josh did it. 

       “Okay, so how did he do it?” Emily asked. “How did Josh control five-strong kids?” 

   “I mean he did supervise the laundry room,” Y/N said as she looked down at her notebook seeing the notes she took about who was who and what they did. “That could explain how the sheets got out.”

   “Yeah, so what does ‘we’re sorry’ mean,” JJ asked, pulling the photo of the branch out of the file. “If it wasn’t for suicide? What if Josh wanted them to apologize for something.” 

    “For their sins?” Emily said, adding the thought of religion. “There's no record of bad behavior, but all these guys were alpha males.” 

   “They were all upperclassmen, might’ve even bullied Bailey,” Y/N added her thought before taking a sip of her coffee. 

   “The message was carved under Tucker Calhoun’s tree for a reason,” said Rossi before taking a bit of his breakfast. 

   “Yeah, we need to know more about that kid,” Emily added. 

   “I agree, I feel like he has more to do with this then Massey is going to let on,” Y/N said, agreeing with Emily’s statement. She looked back down at her book, underlining the name Tucker. 

   “What are you looking at?” Penelope asked, looking at Spencer on the right side of her. Y/N looked up from her notebook to listen to what was going on. 

   “The M.E.’s report,” He said while looking at the report. “Bilateral fracture of the pars interarticularis of the C2 vertebra.”

   “Uh-huh, what’s that?” Penelope asked looking down at the report. 

   “Classic hangman's fracture,” he explained. “But only one of the five victims had it.” 

   “Which one?” Y/N asked him, having a feeling that she already knew the answer. 

   “Tucker Calhuan,” he responded looking at her. 

   “Jeez, who is this guy?” Penelope asked everyone, turned their heads to the pictures of the victims on the board. 

   “The others suffered rotational fractures, hanging was secondary,” Spencer said with slight curiosity in his voice. 

   “Staging the crime scene?” Y/N asked writing that down in her book before circling it.

   “Josh is more sophisticated than we thought,” Rossi added. 

    “And vindictive, he wanted Tucker to suffer,” Emily said. “The question is why.”

   Y/N looked down at her book and let out a sigh. 

   “What is it, kid?” Rossi asked Y/N from across the table. 

   She looked up, “I feel like there’s a piece missing, but I don’t know what.”  

---------- 

    “I think I figured out that piece you were talking about Y/N,” Rossi said walking into the Library. He and Emily went to talk to some cadets to get the 4-1-1 on Josh and Tucker. 

    “A point system,” Emily said. 

   Penelope began typing away on her computer to find all she can about this point system. 

   “Tucker Calhoun has the most points,” Penelope said going up to the board and pointing at him. 

   Y/N and Spencer sat beside each other turned towards the board. 

   “Who approves them?” Spencer asked. 

   “Massey,” Penelope responded quickly. 

   “Maybe Tucker was his little pet,” Y/N said. “Leader of Everything.”

   “That comes with an attitude, steamroller types like that, don’t let anybody get in their way,” Emily added. 

    “Nothing was nice about that kid,” Rossi said. “Sounds like he strong-armed everybody.”

   “Well, then the points are for bad behavior,” Penelope began. “Only they are not calling it that.”

    “We should look at the points of everyone who died in those woods, my guess is they were all bullies,” Y/N said standing up and going towards the chart on the board. 

   “Except for Josh,” Spencer said.

----------

    Y/N walked into the library, three coffee in her hand, two for Spencer and Penelope. 

“The school does have a cell phone,” Y/N heard Penelope say as she walked into the room. 

   “No way,” Y/N said as she handed the coffees to her friends before she sat down. “I knew Massey wasn’t telling us everything.”

    “Only it’s not listed under Massey,” Penelope continued. “The account was opened by...Tawes.” 

   “If Massey’s lying about something as simple as a cell phone, what else is he hiding?” Spencer questioned. 

   “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Y/N said pulling out her notebook and pen. “From the day we got here I have had this feeling, I didn’t know what it was, but now I think I do,” she looked at the two beside her before she continued. “I think Massey is a bigger part of this then he’s letting on.”

   The three were soon joined by JJ, and then Rossi and Emily. 

  “Okay, I need to students who were having trouble with authority,” JJ said to Penelope who began typing on her computer. 

   “Okay, I can do that, but I got to tell you, they post rewards, faster than they do demerits,” Penelope explained as she types on her computer.  

   “Look for kids with issues before they came here,” JJ continued. 

   Y/N looked over to Emily and Rossi who just walked in with some things that she was assuming were left by Josh at the new victim site. 

   “Did any of them have a class with Bailey?” JJ asked, pulling Y/N away from what she was looking at and back to what was going on in front of her. 

   “No but each of the plebes had laundry duty,” Penelope said looking at the schedule. “Does that help?”

   “Their dorm is the farthest point from the laundry room, why are they so isolated?” Spencer asked.

   “M.E. said bailey had blisters and burns, fingertips were raw, his trachea had internal scarring,” Y/N said picking up the report sitting on the table.

   “That’s awful,” Penelope said. 

     “Guys that could be damage done in an industrial-sized dryer,” Spencer said turning to look at Y/N. 

      “Oh my god,” Penelope said in shock. 

   “That’s how Massey’s breaking these boys,” JJ said shock and sadness written on her face. 

    “No, in all the materials it says they don’t believe in corporal punishment,” Penelope said with a sad tone. 

    “Bailey wrote about how all those boys bullied him,” Rossi said holding up Bailey’s journal. 

   “His father must have read it and wants revenge,” Spencer said.

    “Does it mention Josh?” Y/N asked looking at Rossi. 

   “Not at all,” he replied. 

   “Then why would Chris Shelton go after him?” Y/N asked looking to JJ on her right then Spencer on her left.

   “What if Massey lied to Chris Shelton?” Emily questioned. 

   “And set Josh up,” Rossi added. 

    “And he convinced Shelton that Josh was responsible for Bailey’s suicide,” Y/N added, her theory about Massey being apart coming into play.  

   “Still doesn’t explain how he found the secluded woods,” JJ said. 

   “Wait, where’s Mr. Shelton’s phone?” Spencer asked, looking at Emily who was holding the items that were found. 

   “It’s right here,” Emily replied pulling the phone out. “It’s got a couple of contacts on it, Somerville Academy being one of them.” 

   “Any unknowns?” Spencer asked.

   “Tawes does have a cell,” Y/N said looking at Emily. 

   “No way, Lieutenant no tech?” She said with humor. “There’s one, it’s a text...looks like-uh- some phone numbers.” 

   “What are they?” Spencer asked, prompting Emily to reply with a string of numbers. 

   “Those aren’t phone numbers,” Spencer said standing us walking over towards the map of the woods. “That’s latitude and longitude.”

   “Right where those boys were camping,” Rossi said realizing where this was probably going. 

  The team soon realized that the reason for this whole happening was because when Bailey died, Josh was planning to escape because that was who he was protecting from Massey’s abuse. Massey then sent Josh into the woods because he wanted Christ Shelton to take revenge on Josh because he convinced him it was his fault for the suicide. Josh fought back though which was not premeditated. The mass suicide was Shelton’s way of getting back at Massey, taking away who he thought of as his sons.

----------

 The team had discovered three possible places that Josh could be heading to find Chris Shelton’s truck. They split up Hotch, Derek, and Y/N in together, JJ and Spencer, and then Emily and Rossi. 

   Derek pulled up a little bit away from Tawes and Josh, seeing as the two were fighting and they wanted the element of surprise. Derek went around to the side of the woods, tackling Josh before he threw a large rock at Tawes. 

   “Don’t do it, Tawes,” Y/N spoke, her and Hotch standing side by side guns aimed at the man.

   He didn’t listen though, pulling a small pistol out of his bag. Hotch fired a shot at his leg before he could do anything that he would regret. They handled the two and brought them back to the academy and the next day, they were going to arrest Massey.  

   The team watched as Derek guided Massey down the stairs towards the car he would go in. Y/N sighed, a happy one this time as she saw Josh go over and salute Massey before he drove away. His parents stood by his side, mom hugging him and dad patting his shoulder. 

   “You okay?” Spencer asked Y/N as he leaned next to her on the black vehicle behind them.

   She turned her head to look at him, a small smile on her face, “Yeah, I think so, I’m just glad this is over. Hopefully, this feeling will go away after all this passes,” she explained to the man next to her. 

   “My offer still stands, if you need to talk, I’m here,” he said, nudging her arm slightly. She smiled nodding at him. 

   “Thank you,” she replied. 

   The team made it home later that day, going back into the office to finish up reports and such. Y/N walked up to her desk, head-turning to the side as she saw a small enveloped letter on her desk. She carefully picked it up looking at it then opening it.

  She pulled out the small card which read, Be wary of feelings within, they might be more than you think. Turning it over she looked at the back seeing an all to a familiar signature from her past, a silhouette of a bird. She put the card back into the envelope, ripping it up and throwing it in her trash can, hoping she won’t think about it again.

[wesokkasimp]

impulsive (part one)

TW!! mild swearing, mentions of death, bad makeout scene

word count: 8766

You woke up to a splitting headache. For a few minutes you couldn’t concentrate on, much less remember, anything. All you could do was focus on the pounding in your head while you pitied yourself.

Then, it all started to come back, bit by bit. Azula had split off from you, Mai, and Ty Lee to find the Avatar, tasking the three of you with finding his friends. You had found and fought them pretty easily, but things took a turn for the worse when the sky bison flung your comrades into the water. You  were spared from the lake, but had been knocked unconscious by the male Water Tribe peasants toy. That was probably where your headache had come from. But that didn’t answer the question of where you were. Suddenly, your thoughts were cut off by a shout.

“Guys, something’s moving in the tent. I think she’s awake!”

Okay, that was definitely not Mai, Ty Lee, or Azula. Something wasn’t right.

You tried to sit up and stretch, but found that your hands had been bound. You realized that your ankles were bound, too. An uneasy feeling began to settle in your stomach. It couldn’t be…

The tent flaps began to shuffle. As an unfamiliar figure entered the vicinity, you caught bits and pieces of conversation. Spirits of the islands, now was not the time for a migraine. 

“Are you sure she’s awake?”

“She doesn’t look conscious…”

“Is she falling back asleep?”

“Hey! Whoever you are! Don't…”

****************************

You woke up again, this time with a milder headache and a clearer mind. Unlike the last time you woke up, you were not alone in the tent. The waterbender you had fought with Mai and Ty Lee was sitting by your feet. As if on cue, she noticed that you were no longer passed out.

“Hey, you’re awake again! How are you feeling?” the girl spoke, genuine concern lacing her voice.

“Who are you? Where did Mai and Ty Lee go?” you mumbled.

“My name’s Katara. You and your... group fought me and my brother yesterday. Sok- er, my brother hit you with his boomerang and you were knocked unconscious. Appa knocked your friends into the lake, and they were taking a while to get out of the water. We didn’t just want to leave you there, but we had to get going to see if Aang was alright. So we, um… Took you with us.” the evidently uncomfortable girl explained.

“What’s an Appa? Who’s Aang? And most importantly, who gave you the right to kidnap me!?” you barked at the now annoyed peasant.

“H-hey! We may have just saved your life, so I would be a little more grateful if I were you. My brother hit you pretty hard, I had to heal some of your head injuries after we set up camp. Appa’s our sky bison, and Aang is the Avatar. Y’know, the person you’re trying to kidnap?” the Water Tribe girl snarked.

Suddenly, a boy entered the tent. You recognized him from your fight at the lake the other day, and he looked similar to Katara. He must be her brother.

“Did she finally wake up? I heard shouting.” the boy asked his sister.

“Yeah, she did. Now, if you could kindly untie my hands I can leave and we can pretend this never happened,” you huffed, not wanting to waste another second with these low-life peasants.

“We can’t just let you go! You’ll probably try to kidnap Aang, and even if you don’t, you’ll definitely tell your little girl gang where we are! We need to stay here for a while so that Aang can learn earthbending, Toph said that he’d pick it up quicker if he learned all the basics in the same spot,” the boy sneered.

“Who are you? And who’s Toph?” you asked, seemingly innocent. In reality, you were gathering possibly useful information to give to Azula when you were finally released. 

They would release you, right?

“I’m Sokka, the guy that hit you in the head with a boomerang,” he stated smugly, pride washing over him as he watched you scowl. “Toph is… Well, I’ll just get her in here.”

After a few uncomfortable beats of silence with the waterbender, the boy entered the tent again, this time with a small girl following him.

“This is Toph. She’s teaching Aang earthbending,” Sokka sighed. He was clearly already exasperated.

You took in the girl standing above you. She was quite small and delicate looking. As your eyes traveled to her face, you noticed her eyes were glazed over. Realizing she was blind, you let out a hearty cackle.

“What’s so funny?” the girl demanded. It seemed she also had a bad temper.

“Oh, nothing,” you sighed. “I just think it’s a little funny that the best earthbending teacher the Avatar could find is a tiny blind girl.”

A chunk of earth shot up from the ground and smacked you square in the forehead the second you finished that sentence.

“Hey! H-how can you see where I am?” you squeaked. Perhaps you had underestimated this girl.

“I see everything with my feet, dunderhead. Ever heard of seismic sense? You’re lucky that’s all I did, because trust me, Princess, I’m capable of a lot more,” Toph chuckled.

Okay, this girl was definitely a force to be reckoned with. Your gut was telling you, and your gut never lied. You made a mental note to report all of this to Azula.

“Well, it’s been fun, but I really need to get going. I know you guys don’t trust me, you’d be fools if you did, but what are you going to do with me? I’m a world class combat expert, I’ve been in worse situations, so unless you're planning to keep an eye on me 24/7 and  putting better restraints on me I’ll probably escape by dawn,” you drawled. 

“She has a point, y’know. Azula is the princess of the Fire Nation- it would only make sense for her to have the best team of warriors money can buy,” Toph stated.

“Azula isn’t paying me,” you scoffed. “I’d never accept pay. Serving beside someone in the royal family so closely is the one of the highest honors someone could get- that’s payment enough.”

“You think hunting down and kidnapping the world's last hope for peace is honorable?” Katara said, shooting you the deadliest glare you’d ever received.

“The Avatar isn’t the world's last hope for peace. If the other nations would just cooperate with the Fire Nation-”

“How could you expect us to cooperate with conquest?” Katara screeched, cutting you off in the process.

“Look, now is not the time to get into this argument. Right now, we need to figure out what we’re gonna do with…?” Sokka sent you a questioning look as he realized you hadn’t shared your name yet.

“Y/N.” you sighed.

This may be harder than you initially thought.

****************************

The group had come up with a temporary plan. They replaced your rope restraints with earth ones Toph made. They already had a night watch system in place, so they decided that whoever was doing night watch would simultaneously watch you.

You didn’t get a wink of sleep that night, so lucky you got to stay up through all four shifts. Katara had the first shift. Her shift was uneventful, it seemed she didn’t have the best social skills. She reminded you of Azula in that way. A lot of ways, actually. They were both 14, powerful benders, and overshadowed their older brothers. You couldn’t be positive about anything, but you were pretty good at reading people, and from the small amount of time you’d spent with these four misfits you had picked up a bit of jealousy on Sokka's end. Probably because his sister was a bender and he wasn’t. It was understandable- you’d probably be jealous of your own older brother if he possessed bending and you didn’t, even if it was a weak element like water. Lucky for you, you had firebending, the most superior element. Although you supposed it would be nice to be an earthbender right now. You had been thinking for hours about a way to escape with your firebending, but so far it had been in vain.

The next person on the night watch was Sokka. Unlike Katara, he attempted to make small talk with you.

“So, how long have you known Azula?” the watertribe peasant questioned. You thought about the question, and after deciding there wasn’t a way your answer could be used against you later, you answered,

“About two months. She knew Ty Lee and Mai from The Royal Fire Nation Academy for Girls. I went there too, but we didn’t know each other. When her father asked her to hunt down her brother, she saw my name on the top of a list of elite soldiers. She asked me to join her team, and I accepted.”

“You were in the military?” Sokka asked. His eyes widened, probably wondering why someone as young as you was in the military. After all, you were only 16.

“Yup. My family was pretty poor, until some soldiers came to our house one day and saw my brother and I were firebending prodigies. We got moved to a fancy housing unit near the Fire Nation Royal Academies. After I graduated three years ago, I was enrolled into the military,” you answered. You didn’t know why you were telling him all this, but Sokka was surprisingly easy to talk to.

“Wow. I can’t imagine joining the military that young. In the Southern Water Tribe the minimum age for joining is 17,”  Sokka replied. “I actually tried to join when I was 13, but my father made me stay.”

“That was a mistake on your tribe's part. You’re a strong, able, young man. You could’ve been trained in a few months and then your tribe would’ve had another set of hands,” you stated cooly. 

The boy only hummed in response. He knew it was pointless to try and get you to understand why sending a child into battle was wrong. He knew how the Fire Nation carefully bred its children to be cold-hearted, logical, and violent. Yet he couldn’t help but feel that there was something different about you. On the surface, you seemed like every other Fire Nation noble he’d come across: arrogant, cocky, and ruthless. But underneath, he saw more. Remorse? Guilt? Like you knew in your gut that what you were doing was wrong, but the Fire Nation had trained you to trust them and only them? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he had seen something similar in Zuko. It was more apparent in you, though.

The rest of Sokka's shift went without a word. The third shift belonged to the Avatar himself. This was the first time you really got a good look at the boy. He was shorter than you expected, but besides his height everything about him radiated maturity. You thought about what he had gone through to get that maturity- learning about the genocide of his people a century after it happened, the Northern Water Tribe fiasco, and being hunted down by two of the worlds most powerful firebenders. All in a few months, on top of the normal stresses of being the Avatar. You felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. Even if your loyalties belonged to the Fire Nation, you had never thought the genocide of the Air Nomads was anything less than barbaric, even if you would never dare say that out loud. But the Fire Nation had evolved for the better. Things were different now.

Right?

“You must hate me,” you chuckled darkly. Your voice was humorless.

Aang looked confused as he asked “Why would I hate you?”

“I’ve been hired by someone to kidnap you, and wholeheartedly agree with what they're doing. Don’t worry. I’d hate me too,” you replied.

“I don’t hate anybody. I could only hate someone that truly had no good in them, but there’s good in everyone. Even you,” the monk said. He smiled up at you.

You were surprised at his words. You shouldn’t have been. He was a pacifist monk, after all. Not many people had ever tried to see good in you. Why would they? You were a soldier that served your nation loyally. Nothing more, nothing less. There didn’t need to be good in you. In fact, it was better if there wasn’t any good or bad in you. As long as you stayed loyal and obeyed the Fire Nation, everyone seemed perfectly content with leaving you be. 

The rest of Aang's shift went by without another word between the two of you until the very end. Aang started to stand, eager to get back to sleep, when you started to speak,

“Hey! I just wanted to, um, apologize.”

Aang's eyes widened in surprise. Was it possible? Has his ~inspirational~ words touched your heart this quickly? Reversed the years of brainwashing and abuse the Fire Nation had exposed you to? Maybe you would even willingly join their team! Maybe-

He was cut off by your explanation, “What happened to your people, I mean. Not, uh, trying to kidnap you.”

“Oh,” the young Avatar replied. “It’s alright. It’s not like it was your fault.”

Okay, not exactly what he was looking for. But hey, at least there was some good in you. Not wanting a race of people to be brutally murdered or wishing an entire culture to be wiped out was… a start.

Finally, the fourth shift started. Toph. You didn’t have much respect for any of these kids, but Toph was definitely the one who had garnered most of your respect. Despite her lack of sight, Toph was the most powerful earthbender you had ever seen. In a way, her blindness enhanced her abilities by heightening her other senses. She didn’t take shit from anyone, which was something you were insecure about. Being in the Fire Nation militia, you had to take shit from your superiors, unless you wanted to be discharged. Or worse.

It seemed that Toph was not a morning person, so about 25 minutes after her shift started, Toph dozed off.

For a second, you couldn’t believe your eyes. What luck after such a pitiful few hours! But there was still the problem of your restraints. You hadn’t really taken in the campsite, as you had thought you wouldn’t have the chance to escape. While you were looking around, a sharp rock caught your eye. Perfect.

After scooting over to the rock, which took more time than you would like to admit, you raised your arms and brought them down hard upon the rock. The restraints broke instantly. After doing the same with your ankles, you surveyed the land. You figured you only had about an hour until somebody woke up, so you had to get moving quickly. You had a pretty good sense of direction, and that sense was telling you to go west of the campsite. You began spriniting in that direction. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sprint like this for long, but you had to get a head start. Once “Team Avatar” realized you had left, they might go looking for you on their giant flying bison.

 ****************************

You had been traveling for two days now. You weren’t anxious about a Team Avatar member hunting you down anymore. That was a worry of the past. Now you were more concerned with getting something to eat. You had  found some hope when you came across a town, only to be disappointed after finding it was abandoned. Even though you were hungry and thirsty, you were also absolutely exhausted, and this town could provide shelter. You walked into the first building you saw, ready to pass out as soon as you hit the floor. In fact, you were so completely out of it that you didn’t notice the building was already occupied. You simply entered, found a nice corner, and hit the deck.

While you may not have noticed the other occupants of the decrepit building, they noticed you. Well, one of them. A certain banished prince, to be exact. 

He watched as you slept, not even sparing him a glance before you fell asleep. It was a bit shocking, to say the least. Any normal traveler would walk in, realize the building was occupied, apologize, and find another place to rest. This behaviour was suspicious. Too suspicious to not give you a quick once over.

Zuko walked over to you as quietly as possible, even though he didn’t need to worry about his volume. You were an impressively heavy sleeper, especially when you were exhausted like this. He crouched over you, taking in your features. His face softened for a moment as he saw the pure exhaustion gracing your eyes, hardening again soon after. What did he care if you were well rested or not? You were just some random traveler. He looked around in your corner and saw that there was no weapon. You didn’t even have a small travel bag.

Assured you were no threat, Zuko walked back over to his sleeping uncle and decided to turn in after a long day of training.

 ****************************

You woke up feeling more refreshed than you had in days. That was the best sleep you’d had in, what, seven weeks? You began stretching your limbs, feeling ready to continue your search for Azula. Then the hunger pains hit.

You doubled over, letting out a small moan of pain. That small moan, however, was all it took to awake the Dragon of the West.

As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he looked around to make sure his nephew was okay. The prince was sleeping peacefully beside him. As you let out another hiss of pain, Iroh whipped his head around to see you, a young girl, clutching your obnoxiously loud stomach. He had conquered enough small Earth Kingdom villages to know what starving looked like, and that’s exactly what he was seeing. 

“Excuse me, miss,” he all but whispered. You whipped your head around, suddenly on high alert.

“I apologize, I did not mean to startle you. But I noticed that you seem quite hungry,” your stomach growled in response as Iroh spoke. “My nephew and I have a little extra food to spare, as well as some exquisite tea. Would you like to join us for breakfast?”

Under normal circumstances, you would have been way more skeptic of an old man you’d just met offering you food. But you hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since the night before you got kidnapped, and this weirdo was your only option. 

“I suppose,” you sighed.

“Wonderful! I will get started on breakfast. Would you like ginseng, green, or jasmine tea?”

“Jasmine,” you responded.

“Good choice. Jasmine is my nephews favorite,” the old man replied, a fond look painting his face.

As Iroh started breakfast, you couldn’t help but feel as if he looked familiar. Perhaps he had been on the news? Or possibly one of your textbooks? You shook off the feeling immediately; no. It wasn’t possible some filthy traveler had made it into a textbook. You laughed internally at the thought.

About 45 minutes had passed since Iroh began preparing breakfast, and he had finally finished cooking the meal. You walked over to the corner of the room the old man and his nephew had been staying in as Iroh beckoned you over. When you got close enough to the younger man to get a good look at him, you got that same familiarity ebbing at your insides. It wasn’t an unsettling familiarity, just… strange. But you supposed everything about this situation was strange. 

Just as you began to sit, you were interrupted.

“I’m sorry, young lady. But could you wake up my nephew? As you can see by the bandages, I got hurt quite badly recently and cannot move around very well,” the old man said sheepishly.

“Sure,” you replied. This old man seemed nice enough, and he was making you, a complete stranger to him, breakfast. So you didn’t mind waking up his nephew. It was an easy task.

Or so you thought.

As you walked over to the sleeping boy and crouched over him, your breath hitched in your throat. Oh wow. This boy was quite the looker. His scar made him look all the more badass. You shook off these thoughts as quickly as he came. No. You didn’t have the time to pursue relationships with boys you didn’t even know.

You put your hand to the sleeping boy's arm gently, shaking him just enough to wake up. Waking him up wasn’t the hard part. The hard part came after he woke up.

You know, the part where he proceeded to attack you.

You let out a squeak of surprise as he leapt onto you, pinning you to the floor in the process. All your normal reflexes and strength had gone with your full stomach. On top of that, you didn’t want to hurt this guy, spirits forbid his uncle reclaim your breakfast invite. His arms were by the sides of your head to keep from crushing you. He leaned down to your face.

“Who are you, and what are you doing?” the boy growled into your ear, his voice extra raspy considering he had just woken up. He sent you a glare that rivaled the one Katara had sent you the other day.

“Lee! This is not how we treat our guests. I invited this young lady to sit with us for breakfast and asked her to wake you up,” Iroh scolded.

“Uncle, you can’t just go around inviting random people to sit with us at meals!” Zuko protested. “It isn’t safe.”

“Hush, nephew. She’s joining us and that’s final,” Iroh retorted. 

Zuko sent you a final glare before getting off of you.

The meal was pretty silent at first, not that you minded. You were pretty focused on stuffing your face. After a few minutes of comfortable silence passed, Iroh started some small talk.

“So, young lady. I don’t believe you told me your name. What is it, if you don’t mind me asking?” Iroh inquired.

“Y/N,” you responded. “I don’t think I caught your name either.”

“Mushi,” the man responded. “And this is my nephew, Lee.” he gestured to the boy sitting next  to him. Said boy sent you another glare. You sent him your snarkiest stare back.

“So,” you began, “Mushi. Where are you from?”

“I come from a small village in the Earth Kingdom, you’ve most likely never heard of it. My nephew and I left a few years ago in search of a better life,” Iroh answered as his gaze traveled to the small travel kettle. “Oh! The tea is ready.”

Mushi took the kettle off of the fire. Huh. Fire. That wasn’t there when the old man had first invited you to breakfast, and you hadn’t heard him trying to make a fire. Unless he was a firebender, which was impossible considering he was from the Earth Kingdom, how did he start a fire so easily?

You brushed it off. He probably just had a lot of experience or something, right? Yeah, yeah. Sure. Instead, you turned your attention back to  ‘Mushi’ (you suspected that wasn’t his real name), who was pouring some jasmine tea for his nephew. The smallest fond smile graced the boy's face as his uncle poured his tea. His smile was a nice change of pace from his usual scowl. You wished you could see him smile more.

Wait, no. What were these thoughts? You couldn’t go around ogling at boys like a school-girl! It was simply out of the question. You had one purpose in life: Serve. The. Fire Nation. Maybe someday your parents would arrange a marriage for you or something of the like, but you had no intention of falling in love.Wishing someone happiness and a crush were two very different things. Besides, you could never fall in love with someone just because of their looks. You weren’t that shallow. 

Once you had finished breakfast, you walked back over to the corner you claimed to pack up. After noting that there was nothing to pack up, anxiety started to settle in. Realizing you didn’t even have a weapon to defend yourself with, you started to feel full on panic. You had been so preoccupied with escaping Team Avatar and staying alive that your lack  of, well, anything had slipped your conscious. 

This was not good. You were in the middle of nowhere with nothing  but the clothes on your back. 

Mushi must have taken in your state of dismay, because he walked over to you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“You seem a little lost, Y/N. Is there any way I could help you?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. But I think I’m going to have to stay in this town another night until I can figure something out,” you sighed. Every moment you became more and more anxious about how Azula would react if- no, when you returned. Would she be angry about it? Or did she view you as a disposable tool? You hoped for the latter. If that was how she saw you, maybe she would be pleasantly surprised when you returned. While “disposable tool” might not have been the exact way you described yourself, it certainly was close to that. Serving your country was a noble thing, and if you died doing it, it would be an honorable death.

“I think you are making a wise choice. It would be foolish to go out traveling with no resources. However, because you are staying, I do have to tell you something. I have not been completely honest,” the man muttered, looking at you sheepishly.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, incredulousness gracing your features. How could he have lied? He’d barely spoken to you, for spirits sake!

“My name’s not Mushi, and my nephew is not Lee. We’re not from the Earth Kingdom. Our names are Iroh and Zuko, and we hail from the Fire Nation,” Iroh explained.

“Oh,” you said, relieved it hadn’t been something worse. “That’s fine. I’m from the Fire Nation too. But why didn’t you just tell me in the first place?”

“I was not sure if you were from the Earth Kingdom or the Fire Nation. Most people are not comfortable revealing that information to strangers. People from the Earth Kingdom do not always react kindly to Fire Nation citizens,” the old man replied.

“Damn right,” you scoffed. “Personally, I think they need a little lesson in respect.”

Iroh hummed in response, not showing any other sign of agreement or disagreement. He didn’t want to scare you off or fight you, but he also didn’t want to show any agreement with what you’d just said.

“Are you a firebender? I’ve been teaching my nephew, so if you’d like to train with us, you’re more than welcome,” Iroh inquired.

You thought about the offer. You hadn’t trained in a week. You had decided not to bend at all while you were traveling to conserve energy, so your bending was probably a little rusty.

“Sure, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” you responded.

“Great! My nephew and I are currently working on a special technique that we started yesterday. We’re redirecting lightning. I actually made it myself,” Iroh replied eagerly.

“Wait, you can redirect lightning? Does that mean you’re a lightning bender?” you asked, dumbfounded. Lightning bending was one of, if not the most, powerful forms of bending. Because it was so powerful, the only people who got to learn it were members of the Fire Nation royal family.

“Yes, I can conjure lightning. But I don’t do it often,” Iroh chuckled.

 Then it all began clicking into place for you- of course! Prince Zuko and former heir to the throne General Iroh! It hadn’t clicked sooner because of Prince Zuko’s banishment. You hadn’t heard his name in a few years, and he had just kind of left your consciousness. 

“So you’re General Iroh? The Dragon of the West? The only man to ever conquer Ba Sing Se?” you squealed. General Iroh was a hero of yours. He was a strong asset to the Fire Nation and an even stronger bender. His loss of Ba Sing Se had been disappointing, and you personally thought he should have stayed. Still, losing a son must be hard. The loss of Lu Ten, whom you had thought was going to be the Fire Lord one day, was devastating for the entire Fire Nation. On top of all that, he was stripped of his heir status. The details on that had always been shady, as Fire Lord Azulon never mentioned anything about his wishes for Ozai to become the Fire Lord while he was still alive. Not to mention Fire Princess Ursa disappearing right before Ozai’s coronation. Still, reading into it too much was a waste of time. Fire Lord Ozai was a strong leader, and that was what the Fire Nation needed.

“Uh, yes. I did conquer Ba Sing Se for some time,” Iroh replied, trying his hardest to hide the discomfort that had now taken over his face. “But let's not focus on that. We should get to training.” he urged.

You walked outside with Iroh towards a cliff, where Zuko was waiting. As he spotted you, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Surprise quickly turned to annoyance as he said,

“Uncle! Was inviting her to breakfast not enough? Why is she out here?”

Iroh looked impatient while saying, “Zuko! Where are your manners today? Y/N here is a bit stranded, so for the time being, she will train with us.”

Realizing his uncle had called him by his real name, Zuko sent Iroh a glare, but he didn’t say anything about it. Zuko didn’t want to give himself away completely.

“I just remembered- you need to be in a calm state of mind for today's exercise. I need to go make some ginseng tea!” Iroh said, hurrying back to the decaying building to start the drink.

You groaned internally. You had grown quite fond of the old man already, but you couldn’t say the same for his nephew. 

An uncomfortable silence took over as he just stood there awkwardly.

“So, how long does it take for your uncle to make tea?” you asked, hoping to quell the silence and get an estimate of when you could begin training.

“Half an hour for ginseng. He likes to get it just right,” Zuko answered. He was clearly annoyed by your presence, as he has hoped to work on the lightning technique his uncle created. But alas, he couldn’t give away that he was from the Fire Nation. I mean, really? Why had his uncle agreed to letting you train them? A free meal was courteous enough, no? Now a whole day of training would be wasted on teaching some random girl the basics of hand to hand combat.

“Is he coming back while the tea steeps to get us started?” you sighed.

“No, he usually stays by the tea. He doesn’t want anything to happen to it,” Zuko explained.

“Well, in that case, do you want to get started without him? Just to warm up?” you asked.

“Sure, why not?” Zuko mumbled sarcastically. Was a moment alone with his uncle too much to ask for?

As Zuko got into a standard position for hand to hand combat, you crossed your arms and shot him a confused look.

“Spirits, don’t tell me you don’t even know basic fighting stances,” Zuko groaned.

“Of course I know basic fighting stances!” you countered. “But why are you in a hand to hand combat stance? I thought this was a firebending session.”

Zuko froze. “You know I’m a firebender?” “Uh, yeah! I also know who you are, princey, in case you haven’t picked up on that either. Now are we starting or not?” you cried.

Zuko stayed frozen. “How do you know who I am?” he demanded.

“Your uncle told me, idiot. You were also the heir to the throne of the country I live in for a hot minute. It took me a while, but you’re not unrecognizable,” you replied. 

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

After another few minutes of awkward silence, you spoke again.

“So hottie, are we sparring or not?” you asked, now impatient.

Zuko started to nod before he realized the nickname you had just given him.

“What did you just call me?” He tried his best to sound intimidating, but it was challenging considering his voice had gone up an octave.

You smirked. “Hottie. Y’know, short for hothead?”

“Oh,” Zuko sighed. He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed.

“You’re also, like, totally hot,” you said nonchalantly. You knew you shouldn’t have been flirting. That’s what you had been telling yourself all day. But he was just too easy! His cheeks flared up immediately after you called him hot. And you never got to flirt! You were always too busy training, or on a mission. Besides, it’s not like this will go anywhere. You’ll have your fun for an hour or two, and by the end of the day you will have figured something out and leave. 

While you were trying to justify your flirting, Zuko was busy having an existential crisis. He was, for lack of a better word, bamboozled. Just… what? How could anyone, much less a pretty girl like you, find him attractive when he had a giant fucking scar covering a third of his face? He had barely even spoken to you, and his words had been cold at best. Why did you still find him attractive? Though he supposed he was thinking the same about you. Sure, he found you annoying and maybe even a little arrogant, but he recognized your attractiveness. 

“O-okay. We can get started now,” Zuko stammered, his blush quickly spreading.

“Alright,” you giggled. “But be warned, I’m a little rusty.”

You and Zuko got into position swiftly. After stretching, Zuko got into an intermediate bending stance. 

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

As the first plumes of fire left your hands, you felt feelings you only ever felt while firebending. Grace. Comfort. Complete and total warmth. Firebending had always been a form of escapism for you, and it had killed you to temporarily stop. But now, as you focused on the flames erupting from your hands, you felt a sense of peace.

Zuko was surprised by your skill. He outmatched you, but not by nearly as much as he thought he would. It was clear you were naturally gifted at firebending; your elegant movements said that much. Zuko had the best private teachers money could buy at his disposal growing up, so he being better than you was a given. He assumed you went to one of the many Fire Nation public schools growing up, but after seeing your bending, he realized you must have gone to a pretty good private school.

After the quick warmup, Iroh came out with the tea.

“Sorry I took so long. Ginseng is always fussy,” the retired general sighed.

“Nephew, since I already told you all this yesterday, how about you take your tea and meditate for a few minutes while I catch Y/N up to speed?” Iroh asked.

“That works,” Zuko said. Oddly, after the brief spar with you, Zuko found all his annoyance at you disappearing.

 ****************************

It had been a grueling day of training. You were a fast learner, but it appeared that you were not going to master this technique any time soon Zuko tried to help you, but so far it had been to no avail. Iroh left to rest about half an hour ago, after raising his eyebrows suggestively at Zuko, who rolled his eyes at the gesture.

“You’re not getting you chi low enough,” Zuko groaned. This was the fourth time he was explaining this to you. “You need to let it travel through your stomach.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” you cried, growing frustrated.

“Just- I’ll help you,” Zuko mumbled, trudging over to where you were standing. He positioned himself behind you, putting his hands on your arms.

“It’s like this,” he explained. He guided your right arm a bit higher, and put your left arm at a much lower angle. His arms dropped from your arms to your waist.

“You have to guide the chi lower,” he repeated.

You did the motion again, making sure your arms were in the position Zuko had put them in. The places he had touched were still tingling from his warm, rough hands.

“Good job,” Zuko muttered. His hands were still placed firmly on your waist.

“Well, you’re a pretty good teacher,” you giggled. Y/N, you thought. You were trying to have as much fun with this boy as you possibly could.

“Is that so?” Zuko murmured, suddenly feeling confident. He didn’t get to have much fun either. And his uncle was always teasing him about not being good with girls. Maybe with you, he could kill two birds with one stone. Have some fun and get some practice around girls. He’d need it someday, to court his future Fire Lady. “Maybe I could teach you other things. Like firebending.”

“I know how to firebend, Zuko,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“You don’t know anything too advanced, though,” Zuko retorted.

“True, true. I guess I could take you up on that offer. But with all the things you’re teaching me, I’m going to have to teach you a few things in return.” “Like what?”

 You smirked, tilting your head back until it was under Zuko's chin. “Oh, you’ll see. But for now, teach me some firebending.”  

Zuko's heart inexplicably started racing at your mysteriousness. Was he simply nervous that he didn’t know what you were going to be teaching him? Or was it the way your voice went a little lower? The new close proximity of your faces? The knowing smirk on your face?

Still nervous, Zuko took his hands from your waist. “Okay, in that case, I’ll teach you something I invented. I call it fire daggers.”

 ****************************

“You’re doing pretty well. You just need to push a little more chi to your wrists,” Zuko explained. He had been teaching you how to create fire daggers for about 45 minutes, and you had almost mastered it.

“Okay,” you replied. You took a deep breath, and tried your hardest to focus all your chi to your hands. You felt the warmth become more concentrated around your palms, and finally, you let out two, very concentrated fire daggers.

“Finally!” you exclaimed. “Wow, you invented this?”

“Yeah, but it took a while to perfect,” Zuko admitted. “So, what are you planning to teach me?”

“Oh, can we do it after we eat? I’m starving,” you said, careful not to tell him what you had in mind.

“I’m actually not very hungry. But you go eat with my uncle. I’ll train until you can come back.” “Sounds good.” You headed to the shabby building, leaving Zuko to train. As you were walking, you began thinking of what you would teach Zuko. You hadn’t planned that far ahead. Spirits, what about this boy made you so impulsive? Oh well, you’d think of something.

“Hello, Miss Y/N!” Iroh greeted.

“Hey, Iroh,” you responded. “What’s cooking? It smells good.” 

“Some jook,” Iroh replied. “Where is my nephew?” “He’s still outside. He’s not hungry so he’s training some more.”

“Classic Zuko,” Iroh sighed.

He served you a bowl of jook, which you happily began to eat. As you were eating, your mind wandered to other places. Team Avatar, to be exact. You thought about how they treated you. Sure, they put cuffs on you, but that was expected. They weren’t complete fools. You thought more about the way they had tried to make you comfortable. They offered you water, like, every fifteen minutes. And food, which you had refused. That wasn’t a good idea in hindsight. Sokka had even tried to make you more comfortable by making small talk, and Aang had been polite when you initiated conversation. If it had been the Fire Nation who captured them, there would be no such hospitality. Why had the enemy been so kind to you? Maybe- no. How could you think such a traitorous thought? Still, now that it was on your mind, you had to let it out.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you asked, fidgeting with your spoon.

“Of course. What is on your mind?” Iroh questioned.

“Do you think this war is… right?” you sighed, not meeting Iroh’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” “Just… I was captured a few days ago, by the Avatar and his group. And some of the things they did and said got me thinking. Is it possible that the Fire Nation is in the wrong? We refuse to see good in anything but ourselves. I was taught from a young age to never show mercy; that mercy is weakness. But the Avatar and his friends were nothing but hospitable to me. I mean, what is the reason for this war? Conquest? Why are we trying to conquer the world? My school books say the Air Nomads were planning to invade us, but the more I think about that, the more absurd it sounds. They were pacifists, for spirits sake!” You hadn’t planned on saying all that, but once you started talking, you couldn’t stop. You felt confused, and now angry. Had the Fire Nation really been lying to you this whole time? Was everything you knew a lie? You felt like you were suffocating, shocked by the things that had come out of your own mouth. If you weren’t a faithful servant to the Fire Nation, who were you?

Iroh stared at his bowl of jook for a few seconds, contemplating what you had just said. Then, he spoke.

“Morals are something you must develop for yourself. Take a look at the facts and your own life experiences, and form a code of ethics to follow. I know how difficult it can be to question what you were taught, but we must always be bettering ourselves. Don’t take the easy way out, and always remember to trust your gut.”

You understood what Iroh meant. It’s easy to just follow someone blindly, especially if they’re manipulating you. Developing your own moral code, while harder, would be more fulfilling and worthwhile in the end. 

“Thanks, Iroh. I have a lot to think about,” you breathed at a barely audible voice.

“Of course, take your time.”

You slinked off to your corner, figuring you had about twenty minutes until you had to go to Zuko. You hadn’t eaten much jook. You thought about your brother, who had always been the perfect Fire Nation citizen. He never questioned the Fire Nations wishes, not for one minute. You had always looked up to him, and longed for his praise so badly, so you didn’t question the Fire Nation either. And look where that got the both of you. You were here, stranded in an abandoned Earth Kingdom village, and he was, well, dead. Killed in battle at the ripe age of 17, just as you were about to graduate from the Fire Nation Royal Academy for Girls. 

It was in that moment that you finally understood what Katara had meant. Why would the remaining two nations comply with the Fire Nation when the Fire Nation was trying to overthrow them? Complying wouldn’t result in peace. It would result in chaos.

Well, fuck. Now what were you going to do? You couldn’t go back to Azula, and your gut was telling you not to stay with Iroh and Zuko. You had to get going by tomorrow morning. 

“Iroh, I have a favor to ask,” you said.

“Anything, my dear,” he answered.

You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly. “Do you have, like, an extra canteen of water I could take? Or a little bit of extra food? I really need to get going tomorrow morning, and-”

Iroh cut you off. “Of course, Y/N. I’ll get a few things packed up for you, but in the meantime, I think my nephew is waiting for you.” “Thanks, Iroh,” you said, smiling. Iroh nodded in your direction as you jogged out the door.

Feeling much more optimistic and more sure of yourself than you had ever been, you sauntered over to Zuko, who was doing a few cooldown stretches.

“Oh, hi Y/N. I was just finishing up. Are you ready to repay me yet?” he chuckled. 

“Not quite yet. Follow me,” you said in a teasing tone. Zuko got up and followed you despite the confused look on his face. Oh, how naive, you thought.

You led Zuko to a crumbling wall you had spotted earlier during training. When you stopped, Zuko began speaking.

“What are we doing over here? What are you even teaching me?”

You could tell he was getting impatient with you. Oh well, just give the boy what he wants.

“Never knew you were the eager type,” you giggled.

Zuko’s witty comeback died in his throat as you yanked him by the arm towards you and effectively pinned him against the wall.

“Wh- what are you-”

“Quiet, hottie,” you murmured. “Class is in session. Would you consider yourself a hands on learner?” “I guess so,” he whispered. The almighty Fire Prince was melting into a puddle right before your eyes, at your hand nonetheless. He really was too cute for his own good at this moment. His eyes wide instead of the default glare they were set in, his entire face red. 

“Good,” you responded. You took his hands, which were hanging limply at his sides, and stationed them on your waist. You then placed your hands firmly onto his shoulders. Zuko shuddered under your touch.

“Ready for the demonstration?” you asked, serious tone not at all fitting for what you were about to do to this boy.

“U-um, well, I… ah-” Zuko sputtered. Was it only this morning he was glaring at you for joining his meal?

You rolled your eyes. “Lesson one: Talk. Less.” you stated.

You leaned in until your lips were just barely brushing Zuko’s. You could hear his breath hitch in his throat. But you weren’t done having fun with him yet.

At the last minute, you turned away from his lips, instead opting to place a feather light kiss on Zuko’s cheek teasingly. 

You pulled away from Zuko slightly with a sly smile, just enough so you could see his face. His expression was shocked, confused, and longing.

Perfect.

“You don’t have to be so stiff, you know,” you giggled. “Move a little. It-”

Zuko cut you off with his lips, grasping at your waist like his life depended on it. You gasped into his mouth before hurriedly kissing back. Sure, you’d kissed a guy or two in your life, but none of them felt like Zuko. He tasted like jasmine and woodsmoke. His lips moved against yours with passion and vigor as he let out little sighs into your mouth. Your hands left Zuko’s shoulders, going to his chest instead as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. 

You pulled away from the kiss, smiling as he chased after your lips.

“Why… did you do that?” he whispered.

“I had to teach you something, didn’t I? Did you learn anything?” you asked.

“Talk less,” Zuko said, his eyes hazy.

You chuckled. “Yeah. Remember that one.”

You walked off, leaving Zuko to contemplate what  just happened.

 ****************************

You left that same night. Iroh had gone to the nearby forest to forage for some plants, and Zuko was still standing at the wall, dumbfounded. That left the building you had stayed in empty. There was a small bag sitting in the corner you had slept in, packed by Iroh. You found a compass in Iroh’s bag, found which way west was, and started off in the direction, taking the compass with you. It didn’t matter; Zuko had one in his bag. You checked.

You weren’t quite sure where you were going. Going back to Azula was obviously not an option, but the Fire Nation wasn’t a good choice either. There would be too many things to explain to your family, and you could be sent to jail for abandoning Azula. Or worse. It would be better for the time being if you were presumed dead, not that anyone besides your parents and perhaps a few of your friends would care.

That left a few options. You could become a nomad of sorts, jumping around from town to town, never staying long. You weren’t built for that sort of life, though. The few weeks traveling with Azula had been enough to last you a lifetime. Omashu, now New Ozai, had become occupied by the Fire Nation. The Northern Water Tribe was secluded and virtually untouched by the war, as the recent invasion attempt had failed. Unfortunately for you, it was nearly impossible to get to, even by high-tech warship.  That left settling down at one of the abandoned Air Temples or Ba Sing Se. The latter seemed less lonely and more attainable, so off to Ba Sing Se it was.

 ****************************

“Fine, but you’re closing tomorrow!”

“Okay okay. Thanks, Xia!”

You washed the flour caked on your hands from hours of work, left the keys in the small tray by the back door, and began your walk back to the small apartment you lived in, apron in hand.

You had been living in Ba Sing Se for two months now. After forging some papers and departing the ferry that took you to the city, you landed a job at a small, but lively bakery that locals of the outer ring loved. Your weekly salary was enough to pay for rent, food, and a few recreational activities too. Overall, you lived a comfortable life, and you would have been happy to spend the rest of your days in the life you’d built for yourself, even if you had to pretend there was no war. 

You had been hearing about a tea shop from some of your neighbors. It wasn’t new, but there was a new employee that really knew his way around the drink. You hadn’t had a cup of tea since the ginseng shared with Zuko and Iroh, and you certainly had the money for it. Deciding to treat yourself, you walked into the store and ordered a cup of jasmine tea. After paying, you sat down at a table by the window and waited for your tea to be served. Drumming your fingers on the table, you thought about how much your life had changed in just a few short months. You had gone from a loyal servant to the Fire Nation, ready to sacrifice anything and everything for a facist tyrant, to a normal young adult working in a bakery. You couldn’t help but feel grateful you had fallen into this timeline. What if Sokka’s aim had just been a bit off and you hadn’t been knocked out? You’d probably still be out there with Azula, hunting down the world's last hope for balance. Crazy how one little action can have such a huge impact. 

As you thought about Azula, your mind wandered to her older brother. You smiled at the thought of Zuko. Your time together had been brief, but you looked back on it fondly. Sure, he could be very aggressive and intimidating, but he could also be quite shy and bashful, if you got him in the right situation. 

Looking back on the kiss the two of you had shared, you blushed. You felt giddy and slightly embarrassed at the same time. You had been so impulsive in that moment, but you couldn’t help it. He was just so cute, stuttering under your soft gaze!

“Order up,” a raspy voice stated behind you.

Ah, your tea. You turned around to accept the steaming cup, tip in hand, but something stopped you from  reaching out to take the drink from the rusted tray.

That something was the wide-eyed stare of a certain Fire Nation royal family member. 

“Oh,” you choked. “Hi again.”

a/n okay i know i said literally yesterday that this would be out in december but you never know when motivation will hit ig. this isn’t the full thing but i think that’s understandable since this bitch is loooong. the second part will probably be shorter. the other zuko h/cs will still be out before thanksgiving! requests are still open as well, but i want to finish this so it may take a little for me to get to them. thank you to @ladyamaya (sorry it’s not letting me tag you :() for requesting this. sorry it took so long. also, sorry if this sucks :)

[juuls]

Pharmacist/Me = 1 🏆 Doctor/Nursing Staff = 0

Thank you in advance for reading this rant. I’ve been really frustrated and just needed to get this off my chest, and today at least I had a wonderful knight in a white lab coat. 🩺❤️‍🩹🥽🥼💪🏻

Content warnings and squicky squicks: (further down there is) an image of a medical vial with a clipped image of a more benign part of a syringe, health conditions (endometriosis, fibromyalgia), menstrual cycles and associated terms such as bleeding and other things, lack of empathy in my specific healthcare system, hysterectomies, pain, swearing and losing patience. Most important warning: self-administered syringes and injection discussions of legal medications (Depo-Provera) approved of by professionals and properly researched. P.S. this may sound rather Karen-like but I would never do this to someone’s face. Online ranting and acknowledging where I could do better is not the same as screaming in public for bossy requests or comps, etc. Ew.

Another ‘warning’… pharmacists being kick-ass allies and giving a damn about their patients.

I’m really annoyed because (and I know healthcare and scheduling is a clusterfuck right now, but…) for over a month now I’ve been trying to get an appointment in person to get this injectable medication that is, yes, birth control, but is also used for endometriosis in my case. And I have severe endometriosis (exacerbated severely by fibromyalgia, siiiiigh) to the point I bleed enough and lose so much I have to go to the hospital when my care is not properly preventative… like in this case, and the pain is unbelievably severe also to the point I’ve spent time in the hospital, including my 11th Christmas Eve and Day. I started this injectable medication at 13 because it was the only thing that came close to helping reduce my endometrial tissue. Even a hysterectomy wouldn’t help as much, unless they decided to go the super invasive route and remove all the organs (or parts of them) that had become ‘infected’ by the tissue. Again, tissue where it’s not supposed to be, and it causes extreme pain as the tissue tries to flush out of my body each period, even if it’s attached to, like, my pancreas. Just no. That does not work at all. No. That is not fun.

SO. I’m 31, nearing 32, and the doctor’s office knows this. I’ve had the same doctor since I was 10. Been on this medication nearly non-stop for just shy of two decades (with appropriate precautions such as bone density tests) because of the absolute severity of the pain and my inability to function when it hits… which can be months at a time of non-stop bleeding and morning sickness-level nausea and vomiting, migraines and the occasional complete inability to move—in other words, it’s debilitating.

My doctor (even the nurses, as it’s in large print at the top of my file in the system) knows all about this. They’re supposed to call me if I’m overdue by a certain margin (I get they’re busy but months and months???). But my doc’s also a bit of an airhead (albeit a smart one when he focuses) and takes forever to reply to anything on time, even when it’s a severe issue, but not severe enough to go to the hospital. But it’s gotten to the point where the nurses say to go to the ER and then the ER nurses and doctors there get SUPER pissed off (AT ME AND SOMEHOW NOT AT MY DOCTOR/NURSES AND THEIR ORDERS) at the ‘waste of time’, and it’s just a clusterfuck.

Oh yeah, and that ER visit while I was overdue for my injection? Internal intestinal bleeding along with a lovely, even if small, perforation in my fucking uterus from the growth of endometrial tissue. I MEAN COME ON — WHAT IN THE HELL. Totally preventable if they fit me in when I called literally over a month ago.

But I will not change my doctor (the other docs at the practice know what is going on and have offered to take me on, but they don’t have the experience with myself and my conditions or the history, but they can do little else because of professional conduct—it’s between myself and my doc) because he is the only one who treats me with humanity and understands fibromyalgia, endometriosis, pre-MS and pre-RhA/PsA, endo-related IBS, (ulcerative) colitis, and other neurological conditions with any degree of empathy. (See, I told you I’m a mess!) There is no way I’m switching offices in the perpetual shortage of doctors in Canada moving elsewhere for m o n e y (plus Covid-19 being a teen hooligan and constantly coming back to wreck more goddamn shit, including everyone’s sanity, then setting things on fire like the real hooligans in my village have been doing this summer — I mean… what in the hell!?!?), so with all that in mind I actually thank my lucky stars. So I put up with a lot of this shit because he treats me, besides him being an airhead, like an actual human being deserving of compassion and care and quality of life despite my severe disabilities and pain. So.

I’m usually treated really well (even if they often think I’m a nuisance for daring to be severely chronically ill/in pain all the time) so I try to be patient and good and understanding when I can.

But his STAFF (I know they’re busy and I’ve been patient but they’ve been so awful honestly to the point I cried hard enough my dad noticed my red eyes and frustration-tear fracks on my face)! And the doc himself’s inability to reply to notes on time even when urgent and when he knows the circumstances (I admit I am a bit of a hard patient so I can understand if he just kinda ignores me sometimes, honestly). But in this case I was THREE DAMN MONTHS LATE for my injection and they’ve always called in the past when I was coming due if it looked like I hadn’t scheduled an injection, so that I was all on time and squared away and didn’t risk severe pain and damage to my already-fucked hormonal system (learning I couldn’t have kids was absolutely heartbreaking, let me tell you, but even a hysterectomy in that case would solve nothing — this is by far the easiest option, especially considering how my fibromyalgia would fuck with my post-surgery recovery and leave me with lasting pain for years if not decades; sigh).

Anyway. So. After some ridiculous levels of back and forth and some truly remarkable levels of lack of compassion (she kept giving me the exact same, word for word response in a bored tone UGH) considering the severe pain I was in (I was told, in front of OTHER PATIENTS AND STAFF, that I could just wait until I talk to the doctor myself at my next phone appointment and then schedule my injection for my next MONTHLY followup — 4.5 months overdue at that point, it would’ve been — because, and I quote, ‘am used to dealing with pain because of my fibromyalgia and years of dealing with it and other conditions’ which they named in front of others!!!!!!!! what. the. fuck. But I kept my cool because I know all these people, my mom taught their kids music, they’re a fixture of the community, etc. and I refuse to be a Karen…. At least externally.

But here comes the nice part that makes me love our new (okay, he’s been here like 5 years but still, in a small town that’s pretty new lmao) pharmacist that much more. Rasik was aware of my frustration with the doctor and nurses and was even the one who brought to my attention that, at the time, I was 2 months late for my injection and he was a bit concerned since he’s privy to how much pain I exist in without throwing in one or more knives directly into my womb, ovaries, tummy, hips, and other areas my endometrial tissue has taken root. He’s such a sweetheart and he really does care for his patients— the work he does with my father’s diabetes (the tricky one where you’re not obese) management is above and beyond the call of a pharmacist and I will forever be grateful for that alone, never mind how he cares for me.

So I went in today to pick up another medication, after yet another frustrating stop-over at the nurses’ desks, and he suggested I ask for my injectable medication (it’s Depo-Provera, by the way) and the syringe plus the two tips necessary — I’m actually familiar with this since I had to learn epinephrine injections from an early age (not Epipen) and how to give testosterone daily to my ex-husband (sorry not sorry, dude, but congrats on your first kid *grouchy thumbs up*). But yeah! Legally he’s not allowed to suggest I give it to myself, but he was getting super fed up with the nurses and doctors dragging their feet and ‘being assholes with little empathy’ in his own words, so I took the hint and requested my vial plus syringe, as well as the drawing and injection gauge needles…. which he gleefully filled for me, and I reiterated that it was ‘fully my idea, not yours, Rasik, because everyone knows I’m dumb and would never think it’s you if something happened’ (I’m not dumb and I’ve given injections to others many times looool).

Long story short: HERE’S TO PHARMACISTS AROUND THE WORLD, BEING AMAZING AND CARING FOR THEIR PATIENTS AND ‘BENDING BUT NOT REALLY BENDING’ THE RULES TO MAKE SURE THEIR CLIENTS ARE CARED FOR PROPERLY. They are amazing and deserve every last bit of your courtesy, especially when they pull double duty every. single. day. because of Covid and their subsequent boosters. (i.e. boosters in the form of humans who are fucking stupid if they have no medical reason not to get the vaccine… I mean JFC.)

Rasik? You are amazing and I am 100% going to find you some Indian-Canadian (or North Indian; I believe that’s where he’s from originally) treats or desserts or make some myself after slyly asking his assistant what he leans toward liking.

Be kind to one another, yeah, but… my goodness: be kind to those who can truly make a difference in your health, sanity, and even life or death.

Pharmacists, volunteers, and frontline health workers: the true heroes of these times.

Thank you so much. So very much.

💜💙🇨🇦👨🏽‍⚕️❤️‍🩹🙏🏻

P.S. … now I just gotta stab myself intramuscularly after making sure there’s no air bubbles and etc., and swap out to the proper gauge needle (different, smaller, to draw from the vial, larger to inject so that it goes in more quickly and, oddly enough, hurts less haha). I don’t think air bubbles are as much of an issue as when injecting intravenously (ummm I have a doctor uncle and grandma nurse and nurse friends, so shush 😆). But I’ve done this for others and animals so I should be good! :)

I’m a smart enough cookie even if I’ve lost a few nibble-size pieces around the edges. 😉😘 buahaha

Cheers to my pharmacist!!!! You are amazing and I can’t wait for the pain and months and months of bleeding to settle down.

Remind me again why humans are the only mammals (animals?) with monthly fluxes? UGH wtf ever. 🙃

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] Also on AO3

Chapter 17: Jon

Jon knows he should probably feel bad about this, but he’s too shaken to feel anything else. Part of him feels guilty for bolting and leaving the others behind. God knows they must be upset by what they just heard too. It isn’t just his fate Martin Prime laid out in a series of framed pictures.

But he needs space, he needs air. He needs a chance to think about what he heard before he does or says something utterly stupid, even for him. He needs to regulate his breathing and he needs something to soothe his nerves.

He taps a cigarette out of the pack he keeps in his glove compartment and puts the rest in his pocket, then lights it up and leans against the corner of the garage. The first shaking drag nearly makes him choke, as always, but he holds it for a moment before slowly expelling it in a puff of air.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” a too-familiar voice says from behind him.

Jon doesn’t look up. “Obviously not, if you’re still here.”

Jon Prime comes over and leans against the wall next to Jon, arms folded across his chest. He doesn’t say anything, merely stands there and watches the smoke curl up in paisley spirals.

“Want one?” Jon finally asks, more as a way to break the silence than anything.

Jon Prime shakes his head. “No, I quit ages ago.”

“So did I,” Jon says dryly.

“Yes, but I stopped even keeping a pack on hand ‘just in case’ or ‘for emergencies’. Martin doesn’t like it. Never said anything, but…with everything else trying to kill me, the last thing I wanted was him worrying that I’d manage to do it to myself. I haven’t touched a cigarette since…before we lost Tim.”

Jon glances at his counterpart out of the corner of his eye. He sounds…haunted, for lack of a better term. Not that Jon can blame him. Bad enough to have to listen to all that as it was, but Jon Prime had to live through it, and then have it served up like an art gallery. And to hear it come out of Martin Prime’s mouth…

He thinks about that, thinks about the sinking panic in his stomach when he thought about his—their—Martin having to go through half of what Martin Prime must have endured, thinks about the way the Primes clung to each other when they were first reunited and the way they’ve maintained some degree of physical contact almost constantly since. It all combines to make him ask, “When did you figure out what he meant to you?”

“Almost too late,” Jon Prime murmurs. He gives Jon the same sideways glance Jon just gave him. “It sort of…crept up on me gradually? I wish I could tell you that it came to me in a grand realization, some big, theatrical, dramatic moment, but…no, it was—” He pauses and lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “It was really such a small, stupid thing, but…no. The moment I realized…”

He returns to staring across the backyard, but Jon isn’t sure that’s what he’s actually looking at. “I was…trying to retrace Gertrude’s footsteps. Trying to piece together what she’d learned, what she’d been working on. At one point, she was at the Pu Songling Research Center in Beijing—it’s something of a sister organization to the Institute—and went from there to Chicago. I had a bit of time before the next flight out, so I thought—I was dying for a cup of tea. Hadn’t had a decent one in ages. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to finish one. And here I was in the middle of one of the most well-known places for tea in the world. I decided to go to a nice teahouse and get the full experience. So I did.” He snorts softly and shakes his head. “I couldn’t finish it.”

Jon makes an interrogative noise. He isn’t really sure what to say to that, or how it connects to anything they’ve been talking about, but he’s willing to wait it out.

“Silly, isn’t it?” Jon Prime muses. “I—I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it. It wasn’t the quality of the tea, that was perfect. It was made exactly the way I like it. Hell, I even watched them make it, so it wasn’t fear of them accidentally poisoning it or whatever—so what could it be?” He sighs heavily. “And that’s when it hit me. I watched the woman make it. The woman. I realized, sitting in the middle of a crowded shop in one of the most populated cities in the world, that I could come up with as many excuses as I wanted, but the simple truth was that I hadn’t finished a cup of tea in two years that Martin hadn’t made for me.” He looks back at Jon, and his eyes are tight with self-reproach. “That was the moment I knew. And then, like a coward, I didn’t say anything for more than a year.”

Jon wants to say something, anything, but before he can, Jon Prime looks away from him again. “Oh, I told myself there were good reasons. I-I was away, I wasn’t going to say something like that over the phone, I had to wait until I saw him in person again. And then when I did get back to the Institute, we were in the middle of—we had work to do to save the world, we didn’t have a lot of down time, we had to—to plan, to prepare. A-and then, the, the night before we left for our mission…I told myself that wasn’t the time. I was going and Martin was staying behind—he had a plan of his own to carry out, and someone had to stay back, just in case the rest of us didn’t make it, and…I didn’t say anything, but I needed it to be him. I needed to know he was safe, even if the rest of us weren’t. But I convinced myself it wouldn’t be fair to burden him with that, to tell him how I felt and then just leave, because if God forbid I didn’t come back I didn’t want him to live the rest of his life knowing we never had the chance to—to explore what that meant.”

“And then?” Jon ventures.

Jon Prime closes his eyes. “The ninth picture.”

“You—we—” Damn, it’s hard to know how to say it. “A coma?”

“Six months. Nothing functioning except my brain. I—I had to make my choice. I chose to come back. But when I did…everything was different. Martin had—he’d taken another job in the Institute, to protect everyone in the Archives. To protect me. He had…he was working on a plan of his own, but…” Jon Prime sighs heavily. “I don’t know…”

“It’s not likely to happen now, is it?” Jon asks. “Whatever this is? You’re—we’re going to stop all this from happening, so what’s the harm in telling me?”

Jon Prime swallows. “Because it still hurts to think about. But…all right. Martin had managed to gather enough evidence to have Elias arrested—this was before we knew…the full extent of things, so we thought he was just a moderately clairvoyant, malicious ass—but Elias had anticipated…something of that nature, and laid plans ahead of time. He’d chosen Peter Lukas as a temporary successor. Actually there was a bet involved, but…I really don’t want to discuss that, and we didn’t find out until later anyway. But Peter Lukas was running the Institute. There were…attacks, and Martin finally made a deal with Lukas that he’d work directly for him if he would protect the others left behind in the Archives. Most of what he did was to protect us—to protect me, because he thought if he kept Lukas’ attention on him, it would keep the rest of us safe. And for the most part, he wasn’t wrong.”

“Lukas…as in, the Institute donors?” Jon thinks back to the statement of the young woman he’d rather brusquely dismissed. “The woman who—the funeral—wait a minute.” He compares the statement to the list of entities and ventures, “The Lonely?”

“It almost got him.” Jon Prime exhales shakily. “The Lukas family is…very wrapped up in the Lonely. Oddly, for such a large family, but…yes. He worked on Martin for months, and I—for a moment, I thought he was going to go over. But in the end, he didn’t. He stood up to him and chose not to. But as part of what he was doing to Martin—and what Martin was doing to protect me—we didn’t interact. Couldn’t.” He gives a small, humorless laugh. “The loneliness of distance.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s…the Keeper’s domain, actually. A mixture of the Lonely and the Spiral. That peculiar feeling when you’re separated from someone you love, and it—it should be so simple to cross that barrier, but you can’t. Maybe you’re physically separated, maybe an emotional gulf…maybe by necessity. But it’s coupled with the—the fear that if you do try to reach out…”

“They won’t reach back,” Jon says softly.

Jon Prime nods. “And it hurts. I-I mean, both of us wanted to close that gap, but…we were afraid to. Me because I was afraid I’d well and truly botched it and he didn’t want me to, him because it was the only way he could think of to keep me safe. Relatively, anyway.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “We got lucky. We got that second chance.”

“So how do you feel about him?” Jon asks. It’s probably a stupidly obvious question, but honestly, his own emotions are still so mixed up that he genuinely doesn’t know how he feels, and knowing how Jon Prime feels…

Jon Prime unfolds his arms, straightens up, and looks Jon square in the face. “I love him,” he says, quietly but firmly. “He’s my anchor, my compass, the one thing keeping me human. He is the one person I trusted when I was at my lowest and the one person I wanted there when I was at my highest. He was the first one I told when I found out how to quit the Institute and the one who found a way to bring me out of the Buried when my own stupidity nearly trapped me there. He’s the reason I’ve made it this far and the only reason I have to continue. He is the most important thing in my life and I will do whatever it takes to keep him there.” He pauses. “And before you ask, yes, he does know all this. Now.”

That was, in fact, Jon’s next question. “And he…?”

“He feels the same.”

For just a moment, Jon feels dizzy. Could Martin…? But he’s not even sure if love is what he feels for his—their—Martin, not yet anyway. Could it be love? Maybe. Someday. But all hearing about his future self’s feelings has done is make him more confused. Still, he keeps pushing. “You haven’t…said anything, o-or done anything, since…” Even the way they clung to each other when they first were reunited could be construed as two friends, two people who’ve lost everything else, finding something familiar once again.

“And believe me, it’s killing us both.” Jon Prime reaches up like he wants to run his hands through his hair, then checks, evidently remembering the braid, and rubs his face instead. “I didn’t realize how comfortable I’ve become with being able to show that affection—to take comfort from him—until we were here and I couldn’t. God, when he was done giving his statement, I—I wanted to—” He gives a ragged sigh. “And don’t think for a moment I couldn’t tell how much effort it took to restrain himself to what little he did when I overdid things. We’re just…we got accustomed to being allowed to do that, I suppose. It never occurred to either one of us we’d be somewhere we couldn’t.”

“Well, why can’t you?”

“I don’t know if you realize just how bad Martin’s self-esteem is at times,” Jon Prime says quietly. “God knows we haven’t done him any favors. We worried that if you saw us together, then got together yourselves, your Martin would always harbor that little bit of suspicion that you’re only with him because you think you have to be.”

Jon swallows, but he cant really refute that assessment of Martin, mostly because he doesn’t know him as well as he’d like. It still rings true. “I—you know I wouldn’t—”

“I know. And my Martin knows that, too. He’s…as horrible as the next two years were for us, they definitely helped him forge his sense of self-worth. But yours still thinks you hate him.”

“I don’t—I never hated him. I—”

“Was projecting, yes. He called me on that and I copped to it. But it doesn’t change the fact that that’s what he thinks now. My Martin and I don’t want to risk damaging what you two could have by making either of you think it’s forced.” Jon Prime returns to lounging against the side of the building.

They fall into another long silence, Jon Prime sliding his hands into his pockets and watching the sky cloud over and Jon returning to smoking. There’s always a small amount of guilt when he sneaks a cigarette—which he really does far too often to claim he’s actually quit—but it’s worse than usual today. Or maybe it’s just that what he’s just sat through is too intense to be soothed with nicotine and menthol. He watches the smoke curl on the wind and thinks about the paintings.

Finally, he asks, “They all happened, then?”

“Yes.” Jon Prime’s voice is barely audible. “All of them. Including, thank God, the last one.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m—I know it’s selfish to say it, but if he had to be blinded, I’m glad that’s the last thing he saw.”

Jon understands that. “Anything would be better than the gallery of horrors. And…the last painting, the one he didn’t turn around to see. Do you…?”

“It was probably the moment I ended the world.”

“You ended—” Jon’s cigarette slips from his fingers. Stupidly, he grabs at it as it falls and manages to sear his hand. He curses softly and shakes out his hand, inspecting the cigarette. Somehow, it’s still lit. Wonders will never cease.

“Graceful,” Jon Prime says dryly. He starts to fiddle with the cuffs of his sweater, then tucks his hands firmly into his armpits, evidently to stop himself. “And yes. It wasn’t…exactly my fault, I suppose, but I was more or less the catalyst, at least.” He seems to debate with himself for a moment, then sighs. “We’ll explain a bit more when we’re back with everyone else—I don’t want to have to relive this more than once—but, broadly, the entities all have rituals, designed to bring them fully into the world and recreate it in their image, so to speak. The ritual for the Eye is called the Watcher’s Crown, and the Archivist is the keystone. Jonah spent three years preparing me, and then—well, he disguised the incantation to finish the ritual as a statement, and I didn’t discover it until I’d already started reading it.”

“You didn’t stop?”

“I—I tried. God knows I tried. But I physically couldn’t. Even from the beginning, I found it hard to stop recording a statement once it was begun, unless I was interrupted. I convinced myself for far too long that it was just work ethic or some such nonsense.” Jon Prime sounds bitterly amused. “I don’t know that I could have stopped myself without intervention. If—if I hadn’t been alone, if I’d asked Martin to stay in the room…he might have been able to snatch it away from me before I got to the second page. I don’t know. I can’t Know hypotheticals or the future or anything like that, but I-I’m terribly afraid that if he’d tried to interfere, especially once I got to the actual ritual, that I might have hurt him.” He closes his eyes tightly. “I-I wouldn’t have survived that.”

Jon presses his lips together for a moment, then takes another drag on the cigarette. He tries not to think about the possibility of hurting any of his assistants, let alone Martin. Even now, the very idea makes him flinch away in horror. How much worse would it be if he’d sorted through the tangle of emotions inside him?

“You didn’t—Tim and Sasha. That wasn’t you, right?” he asks, and could swallow his tongue. He almost does swallow the cigarette and holds it well away from himself to keep from doing something even stupider. “I-I mean—”

“It’s all right. It’s a valid question,” Jon Prime says quietly. He opens his eyes. Somehow, Jon isn’t surprised to see that they’re wet with unshed tears. “No, I never laid a hand on either of them. Sasha was—she was killed by the thing from Amy Patel’s statement, the one that was not her friend Graham. Tim died trying to stop one of the rituals. He—I didn’t want him to go. I definitely didn’t want him to do what he did, but…God, he was so angry. I-I think he needed to do it, but it hurt when I woke up and found out he was gone.”

Jon notes that whatever killed Tim—likely an explosion, since Martin Prime mentioned a detonator—also put Jon Prime in his coma, but he decides not to bring that up. Not now. He doesn’t want to think about losing any of his assistants. He can’t. “Please tell me you’re going to help me keep that from happening.”

“That’s our goal,” Jon Prime promises. “Well, our secondary goal at least. Obviously our main goal is to stop—”

“The world from ending. I know. Your Martin told us that.”

Jon Prime smiles, just a little bit. It takes Jon a second to realize that it’s the words your Martin that made him soften like that—that even though Jon meant it to distinguish Martin Prime from the Martin who could have died last night if the CO2 system had been a hair slower to trigger, a thought that’s going to haunt him for a while, he heard it as a possessive statement. Your Martin in the same sense as your partner, your reason, your love. There’s another uncomfortable flutter in Jon’s chest that he tries his hardest to ignore.

“But our other goal is to protect everyone we care about,” Jon Prime continues. “I—I am sorry that your Martin got hurt so badly. I am. I know what he’s going through, physically at least. We really were hoping to avoid any of you having to go through that. But if we can at least stop him—stop all of you—from going through the hell we went through…we’ll run whatever risk we have to.”

“Short of letting…Elias win,” Jon says. It seems safer to call him that for now.

Jon Prime hesitates, which surprises Jon. “I…I’d like to say yes. That stopping Jonah is more important than keeping you all from getting hurt. And certainly you’ll all suffer a great deal if he does win, but…God, I don’t know. If the cost is anyone’s life…I don’t know that I can pay it. Not again.” He takes a deep breath. “We have a good chance, though. Jonah doesn’t know we’re here, and as long as we can keep him ignorant, we should be able to catch him off-guard. And I know what to prepare for better now.”

“Wait, you’re following through the same plan you had post-apocalypse?”

“More or less.”

“Even though it obviously didn’t work?” Jon wonders what happens to him that he would consider trying something he knows is doomed to failure.

“It would have worked,” Jon Prime says. “I didn’t know for sure before we tried—like I said, I can’t Know the future—but what Jonah did made it clear that what we were going to do would have worked, and that he found the only method possible of stopping it.”

Jon knows he shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. He wonders if it’s the power of the Eye or just his own natural curiosity, or maybe both. “What—what did he do?”

“He hurt Martin.” Jon Prime’s voice is quiet but raw. “Badly. I—I knew I could save him, but I also knew that going to Martin first would give Jonah enough time to get away, and we’d never get another chance to catch him unaware. And I knew that if I took Jonah down, even in the relatively short amount of time it would take to do that…Martin would be beyond help by the time I was done. I only had seconds to decide.” He looks up, and the pain in his eyes is evident. “Not a thing in me said to do other than what I did.”

The memory of Martin being wheeled out of the Archives on a stretcher hits Jon almost like a physical force. The panic, the desperate need to get to him, the sense of guilt, return as if he’s feeling them fresh. And that was with trained medical professionals on the scene. What Jon Prime is describing is infinitely worse. Jon Prime had to watch Martin Prime hurt, by someone he once at least marginally trusted, and know that he was the only one who could save him…but at the cost of the rest of the world.

And, honestly, Jon can’t condemn him. He doesn’t know what he’d do if faced with that situation himself. Truthfully, there’s a part of him that’s afraid he would hesitate for too long and lose both opportunities. He knows, with utter certainty, that he’d never forgive himself if he did. At least Jon Prime made a decision. At least he saved the man he loved.

“I—I think you did the right thing,” he manages.

Jon Prime huffs a soft laugh and folds his arms over his chest again, banging his head lightly back against the wall of the garage. “Martin didn’t think so. At first, anyway. He fussed at me for not stopping Jonah when I could, but…when I told him how little time he had, and pointed out I wasn’t even sure I’d get anything out of taking down Jonah but revenge, he let it go. Still don’t think he agrees it was the right choice, but he does at least understand it was the only choice I could have made.”

Jon doesn’t answer. He’s thinking about what that must feel like—to be the only ones left standing at the end of the world, to make a pact together to turn it back, to go through what must have been literal hell together, to see your happy ending on the horizon, and then to nearly have everything destroyed in an instant. If the chasm that opened up before him at the idea of losing Martin had been deep and vast, how unfathomable must it have been to Jon Prime? Especially knowing how close he must have come to losing Martin before that?

“What would he have done?” he finally asks. “If your positions had been reversed. If you’d been the one hurt. Would Martin have saved you and let…” He trails off. He still can’t bring himself to call his boss Jonah. That’s honestly the only thing he’s having trouble believing. That Elias Bouchard is in the service of an eldritch fear god, that he might want to end the world as long as he can be in charge of it, that he’s using Jon as a cat’s-paw to do so? Certainly. But that he might actually be Jonah Magnus, or at least possessed by him? No, Jon can’t quite buy that one yet.

Jon Prime looks unhappy. “I don’t know. Our plan relied—relies—on an ability Martin simply doesn’t have. So the likelihood of him being able to do anything to Jonah…I don’t know if he would have tried or not. He might have. Martin’s got a lot more pent-up rage in him than you might expect, and most of it is directed at Jonah. He’s hurt us both over the years, repeatedly, and I know Martin wanted revenge. I did, too, but…the difference is that I knew how precious little time there was before the damage done to him was irreversible. Martin wouldn’t have known that. He—he might have thought he could at least get one good stab in and then save me. You’ll have to ask him, but honestly, I don’t think even he knows.”

Actually, the thought that Martin—stammering, unassuming, inoffensive Martin—would attack a being that’s essentially a demigod with a knife to pay it back for hurting them is strangely comforting. The idea that Jon might have died as a result, less so. “So—why attack Martin and not you? What if you’d chosen differently?”

“I think he knew damn well I wouldn’t. And I think he knew there was a good possibility Martin would, which also tells me it would have worked, too. That Martin could have killed him. Then, too, there’s a chance that he couldn’t have actually killed me. The Eye may have liked me better than it liked Jonah. Certainly it seemed keen to keep me alive and functioning.” Jon Prime pauses, then adds on a small sigh, “But mostly, I think he attacked Martin because when he started picking at my confidence, started me doubting myself—again—Martin stood between us and refused to move.”

Jon coughs. “Wait, what?”

Jon Prime nods without looking at him. He folds his arms tightly over his chest, rolling the fabric of the sweater between his thumbs and forefingers. It’s a nervous tic Jon himself isn’t familiar with, and in a distant way, he wonders when it started. “It wasn’t—I won’t pretend it was like you might imagine in the movies. He was scared, I could taste how scared he was, and I know he was trying not to cry. But he stood in front of me anyway. He looked Jonah square in the eye and told him to fuck off. Told him he wouldn’t let him hurt me anymore and—” He breaks off and closes his eyes, pressing his lips into a flat line for a moment. “He wouldn’t budge. He didn’t take his eyes off Jonah when he told me that he’d stand in front of me as long as I needed him to, as long as it took for me to remember who I was, and that it wasn’t what Jonah had tried to make me.”

Jon can’t fathom what kind of courage that must have taken. “And that…what, angered Jonah so much that he wanted to hurt Martin?”

“Oh, no, he didn’t sound angry at all,” Jon Prime says bitterly. “He was perfectly calm as he told me that I ‘might want to reconsider my course of action’ as ‘time can be a precious resource, after all’.”

“And then?”

“And then he shot Martin.” Jon Prime slowly turns his head to look Jon square in the eye. “Three times. In the chest.”

Jon freezes. Everything seems to still down to a molecular level—heart, lungs, even his brain. Nothing exists beyond the words Jon Prime has just spoken and what they imply. At first, it’s focusing on the thought that Elias Bouchard shot Martin—that his boss, the man theoretically responsible for them and their well-being, leveled a gun at one of his assistants and fired it. Then the details catch up to him, and Jon somehow manages to forget how to breathe, despite the fact that he isn’t breathing to begin with. Not only did he shoot Martin, he shot him the same way Gertrude Robinson was shot, if Tim is to be believed. Spots begin forming at the edges of his vision.

He feels pressure on his shoulders and hears a voice that seems to crackle with static. “Breathe, Jon.”

Jon complies without realizing it. He inhales—exhales. Again. Again. The creeping darkness recedes, and Jon sees his counterpart standing before him, his eyes wet and anxious behind his glasses, matching his breathing to Jon’s. He has his hands on Jon’s shoulders—that’s the pressure he felt—and he’s shaking faintly.

“My God,” Jon whispers. “He—dear God.”

Jon Prime nods, infinitesimally. “Yes. He was—making a point. As much as—” He breaks off and closes his eyes again, but Jon sees a tear trickle out of the corner of his eye.

Jon swallows hard. “He killed Gertrude Robinson.”

“Yes.” Jon Prime takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, looking a bit calmer but still shaken. “That…was not how I wanted to tell you that. But yes.” He pauses, then adds, “If you want more on that, you’ll have to wait until we can talk to everyone. They probably deserve to know.”

Jon isn’t sure he does want to know more about that. Or if there’s really that much more to be known. Still, he understands not wanting to talk about that more right now.

He reaches over and wipes the tear off of Jon Prime’s cheek. “He’s all right, though. I-I mean, you saved him. He’s alive. He’s…alive.”

“He’s alive, yes.” Jon Prime slowly releases Jon’s shoulders and takes a step back, giving them both a bit of space. “I—I was able to stabilize him. The Keeper appeared and offered us a relatively safe place to rest, and we were able to stay until Martin was well again, but…he’ll always have those scars, I think. They’re a bit worse than they would have been had he been given real medical attention, but I-I did the best I could. And…at least he’s alive. At least I still have him.”

Jon exhales and leans back against the wall. In light of everything he’s just learned…he can’t imagine how difficult the last week has been for Jon Prime. Being separated from the last person you knew from your previous life is bad enough, but to be separated from the person you love…especially so soon after a near-death experience…and then to not have any way of contacting him, of knowing how he was…it must have been absolute hell.

After a moment, Jon Prime says with a small, humorless laugh, “You know, I came out here to make sure you were all right, and I think I successfully made things infinitely worse.”

Jon thinks about that for a moment, then says, somewhat surprised, “Actually, I think you may have helped.”

“Really,” Jon Prime says, sounding skeptical.

“I-I mean—it’s bad. It’s very bad, what happened, and I—yes, all right, I definitely panicked a bit there. But…” Jon tries to figure out how to phrase it, then gives up and decides to just talk and see what comes out. “I didn’t even know why I came out here. Why I needed space. But talking to you, I—I think I figured it out. Listening to what you said…it wasn’t what you—we—went through that upset me. It wasn’t even hearing it spoken about. It was hearing Martin—well, your Martin—talk about it. I was more upset that Martin Prime had to go through that than I was that you did. And…” He sighs. “I still don’t know exactly how I feel, but…at least things make a little more sense now.” He looks over at Jon Prime. “I’m all right. Or as all right as I can be.”

“That’s…going to define the rest of your life, I’m afraid. ‘As all right as you can be.’” Jon Prime sighs. “Go ahead and finish that cigarette and we’ll go back inside.”

Jon Prime stares at the half-smoked cigarette in his hand for a long moment. He started smoking in university, more as a way of avoiding conversation than anything, and found it helped his anxiety. All his rather messy break-up with Georgie had done was cause him to switch brands, and all his grandmother’s nagging and disapproval had done was cause him to stop smoking indoors. He’d tried to quit after her funeral, but even though he rarely smoked more than one or two out of the packs he bought before he had to throw them out because they went stale, he never managed to actually stop. Truthfully, there were no external factors more powerful than the soothing nature of the nicotine.

But now…

Slowly, he raises his foot to his knee and grinds out the end of the cigarette on his heel. He pulls out the pack, tucks the cigarette into it, turns around, and drops the whole pack into the bin at the corner. Judging by the state of the bin, it’s almost trash day, so he hopefully won’t be tempted to dig around and rescue the pack later.

He turns back to see Jon Prime watching him with a genuine smile on his face. He doesn’t say anything, merely reaches over and gives Jon a hug. Jon is momentarily surprised, then relaxes into the hug and returns it. It’s a bit—there’s no other word for it—weird to be hugging himself, but at the same time, he needs physical contact more than he lets on and he hasn’t really had all that much in the last few years. The stress doesn’t go away, but it does ease back, a hell of a lot better than the cigarette managed.

After a moment, they separate. Jon Prime claps him wordlessly on the shoulder, and they turn to head back inside. To face whatever is coming next.

[searchingwardrobes]

The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 3/11

So this is where things really start to shift from the original, and this is probably one of my favorite chapters. I probably worked harder on it than any other! This is also where Neverland mythology begins to come into play. Right before starting the rewrite-a-thon, I re-read J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan to my eight year old. The famous line “all children, except one, grow up” really hit me for the first time. Wait a second, all children except one? Every version of Neverland I had ever seen, from the cartoon, to Spielberg’s Hook, to Once, portray Neverland as a place where no one ages. But that’s not what the novel says!! Then, later on, the book casually mentions that the Lost Boys are constantly changing because some get killed in battle or - get this - Pan “thins them out” when they get too old. Umm . . . say WHAT? So here’s where my story gets dark with a super sadistic Pan . . . and I’m not sorry. At all. (mwhaha)

If you haven’t noticed, all chapter titles come from Peter Pan. They are either chapter titles in that book or phrases from the book. This one, mocking kisses, actually refers in the novel to Mrs. Darling who has a “mocking kiss conspicuously in the right hand corner of her mouth” which it says not even Mr. Darling or her children can get from her. There’s tons of interpretations for that, none of which have anything to do with how I’m using it here. Here, it has to do with growing up and awakening sexuality, and of course - you know - actual lip locks. So it’s not all dark in this chapter . . .

I’ll stop being an English Lit teacher and shut up now. Except to thank, once again, the incredible mods for the @captainswanbigbang and to my betas - @shippingtheswann , @optomisticgirl , and @distant-rose . This chapter especially deserves massive thanks to Ro for her pirate expertise! And be sure to follow the Captain Swan Rewrite-a-thon because ALL of the fics are incredible!

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and eventual positive Millian

Words: A little over 7k in this chapter (all chapters will be rather lengthy from here on out)

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 16

Emma lies in bed, wide awake, staring at the wardrobe across the room. It looks eerily familiar, though she tries to tell herself that’s crazy.

Her new foster family seems incredibly nice. Even the two boys who are the couple’s real children seem excited to have her here instead of jealous. The mother even seemed embarrassed when she showed Emma her room, explaining that it used to be an office, so it didn’t have a closet. She hoped Emma liked the wardrobe she had found at an antique store.

Emma stares at the wardrobe now and thinks of Martha. Another kind foster mother and another wardrobe, almost identical to the other? Happy coincidences like that don’t happen. At least not to Emma Swan.

She huffs and rolls over on her side, and tries not to think about the little boy with the soulful blue eyes. He was just an imaginary friend. A figment of her hurt soul and bruised heart. Her hand hovers over her cheek, and she inwardly berates herself. It was just a peck on the cheek, and she was ten for heaven’s sake! Correction, there was no peck on the cheek because it wasn’t real.

Because now that she’s 16, she knows better. Friends don’t just fall out of the sky – or wardrobes. And real kisses are an enormous disappointment. Like Tom Pierce when she was 13, her first kiss playing spin the bottle at a Halloween party. All she can say about that is that it was wet and sloppy, and he had bad breath. Then there was Robby Eddleston at the school dance last year. She thought he actually liked her when he asked to talk privately behind the bleachers. Then she was pinned against the wall while Robby shoved his tongue unceremoniously down her throat. But a quick knee to the groin had quickly taught Robby that she wasn’t an easy score.

Emma punches her pillow now in irritation. It’s ridiculous that an imaginary kiss to the cheek has been her best yet. Pathetic, Emma. She decides to push thoughts of the wardrobe and that pair of blue eyes from her head.

She’s just drifting off when a familiar creak reaches her ears. She ignores it, assuming she’s already dreaming. But then she hears footsteps padding softly across the hardwood floor. Emma squeezes her eyes shut tighter. Is someone standing over her, or is that her imagination? Then a hand softly touches her hair, and her eyes fly open as she sits up quickly. Her green orbs meet blue, and she gasps in shock. It startles her so much, her hand seems to act on its own and she slaps him across the cheek - hard.

“Bloody hell, Emma what was that for?”

“Killian?” She swallows hard. “I thought . . . I wasn’t sure . . . I mean, you’re real?”

He smiles, even as he rubs his red cheek, and it lights her up inside. “Liam didn’t think you were real either when I finally told him about you. But when I saw that wardrobe in the captain’s quarters, it looked so much like the one from when we were kids, I had to try.”

Emma winces. “Sorry I slapped you.”

Killian shrugs. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

Emma stares at him unabashedly by the light of her bedside lamp, taking in how much he has changed. Gone is the scrawny little boy, though he is still of slender build. Just like last time, he’s wearing a nightshirt that hangs to his knees, but she can still see defined muscles in his arms and legs. His chest is broader, and his shoulders are squared back, stronger and more confident than when he was ten. His hair has gotten darker, and it’s longer, hanging down in his eyes so badly, Emma itches to push it back. It also hangs down so close to his shoulders, that he could pull it back in a low ponytail if he wanted to. His freckles are less noticeable, and his complexion is more tanned, making his azure eyes spark even more than she remembered.

“I hope the Captain doesn’t catch me. I could be whipped for being in his quarters. Though it will be worth it, now that I’ve seen you again.”

He ducks his head as he realizes that he’s been chattering on and on, and Emma feels bad for him because she knows she ought to quit staring and say something already. He pushes his hair back from his face, and when he does, Emma notices his ears. They are slightly pointed, almost elf-like. They’re adorable.

He’s adorable.

He’s also cold, she realizes as he rubs his arms and curls his toes into the hardwood floor. Emma lifts the edge of her blankets. “Come here, you’re freezing.”

Those adorable ears of his turn red at her offer and he gapes for a minute like a fish. “That would be bad form, lass. Liam says I should always be a gentleman.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “First off, if you’re that worried, you’ll definitely be nothing but a gentleman. Second, I can take care of myself. If you get handsy, I’ll just put you in your place like I did with Robby Eddleston.”

“Who’s he?” Killian asks as he slides under the blankets next to her.

“Just a jerk who shoved his tongue halfway down my throat without permission.”

Killian’s eyes darken to a stormy, steel tinted cobalt. “He did what?”

Emma shoves him in the shoulder, “Calm down, jeez. I told you, I can take care of myself.”

“What did you do?”

“Kneed him in the jewels,” she says with a shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant.

He grins at her with obvious pride, “That’s a tough lass.”

They fall silent for a moment, and then Emma finally whispers into the dark, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came back.”

“No need, love,” he quickly assures her, “though I was worried what had happened to you.”

Emma picks at the comforter spread across their laps, “Martha died of a stroke, and I had to go someplace else.”

Killian reaches for her hand, and her movements still. “I’m sorry. I know you said she was a good woman.”

Emma nods, swallowing down the pain. She turns to him with a quirked eyebrow. “Did you get my bunny?”

“I did, thank you,” he nods, “though I regret to say that he ended up in Davy Jones’ locker. My master at the time called me a baby for having it and tossed it out to sea.”

Emma cringes at the word “master,” but Killian doesn’t miss a beat in the telling of his story. “Davy Jones locker?” she asks. “People really say that where you’re from?”

Killian looks confused. “Seamen do.”

“Oh . . . “ she trails off, her brow furrowed as she tries to make sense of the difference between his world and hers.

“Nevertheless,” he continues, “I can’t tell you how much that small gesture meant to me. It had been so long since I had a plaything. Anyway, how has this new home been?”

Emma looks around her at the still unfamiliar surroundings. “Well, I haven’t been here long, actually. I’ve been bounced around a lot of places since Martha, and most haven’t loved me as well as she did. Except Sarah, until I found out she was crazy.”

“Crazy? How so?”

Emma groans at the memory. “She thought I had magic!”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Why is that crazy?”

“You can’t be serious! I mean, she almost got me killed.”

Killian shrugs, then gestures with his hand at the wardrobe. “I travel to you through an enchanted wardrobe, Emma. And you think magic sounds crazy?”

She huffs out a breath. “Well, okay, yes, you and I . . . that’s hard to explain. But me being like Hermione Granger or something? No way.”

“Hermione who?”

Emma laughs as she cocks an eyebrow at him. “You know, Harry Potter.” He just blinks in confusion. “Books. About wizards and witches.”

“Oh,” he says with a nod, but she can tell he’s still a bit confused, and no wonder. When they were ten, he didn’t even know what a movie was. Emma finds his confusion surprisingly endearing.

Emma leans against Killian’s shoulder with a sigh. “Can we not talk about me and my pathetic life? What’s been going on with you?”

Killian secedes to her wishes and begins to speak. He tells her about discovering rum for the first time at thirteen, and then gambling with dice and cards at fourteen. “I’m pretty good,” he brags.

Emma tilts her head up and grins at him saucily, “I’m sure you are.”

He swipes his tongue along his lower lip in a way that is simply unfair, then continues telling her about letting Liam down at every turn. He weaves a story of a storm at sea where all hands are lost but he and Liam; a story that has her hanging on his every word. This leads to him and his brother joining the Navy at 15 and 17, respectively. Emma turns her head again, her eyes wide.

“Isn’t fifteen awfully young for that?”

Killian shrugs, “Some join as powder monkeys at 11 or 12,” he tells her, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. His words remind her once again that their wardrobe connects two very different worlds. She also still wonders if Killian travels through both space AND time. His world seems so old-fashioned compared to hers. “I’ve caught on fast, though. So has Liam. He’s a lieutenant already, and many of the sailors think he will be the youngest yet to make Captain. I’m still just a cabin boy, but my Captain says it’s only because he likes the fine job I do. He’s talking of promoting me soon. This time, I won’t let my brother down.”

They both fall silent for a moment. Emma’s not sure what to make of their bizarre situation. Emma doesn’t want to contemplate what it means if he’s actually 300 years old or something and no longer living in the 20th century, so she decides to change the subject. She turns her hand so their palms are touching and laces her fingers with his.

“What kinds of things have you had to learn? Like sailor’s knots and star charts and stuff?”

“Aye, and other things, too. I’ve had to learn cartography and geography. And languages, too. Greek was the hardest.”

“You know Greek? Like Zeus and Poseidon and all of that?”

The smile he gives her almost seems teasing, “Of course.”

Emma pokes him in the side and grins when a laugh spills from his lips. “Say something in Greek for me.”

His face turns suddenly earnest as he gazes into her eyes and says, “Omorfi kopella.”

“What does that mean?”

He blushes and ducks his head. His unfairly long lashes brush the top of his cheeks as he answers. “I said you were beautiful.”

Killian brushes her cheek lightly with his thumb and then leans towards her. Emma meets him halfway. His lips are soft and warm against hers, and their touch makes her heart soar in her chest. This is what she had always imagined a kiss should be. It’s nothing like kissing Tom Pierce or Robby Eddleston. Killian tilts his head to deepen the kiss as his fingers thread through her hair, and Emma sighs into it. When he pulls back, his eyes are a midnight blue as he rests his forehead against hers.

“The thoughts I’m having right now aren’t very gentlemanly,” he confesses huskily.

Emma chuckles. “Good,” she tells him, thumbing his lower lip, still moist from their kiss.

A bright shaft of light falls across her bed and Emma groans. Killian cups her face in both his hands. “I wish I could stay, but –“

“Your brother,” she finishes for him. She looks long into his eyes. “I get it. You’re all each other has.”

Killian nods and brushes one more brief kiss across her lips as he rises from the bed. He bows to her, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. She giggles, and he gives her a slightly roguish smile.

The last thing she sees before he disappears inside the wardrobe is the look of longing in his blue eyes.

“They remind me of Martha’s forget-me-nots,” she thinks to herself, “but sad, too.”

Killian: Age 16

“Get up here, little brother!”

Killian grabs his naval jacket and dashes up the ladder to the deck, grumbling under his breath about it being “younger” brother not “little.” It especially bothers him when Liam is speaking as Lieutenant Jones and not just family. Yet it seems Liam isn’t the only one loose with naval order at the moment. When Killian climbs out of the hold, he finds the rest of the crew chattering excitedly, gazes tilted upward.

“Killian!” Liam calls, racing to his side. “You almost missed the excitement!”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, but the captain gave me a new sextant to plot our course, and it uses star charts I’ve never seen before.”

Killian’s eyes scan the ship’s deck, his eyes landing on the men wrestling to hoist an unusual sail. He blinks, thinking surely he must be seeing things, but as the sail rises, he finds it is, in fact, made of feathers. In the center of it is the symbol of a horse with wings.

“This sail,” Captain Roberts announces from his place on the quarter deck, “is made of feathers from the wings of the famous mythical horse Pegasus.”

“Captain!” the gunman shouts breathlessly. “Enemy ships off the port bow!”

The Captain ignores the announcement and turns to Liam Jones. “Lieutenant, plot our course!”

“Should we prep the canons, sir?” the gunman asks, confusion clear on his face.

“There will be no need,” Captain Roberts dismisses with a mysterious smile, “where we are headed, they can not follow.”

Killian glances at his brother, who heads for the ship’s wheel, but Liam looks just as confused as he. Killian rushes to the railing along with several other men of lower rank. They lean forward to watch the cannonballs from the enemy splash with a mighty roar into the water a safe distance away: warning shots.

Killian almost loses his balance as the Jewel of the Realm creaks and sways, his stomach dropping. His eyes widen as he sees the ocean fall away below. He and the rest of the men gasp as the reality sets in - the Jewel is airborne.

“Quit gaping and man your stations!” Captain Roberts shouts. “We’re heading to Neverland!”

There’s a quiet murmur after the announcement, even as the men scatter to their duties. Most have never heard of such a realm, while others whisper excitedly of a place they once visited in their dreams as children. The whispered tales seem far-fetched to Killian: a place where your dreams come true, where you can eat chocolate cake all day long, swim with mermaids, and even fly? Even at ten, he would never have believed it.

Of course, a magic wardrobe that takes you to the girl of your dreams seems far-fetched, he supposes. He grins as he remembers Emma’s lips on his, her soft cheeks beneath his calloused fingers, her silken hair tickling his jaw. He has to find a way to get back to her - hopefully tonight. He isn’t sure what this mysterious mission is all about, but surely the captain’s personal cabin boy won’t be needed for whatever it is. He only has to figure out a way to sneak into Captain Roberts’ quarters when the man isn’t there -

“Killian!”

He startles at the sound of his name, and Liam chuckles, clapping a hand to Killian’s shoulder. “Everyone else is mesmerized by our journey to the skies, yet here you are daydreaming.” Liam cocks his head as he regards his younger brother. “Oh no, it’s a lass, isn’t it?”

Killian blushes as he shrugs and returns to his work. “I’m just thinking.”

“If you say so,” Liam laughs as he tugs on Killian’s arm, “but don’t let your brooding cause you to miss this.”

Killian lets his brother drag him over to the railing. The ship cuts cleanly through the white, billowy clouds, with none of the swaying he’s become used to at sea. The air is crisp and a bit cold this high, and a particularly thick cloud suddenly envelopes them.

“Incredible,” Killian whispers.

“Brother, look,” Liam whispers back.

The clouds part, and the Jones brothers gasp as the world of blue and white becomes dark and gray. An island shimmers in the distance, surrounded by a blue-tinged glow. They lean further over the railing as the ship dips and begins its descent.

The Jewel of the Realm has arrived in Neverland.

******************************************

In front of Killian, over his brother’s shoulder, is an inviting beach with palm trees that sway in the warm breeze. Behind him, the Jewel of the Realm is shrouded in an unnatural fog.

“Don’t worry, little brother, it’s a simple mission.”

Killian doesn’t even bother correcting him on the “little” part. “Aren’t you the least bit suspicious? A ship full of navy men, yet only two boys can fulfill this task?”

Liam narrows his eyes. “At eighteen I am hardly a boy.”

Killian chuckles. “You better hope you’re wrong if the superstitions of the rest of the crew are to be believed.”

Liam scoffs. “I think it has more to do with the simplicity of the task. We get the plant, row back to the ship, and we’re heroes.”

Killian hopes his brother is right. Captain Roberts had Killian in mind all along to retrieve the plant, but it was supposed to be twelve year old Jim Hawkins in the row boat, not Liam. Unfortunately, the lad had broken his leg and had to be left behind at the last port. Killian tries to tell himself that the captain is just being cautious, like Liam said, tries to agree with his older brother that the tales about this place are just stories nursemaids tell to their charges at bedtime. Shadows that take you away to the island in your dreams, pixies who blow their dust on children to make them fly, mermaids that drag lazy children to their deaths - it’s all surely nonsense.

They beach the row boat, and Liam slings his satchel over his shoulder. Inside is a sketch of the plant they are looking for. Killian narrows his eyes at the shadowy jungle before them. How are they ever to find one single plant in all this vegetation?

He and Liam hear the movement at the same exact moment and spin as they draw their swords. Standing before them on the beach is a lad about Killian’s age, dressed in a tunic made of green leaves and breeches crudely made of animal skins. The smile he gives them is full of mischief and something a bit more sinister. Killian’s spine crackles with suspicion. He glances at Liam, and it’s clear his brother doesn’t see the boy as a threat at all as the elder Jones casually lowers his sword.

“Is there a king on this island, boy?”

The lad smirks. “Just me.”

Killian narrows his eyes, and the boy glances his way with a knowing grin. Liam pulls the sketch out of his satchel.

“We’re looking for this plant, do you know it?”

The boy’s eyes widen. “Dreamshade? Of course I know it. Believe me, you don’t want to mess with it. It’s the deadliest poison.”

Liam scoffs. “It isn’t poison, it’s medicine.”

The boy crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head. “Who told you that?”

“My captain.”

“He lied. This captain must be quite the ruthless killer. Nothing causes suffering like dreamshade.”

“What’s your name?” Killian asks.

“Killian, don’t waste your time, he’s just a child.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. “I’m about his age. Am I just a child?”

“My name is Peter,” the boy tells them, a gleeful laugh spilling out of him, “and if you’re tired of them trying to turn you into men, you can come and play with me and my lost boys.”

“We don’t have time for games,” Liam mutters.

“Suit yourself,” Peter tells them with a shrug, “if it’s dreamshade you seek, then you’ll have no trouble finding it.”

Then, with a crowing laugh, and to the utter amazement of both Jones boys, Peter launches himself into the sky and speeds away upon the clouds back into the recesses of the forest.

“Okay,” Killian says slowly, “clearly that particular rumor was true.”

“Let’s just get this plant and get the bloody hell out of here.”

“I agree to the getting out of here part, but maybe we should proceed with caution about the plant.”

Liam’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Surely you don’t believe that boy over our own captain.”

Killian’s eyes narrow. “I’ve never trusted Captain Roberts completely, and besides, Peter is a native of this island. Perhaps we should -”

“Killian,” Liam cuts him off, “you don’t trust anyone.”

The smile his brother gives him softens the words, and Killian smiles back. “I trust you.”

“Then trust me in this,” Liam says with a slap to Killian’s shoulder. “Without order, without discipline to your superiors, this navy life won’t work.”

Killian wonders, not for the first time, if that’s the very reason this navy idea is a better fit for Liam than it is for him. Nevertheless, he sighs in resignation. “I’d follow you anywhere, brother, you know that.”

And with a nod of understanding and trust, the two of them plunge into the deep woods. The jungle is dark and damp, and Killian only has the trust in his brother’s navigational skills and his compass to find the way. Killian grips said compass in his sweaty hand, pushing aside the tendrils of fear that seek to grip his heart. There’s something ominous in this jungle, and he has the feeling they’re being watched.

Liam squints down at the sketch in his hand. “I thought the boy said this plant was abundant here.”

“Perhaps we’ve -”

Before Killian can finish his sentence, a crowing shout fills the air, and filthy boys drop from the branches above them and burst from the thick foliage on all sides. Some have arrows notched to the bows they carry, others have spears resting upon their shoulders, while still others grip daggers in their fists. All of them have smeared their faces with mud and are garbed in either bits and pieces of the nature around them or tattered remains of clothing. They snarl and gnash their teeth more like animals than humans. He and Liam pull out their swords, but they are completely surrounded. Some of the boys only reach as high as Killian’s hip, clearly only eight or nine at the most. The last thing he wants to do is kill children, even if they do appear savage. The circle of boys part to allow their leader through.

“May I introduce you to my lost boys,” Peter grins. “This island is ours with no grown ups to tell us what to do.”

Liam shakes his head. “All we want is the plant. We told you.”

Peter tilts his head as he steps closer. “You’ve already grown up.” He turns to Killian. “But you - you could join my crew. I can tell you like to play.”

For one, dreamlike moment, Killian wants to tell Peter yes. No expectations, no responsibilities - it sounds wonderful. Playing sounds nice, too. He hasn’t played since his mother passed, and when was that? How old was he? He can’t remember anymore. The parents who were supposed to be there for you and protect your innocence left, leaving you at the mercy of rough hands and sinister eyes. Grown ups were the people who stole your childhood, who tossed your plaything into the deep, dark sea. He thinks of the stuffed rabbit Emma gave him, pure white and soft, bobbing farther and farther away from him. His mind can almost see it, with that bright pink ribbon. His heart beats wildly, he sways where he stands, and -

Liam steps closer, his shoulder brushing up against Killian, and it’s that contact that snaps the sixteen year old out of it. Yes, his brother. He can’t let Liam down.

“Never.”

He expects Peter to scoff, get angry, or turn on him. Instead, his gaze takes him in and a slow, sinister smile plays across his face.

“We’ll see.”

Casually, Peter turns to one of his crew and takes the spear the lad holds. With a subtle gesture, he gives the boys a command, and they all relax their postures, holding their weapons loosely. Pan spins the spear playfully as he turns back to Lieutenant Jones.

“You still trust your captain, lieutenant?”

“Always,” Liam insists.

Peter lifts the spear and taps it gently against Liam’s chest. “Let’s test that, shall we? That plant you seek? The tip of this spear has been coated with its sap. Your captain says it is medicine, I say it’s poison. Who should you trust?”

“Liam,” Killian pleads.

Liam lifts his hand to still his brother. “I have no reason to trust you, boy.”

Peter’s eyes flash with a mixture of bloodlust and glee as he slashes the spear brutally across Liam’s chest. Liam cries out and stumbles to his knees, hand to his chest as blood stains his shirt. Killian shouts and falls to the ground beside his brother.

“Just a scratch,” Pan laughs, practically bouncing around them. The lost boys join in his revelry, spinning and giggling maniacally.

Liam groans and falls back, his body shaking. Killian catches him in his lap. Through the gash in his shirt, the wound on Liam’s chest is turning black around the edges and vines of black extend outward, spreading across his torso.

“What’s happening to him?” Killian shouts at Peter.

“Dreamshade poison. I told you. He’ll be dead in minutes.”

Killian goes pale as he looks at the boy in shock. It isn’t so much the casual way he spoke the words, but the spots of red in his eyes and the pleasure curling his lips.

“K-Killian,” Liam gasps, reaching towards his little brother with a trembling hand. Killian takes it and clasps it as tears stream down his face.

“Stay with me, brother,” Killian weeps, then he looks frantically at Peter. “Save him! Please!”

The boy shakes his head. “No one can be saved from dreamshade.”

“Killian,” Liam says again, wincing against the pain, “I’m sorry, little brother. I’m so sor-”

His voice cuts off and he goes limp in Killian’s arms, his hand slipping out of its hold and falling to the ground.

“No!” Killian screams. “No, no, no!”

He cradles Liam’s still form to his chest, rocking back and forth. Sobs wrack his body. He doesn’t know if the lost boys are still there or what they are doing. The whole world could fall apart and he wouldn’t notice.

“It’s a shame, really. I tried to warn him.”

Killian’s head snaps up at the sound of Pan’s voice. Anger fills his veins, but when he speaks, only despair colors his words. “He was all that I had.”

“I know,” Pan replies in a voice that almost sounds sympathetic. He crouches down next to where Killian still clutches his brother’s form. “And now that he’s gone, you finally have the look that all my lost boys share. The look of someone who is completely and utterly alone. An orphan.”

********************************************

Killian watches Pan through the flickering flames of the campfire. The branch of a sapling rests in Killian’s lap, and his fingers twist a vine around each end to make a bow. Pan plays a song on his pipes, and several of the lost boys dance about to its melody. The song calls Killian, urging him to cast aside his pain and join the dance.

But he won’t let himself.

He squints up at the sun. He guesses it’s been about thirty three hours and . . . around twenty minutes since the lost boys tossed Liam’s body into the sea. Thirty three hours and twenty minutes without Liam. His entire life, Liam has been there, and now he’s gone.

Yesterday at dawn, he snuck down to the beach. The rowboat was still there, but the Jewel of the Realm was no longer a hulking form shrouded in the fog. He had taken the rowboat out - not for long and not far - and the ship was nowhere near shore. Surely they hadn’t flown away on the Pegasus sail. Surely they would wait longer than that before giving up on the Jones brothers. He guessed they had simply sailed out of sight or found a cove to hide in. Yet despite his hopes, it’s obvious that his captain cares little for mere boys. No search party has been sent, and Killian doubts it ever will.

Peter reminds him often that Liam’s death is the captain’s fault. The fault of every grown up on that ship, actually. They never cared about you. They never believed in you. Did you really think they would let you be a hero? There’s truth to Pan’s words, Killian knows this, and he’d be lying if he said hatred for his captain didn’t burn within his breast. But he’ll also never forget that it was Pan who sliced the spear laced with dreamshade across his brother’s chest. He’ll never forget Pan’s gleeful smile of satisfaction or the spots of red in his eyes as Liam’s blood seeped his naval shirt.

Killian eyes Pan across the fire now. The dance has reached a feverish pitch, and Killian already knows, in just thirty three hours as a lost boy, that the dance will soon fall apart into a wrestling match. Killian also knows that his only hope for survival is to play the part of a lost boy. Yet despite the naval blue ripped at the knees, despite the way he crowed when they set his naval jacket on fire, despite the mud smeared across his cheeks, Killian will never stop hating Peter Pan.

“Has Peter showed you how to lace that with dreamshade?”

Killian turns to the boy who has plopped down next to him. They all have names, but he can’t remember this one. His black hair is curled tightly against his head, his teeth seem white despite their filthiness against his dark skin. Freckles are barely visible across the bridge of his nose, and his brown eyes seem different somehow from the other boys.

“You forgot my name already didn’t, you?” he chuckles. “It’s Starkey.”

“Right,” Killian mutters, biting off the end of the vine that holds the arrowhead in place.

“There’s a trick to the dreamshade so you don’t nick yourself,” Starkey continues despite Killian’s unfriendliness. “Pan doesn’t always warn the boys. Thinks it’s funny.”

Killian casts a curious glance Starkey’s way. There’s definitely something in those mahogany eyes . . .

“He’s a bit sadistic, isn’t he?” Starkey asks, and Killian gets the impression he’s testing the waters somehow. The lad swallows, glancing nervously to where Peter is crowing over the inevitable wrestling match. “All boys but one grow up,” Starkey almost whispers.

Killian’s heart beats faster as he stares into the flames. “You mean,” he whispers back, not looking at his companion, “the others do?”

“I’m near thinning time,” Starkey replies, “so are Nibs and . Some are oblivious though. Ruffio, for example, he’ll no doubt stay faithful to the bitter end. I hate the look in their eyes when we turn on them.”

Killian turns his head in shock, but Starkey is slipping away into the jungle already. Starkey has obviously told him these things for a reason. But why?

As the next few weeks go by, he and Starkey have more whispered conversations, and Killian is surprised how quickly they become friends. Starkey’s tale is similar to his own, having spent time as a slave on a schooner. The only difference is that his parents were murdered and he was kidnapped, a trauma that Killian is sadly able to imagine now that Liam bled out in his arms.

Slowly, as the days go by, Starkey brings more boys into his confidence: Nibs, first, then Jooks, Noodler, Cecco, and Curly.

A hunting crew returns with a boar to roast, and that night there is a feast and a wild rumpus to follow. Though there is no alcohol, the whole thing reminds Killian of how he used to act when he’d drink too much rum. Killian feasts, he dances, even plasters a smile upon his face, but it’s all a show for Peter Pan. He can’t stop thinking of his brother for one, but there’s also Starkey’s cryptic words : thinning time.

Killian plops down, exhausted, and grabs a coconut to guzzle some of its milk. As he swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, he sees Pan at his side, leaning forward and scrutinizing his face. It takes all of Killian’s willpower not to startle back. For a long moment Peter studies him, and it causes a chill to run down Killian’s spine. When Pan finally speaks, his voice holds barely contained anger and a trace of shock.

“You have a mocking kiss in the corner of your mouth.”

Killian blinks. “Wh-what are you talking about?” His mind goes to Emma, of course, not that she is ever far from his thoughts. Especially now with Liam gone, he longs for the wardrobe in Captain Roberts’ cabin and fears he may never see it again.

“There,” Pan accuses, pointing with a dirty finger, “perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner. How did I not see it before?”

Killian glances around nervously as the party noises have gone silent. Several lost boys have drawn closer, concern furrowing their brows.

“He has a kiss, Peter?” one of the boys asks.

“Kisses are dangerous!” another one gasps.

“Yes,” Peter answers, his eyes narrowing with a faint glimmer of red, “a mocking kiss, and one he’s very fond of too.”

Killian swallows hard as he rises to his feet. The lost boys seem to be closing the noose around him, and he looks around frantically. There seems to be no choice but to fess up, hope for mercy, though Peter doesn’t seem the merciful type.

“So I’ve kissed lasses. So what? I’m 16!”

“No,” Pan hisses, “not lasses. One lass. A special lass.”

Killian clenches both fists, his face flushing at the way Pan spits out the words. Emma is special, and he won’t deny it. Ever.

“We don’t like girls,” Peter snarls, “they fancy themselves your mother, making you wash before meals and putting you to bed at a proper time.”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Um . . . I think you’re a bit confused.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He couldn’t help his sass, has rarely been able to help it.

“Your brother was obvious. He’d already chosen to grow up. But you, you tricked me. You can’t be a lost boy with that kiss always mocking me.”

Killian knows a heartbeat before it happens that the lost boys will fall upon him. What he doesn’t expect is to find his old naval sword in his hand or for Starkey, Nibs, and several others to fall in line just behind him. He glances at Starkey right before the two sides clash, and the other boy winks at him knowingly.

Those on Killian’s side are all older, but they are fewer in number. And Starkey was right, not all the other boys close to thinning time are willing to turn on their leader. Rufio is the oldest and fiercest fighter, his loyalty to Pan clear in his gaze and his willingness to die. Killian guesses he is seventeen, and he’s broader and taller than Killian. Nevertheless, Killian has naval training with a sword. He holds back, however, unwilling to slaughter little boys, no matter the situation. Yet when he finds himself face to face, blade to blade, with Rufio, something shifts. Pan may not want his boys to grow up, but Rufio fights like a man. Unrefined and a bit desperate, but with strength and muscle behind it.

All skirmishes cease as the sound of the blades clashing draws everyone’s attention. Ruffio fights dirty while Killian has been taught to fight like a gentleman. At first, Rufio’s style seems to be winning when he trips Killian then flings sand in his face. Yet Killian’s training has given him muscle memory, and even with his eyes burning, he acts instinctively.

Killian’s blade pierces Rufio’s heart. The boy’s eyes widen in shock before he hits the ground, blood spreading quickly across his chest. The lost boys are silent. Chest heaving, Killian turns towards Pan, lifting his blood-stained sword.

“I have a crew of my own now,” he tells the demon child, “and we’re leaving.”

Pan narrows his eyes, and before Killian can register what’s happening, he’s taken flight and making circles around him. Pan lands just behind Killian and startles him when he speaks.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow mutiny in my ranks.”

Killian turns to face Pan, ready for a fight, but is unprepared when Peter plunges his hand into his chest. Killian gasps and chokes as Pan squeezes. Then he tugs and with a sharp pain, yanks Killian’s heart out. Killian’s mouth hangs open in shock as he presses his hand to his chest. There’s no blood. How is there no blood?

Pan lifts a glowing red object and holds it in Killian’s face - his heart. It pulses, bright red, with tiny swirls of dark flitting through it.

“Look at this, Killian Jones, you have a touch of darkness in your heart.”

Killian doesn’t know what to do, he can scarcely comprehend what is happening. He’s heard rumors of witches and warlocks who could steal a man’s heart. He never expected it of this boy, however. Killian drops to his knees as Pan squeezes his heart.

“I could crush it right now and end you,” Pan mocks gleefully, “but since you attempted to steal my crew, I’m thinking of a more fitting punishment.”

Pan leans forward and slams Killian’s heart back into his chest. In the same moment, Peter’s other hand snatches Killian’s abandoned sword and he brings it down upon Killian’s wrist, slicing off his left hand. Killian screams in pain, holding his severed appendage to his chest as he falls backwards. Starkey catches him and helps him to his feet, Nibs supports him on the other side.

Pan kicks at the lifeless hand where it lies upon the ground. “They say a vein runs from the heart right down to the tip of your left hand. Fitting don’t you think?”

Pan and his loyal followers melt into the jungle, and Killian doubles over in pain. “Leave me,” he grits out to Starkey and Nibs.

But the two former lost boys in addition to the few others who had stood at Killian’s back refuse to leave him. They drag him through the jungle in the opposite direction of the rest of Pan’s crew.

***************************************

Killian Jones stands at the top of the highest peak in Neverland. The last month has been a time of healing for him. Healing from losing his hand. Healing from the loss of his brother.

But the thirst for revenge? That hasn’t waned.

Killian looks down at the curve of metal at the end of his left arm. His jaw clenches as he gazes upon it, then back out to sea. His new crew had taken him to a couple of fairies - Tinker Bell and Tiger Lily. They had enough pixie dust between them to help him heal, though it was still a long, slow process. No amount of light magic, however, could give him back his hand.

“Hook?”

Killian turns to where Starkey stands further down the hill. That’s what his crew calls him now: Hook. His blue eyes gaze back out to sea at a familiar speck of white on the horizon.

“Get the crew together,” he tells his faithful friend. “We have ourselves a ship.”

**********************************************

For only the second time in his life, Killian Jones has bloodied his sword. Killing Rufio had been largely in self defense, and he had felt sick as he watched the boy’s life blood stain the ground. He doesn’t feel sick now as he strides amongst the naval crew he used to be a part of. He and his new crew had fought ruthlessly, and now their remaining enemies have been tied and gagged.

“If you don’t want to die today,” Killian announces, “you can pledge allegiance to me, Captain Hook.”

A choking laugh escapes the gagged mouth of the Jewel of the Realm’s captain. Killian’s eyes flash when he hears it, and he strides to Captain Roberts. He leans down and yanks the gag from the man’s mouth with his hook.

“Is something funny?” he snaps.

“You are still nothing but a boy.”

Killian leans close to the man’s ear and speaks to him in a whisper. “Really? Is that why you sent my brother and I like lambs to the slaughter? You sent mere boys to retrieve your poison?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you joined the navy.” Roberts turns and spits in Killian’s face.

Behind Hook, his new crew of former lost boys gasp in shock. Their new leader stands erect, calmly wiping the spittle away with his handkerchief.

“What about loyalty, Roberts? When my brother and I didn’t promptly return, you sailed away and left us.” Killian clenches his jaw. “I see Hawkins is back on board. Were you returning to send him to this accursed island? Still a coward?”

Killian doesn’t need the man to answer; he knows it to be true. Hawkins stands behind him, shoulder to shoulder with Starkey, his arms crossed as he coldly assesses his captain. Killian catches the boy’s eye and Jim nods his approval before Killian hefts his sword and plunges it into Captain Robert’s shoulder. The man flings his head back and screams. Seeing the blood spill upon the deck as he pulls the sword back reminds Killian of Liam, and filled with rage, he stabs the man in the other shoulder. Whimpers color the man’s grunts of pain.

“What do you want?” he manages to choke out.

Killian raises his hook and plunges it into the man’s chest. “I want my brother back, you son of a bitch.” He twists his hook viciously before yanking it out, and the man’s lifeless body crumples to the deck.

Silence reigns on the deck as Captain Hook calmly straightens, wiping his bloody hook clean on his handkerchief. “Raise the black flag!” he shouts to Starkey. “This ship is now the Jolly Roger!”

Tagging:  @snowbellewells​  @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms@delirious-latenight-laughs

[inkribbon796]

Egotober Day 1: Childhood Terror

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Prompt: T-Shirt

Summary: The Manor is notoriously not a kid friend place, for the suits of armor, to the precious paintings, to the mountain of secrets hidden in the attic. But most parents figure that by their teens kids can be trusted not to accidentally hurt themselves. However, this is unfortunately not the case.

A/N: PSA! Do not fire t-shirt cannons directly at people! You will hurt them. The Author is just being dumb. A reminder that Kay (Kaylor) is King of the Squirrels.

Warnings: None. Just don’t play around with t-shirt cannons or aim them at people.

~::~ Six Years Ago ~::~

Kay and Illinois were playing chess at the Manor’s kitchen table, Kay currently had Illinois on the defensive, but except for the occasional click of the chess clock and the clack of chess pieces on a board so old it was made of legitimate ivory and the board was marble, the two young teens were quiet.

Arthur burst in and shouted, “Dodge this, fucker!”

Illinois didn’t even turn around before he dove for the floor, which left Kay unfortunately in the line of fire, and before he could look up he was hit square in the chest by something so hard it knocked him and his chair back and all he could see was white. The young teen was in so much pain that he couldn’t even scream . . . yet.

“Shit!” Illinois swore as he ran over to Kay who was on the ground. “Kay?”

Then he looked back at Arthur, who looked nervous. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know, is he dead?” Arthur asked as he came around the table, a t-shirt cannon in hand. “Help me hide the body, before the Old Man finds me.”

“Fuck off,” Illinois told him.

Kay let out a choked sob, before he started wailing in pain.

Almost at that same second, Dark was on top of them, his aura ripping the t-shirt cannon out of Arthur’s hands and angrily throwing it against the wall. The Entity shoved Illinois and Arthur out of his way and knelt over Kaylor who was limply clutching his chest.

“Can you breathe?” Dark demanded, looking Kay over with parental desperation.

The young teen’s answer was a pained scream, and Dark took that as a solid yes.

He used his aura to carefully scoop the teen up and glared at Arthur, “We’ll talk afterwards.”

Then the Entity rushed into a portal, heading to a doctor.

Arthur was standing in the kitchen with a look of pure fear on the young author’s face. “I’m so dead.”

“Yeah,” Illinois nodded in agreement. “What was that thing?”

“It shot t-shirts so I was going to shoot you in the head for being a shitheel,” Arthur admitted, as if that was a perfectly reasonable thing to do and say.

Illinois stared at him and remembered Kay’s screams, “You’re an absolute asshole.”

“I didn’t mean to hit him,” Arthur defended heatedly. “I meant to hit you. It’s not like it’s a gun.”

Illinois shoved the notebook out of his hands and kicked it across the kitchen. Arthur gasped in horror and hit Illinois in the face for his act of violence. The two teens began a violent fist fight.

Arthur threatened, trying to reach for his notebook, “Oh, I am going to make you choke on your own tongue when I get my pen back.”

Suddenly they were both pulled apart by Dark’s aura and pinned to the ground. Both of them were spitting and cursing in anger.

“I can’t leave any of you alone, can I?” Dark fumed in anger.

“He tried to kill me!” Illinois accused.

“He kicked my notebook!” Arthur screamed in a blind rage.

Dark rolled his eyes and sent both of them into a different portal, making sure Arthur and his writing powers were safely contained in a little pocket space so he could simmer and write out his anger without hurting someone. Illinois was shut up in his room for his part in the fight.

The Entity would later check the camera system he’d had set up around the house ages ago by Google. Only after he was sure Arthur would stay put and Kay was actually okay despite his four cracked ribs and furious anger at Arthur for being shot at. It had become a must as his children grew older and their personalities began to settle.

Illinois would be grounded for three days, which actually turned into just six hours, for punching Arthur and starting the fight. And Arthur would be grounded for a week, which only turned into a day, for the mess with the t-shirt cannon and threatening Illinois.

Dinner that night was awkward, Dark having to put up his aura as a protective barrier so Arthur and Illinois didn’t kick each other underneath the table as the three teens involved glared at each other in angry silence.

Kay was the first one to break the silence by flipping Arthur off while he was grabbing the juice pitcher, starting an argument in its wake.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 11: When The Morning Comes

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Be My Only)

…in which Harry has a special surprise for his girl.

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Chapter 10: Only Us - Harry’s in Paris but his heart’s in Holmes Chapel.

Wattpad link

[ANNOUNCEMENT]: I have an exam on Friday, September 13 so I won’t be able to update next week (Saturday, September 14). The next chapter will be posted on Saturday, September 21. 

(I also created a Spotify playlist for this trilogy! Check it out!)

- Love, Allie.

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⌲ Facetime?

⌲ Bambi: Wait, I thought you were going out?

⌲ Nah. Plans canceled.

⌲ Bambi: Oh no :(

⌲ Are you still with the girls?

⌲ Want to see you.

⌲ Bambi: Nope, I got home an hour ago. Wait a sec.

Harry lied back on his bed, peering at the bright screen in the darkness while his heart was pounding like a drum. What should he say to her? How should he begin? He had mentally prepared a script on the ride back to the hotel, but now he'd forgotten every single word as all these negative thoughts were eating away at him.

He couldn't forgive Ruby for the fucked up thing that she'd done. But what about himself? Could he forgive himself? Y/N might have kept a secret from him, but he was the one that owed her an apology. It was sad to think about all the smiles she'd had to fake to convince him that everything was fine. The worst part was, he'd believed them all.

A muscle in his jaw twitched as FaceTime rang and he accepted the call, only to be greeted by a black screen.

"Turn on your camera, Bambi," he said, frowning.

"Shhh, I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Harry was even more confused when he heard rustles in the background. "What are you up to, kid?"

Y/N finally removed her hands and stepped away from her laptop, giving Harry the full view of the dusty blue dress she was wearing.

"This is my bridesmaid dress. I want you to be the first one to see it on me."

"Jesus Christ..." Harry muttered, smiling so big that his cheeks hurt.

Words couldn't describe how gorgeous his girlfriend looked right now. The fancy floor-length dress should've contrasted her bare face and messy hair, but on the contrary, it intensified her beauty. He wished she could for once see herself through his eyes, maybe then she would love herself as much as he loved her.

Y/N looked straight into the webcam as she adjusted the spaghetti straps and stepped closer to show him the gorgeous lace details on the bodice.

"You're perfect," he sounded almost breathless. "Gosh, you're perfect."

His reaction got her blushing but she couldn't stop grinning now.

"Do I look like a princess?" she asked and gave him another twirl with both arms rounded above her head like a ballerina. Now as an adult, she was still obsessed with tulle dresses, and Harry thought it was absolutely endearing.

"You do, baby, you do. You're my little princess."

"My prince." She bobbed a curtsy to him like the exuberant little girl he'd grown up with. And he would kill to see her like this every day, for the rest of his life.

"You shouldn't be allowed to be at the wedding, you're gonna steal all the attention away from the brides."

She rolled her eyes at his cheeky remark and plumped herself into the spinning chair. The Ruby problem still hadn't slipped his mind, and he was still mad as hell, but this certainly wasn't the right time to talk about it. She was excited, and he didn't have the heart to take that away from her.

He beamed, showing his teeth. "Maybe I'll show up as a surprise guest and steal all the attention from you."

Y/N only snorted as she assumed he was kidding. For someone who owned a private jet and big houses in so many cities in the world, Harry wasn't as free as people might think. He had to be on set almost every day for the rest of his stay in Paris, so if he wanted to attend the wedding, he would have to duplicate himself.

But a wise man once said, 'there's no problem, only solutions.' This time, Harry might have found the perfect solution.

The next morning, as he got on set, everyone wondered if something had happened to him the night before. He was talking to everyone and cracking jokes, and Evangeline, the director, told him, "keep up with that attitude and today might be your lucky day."

He hoped she was right, but so far, his day had been pretty mediocre. Sure he'd had a few happy and memorable moments during scenes and in between. But overall, mediocre. It was the thoughts about what he would do after finishing work that kept him motivated.

Acting with Ruby might be the only challenge of today. It wouldn't have been so hard if earlier that morning she hadn't had flowers sent to his trailer with a note saying she was sorry. How could she simplify what had happened with a single bouquet? Their issues were way bigger than that and too much for him to handle, so just like those flowers from her, he tossed them in the bin. Out of sight, out of mind.

At around 5 PM, Harry left the film set. Instead of going back to his hotel, he asked the driver to take him to the airport where his private jet was waiting to take him back to London. By the time he got back to Holmes Chapel after a four-hour drive, it would've been almost midnight.

As his car moved over the country road, lights on full beam, he finally understood why Y/N enjoyed long night drives so much. This was his time to let his brain roam free. He felt like the only person in this world as cars drove past him without knowing who he was. The idea of being a nobody excited him. When the morning came, he would return to London and fly back to Paris, pretending that tonight had never happened. Because tonight, he wasn't Harry Styles the movie star, he was just a nobody from Cheshire going home to visit his girl.

Meanwhile, Y/N was home and wide awake. During her first two years of college, she had spent almost every night at a different party or a club, just trying to find meanings for her life by doing crazy meaningless things. But her mindset had changed after a year without him, and now she preferred spending time alone, and of course, with him.

It was nearly half-past eleven. she was sitting on the bed, with her laptop on her lap and Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac blasting through the Bluetooth speaker on the nightstand. She couldn't call Harry for he'd told her he would be out with his team, so she decided to reread his notes and maybe write something. She had expected it to be hard to be inspired after having taken such a long break from writing, but then she ended up sitting for hours in front of her laptop, typing away effortlessly.

When the first few pebbles hit her window, she was too caught up in her own fictional world to hear it. But that was only until the biggest one nearly broke through the glass and caught her attention. She bounced off the bed and dashed to the window to see what was happening.

"Harry?!" Her eyes were wide with shock. She had to lean outside a bit further to make sure the streetlight wasn't playing tricks on her vision. But then he called, "Bambi!" And she knew she wasn't insane. He was.

"What the hell?!"

"Juliet would never use that kind of language!" He chuckled.

"And you're not Romeo," she rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Oh, wait, you know what? From this angle, you do look like young Leo in 'Romeo and Juliet'."

"Told ya!"

"Or maybe it's just the bad lighting."

Harry held up his middle finger as she tossed her head back and laughed.

"Just get down here before your dad wakes up and kills me!"

"Shit, you're right. One minute!" Giggling, she threw on a jacket over her PJ and snuck out of the house. The moment she burst through her front door, she leaped fast down the steps and straight into his strong arms.

There was the kind of hug that was brief and gentle; then there was the kind of hug that was suffocatingly affectionate, like this one, her favorite. She stood on her toes, arms draped around his neck as she inhaled the familiar scent from his shirt to make up for the last few days she hadn't got to feel him. As he leaned down, she stretched her neck for an open-mouthed kiss, clumsy yet impassioned. He nearly lifted her off the ground completely and squeezed the air out of her, but she didn't complain. She could stay like this, right here with him, until sunrise.

By midnight the darkness was almost absolute. The moon had shrunk to almost nothing and the tiny little stars scattering across the sky looked little specks of dust on a black velvet blanket. With the flashlight on their phones guiding the way, she snuck him into her backyard, and they climbed over the new fence to get into his yard. He went first and then held onto her hips to get her down.

"Have you done this before?" she asked when he turned on the outdoor lights on his back porch.

"Done what?" He arched an eyebrow in amusement.

"Sneak into someone's backyard."

"This is my backyard though."

"You don't live here anymore. It doesn't count."

"Okay, then no. Have you?" Harry wetted his lips, hands on her hips as he backed her up against one of the square columns supporting the porch. She stood with her hands behind her back and her back against the wood, her face lifted as she stared into his dark green eyes.

"Nope." She shook her head, letting him lean heavily against her and bury his face into her neck.

"Another first for us," he mumbled.

She sighed and pushed him away by his shoulders, their eyes meeting again. Her eyebrows furrowed as she told him, "you're crazy."

"Yeah," he said happily. "I’m crazy for you."

Y/N didn't say anything else. She didn't ask him why or how or when or what or any other questions relating to him showing up here. She knew he couldn't stay for long, so they shouldn't waste their time together on excessive inquiries.

"Come." He stepped back and grabbed her hand. "Wanna show you something."

Bemused, she followed him toward the fence separating their two houses. The porch lights illuminated almost two-thirds of his garden, giving them a good view of the whole lawn. Right exactly where their treehouse used to stand, was now a sapling planted in a patch of soil.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed and squatted down on the grass to observe the tiny tree as he did the same, and then she looked up, blinking her inquisitive dark eyes.

"How long has it been here?"

"Last night." He crossed both arms on top of his knees. "You said no expensive gifts, so...I bought you a tree."

"From Paris?!"

The way she screwed up her face had him chortle. "No, silly, from the shop near our school. Mum helped me plant it."

"It's so cute, baby!" She clutched her heart. "I love it so much!"

"Yeah? We can build a new treehouse on it once it's fully grown."

"But we will have been sooooo old by then."

"Then we'll build it for our children."

Harry was completely unaware of what he'd blurted out until he saw the look on her face. Her forehead creased as her lashes fluttered. Oh shit, what had he done? Why would he say that?! He had literally flown across the ocean and driven four hours back here to scare off his girlfriend with his spontaneous one-sided future plan for them. What if this freaked her out? What if she hated him? What if—

"Was that a proposal?"

"Huh?"

"Did you just indirectly propose?" she softly rephrased the question, smirking as a blush crept up his face. "I think our children will love it."

"Did you just indirectly said yes?" He released a throaty laugh.

"Maybe," she said at last, her cheekbones lifted high.

That one-word answer filled him with elation as he started grinning like a Cheshire Cat and plopped down on the grass, crossing his legs. Y/N subconsciously mirrored his posture.

"I used to dream of marrying you under that tree, right here in your backyard," she admitted, even in this light, he could still see her cheeks turning pink. Maybe that was why she couldn't look him in the eye as she spoke and had to distract herself by fidgeting with a wild flower. She went on, "I remember having this long discussion with Celine about our dream weddings during one of our sleepovers in fifth grade. We both agreed to marry the love of our lives right where we first met them, and now, ten years later, her dream is finally coming true."

"What about you?" His tone was low and cautious as he hesitated, "do you...do you still want a wedding in my backyard?" It was just him indirectly asking her if she considered him as the love of her life.

"I indirectly said yes, didn't I?"

Harry's heart leaped with joy when he heard the answer. He got up on his knees, pinned her down on the grass, and kissed her mouth desirously. They didn't mind getting their clothes dirty as they were sprawling across his yard, kissing and caressing one another. The night was young and so were they. Right now it was just them and the infinite sky above. They felt so small, but at the same time, like they could conquer the world. Was this the kind of love people would write songs and books about? The kind of love that made you feel powerful and capable of anything? Harry hoped she felt the same way because now there was fire was burning underneath his skin, but it was the type of burn that left him yearning for more. He didn't want to say goodbye, even just for another week. Could he just wrap her up in a blanket and take her with him wherever he went? He couldn't prevent that selfish thought, but he kept it to himself. She would yell at him if he suggested that she let him fly her to Paris, since she didn't even let him spoil her with expensive souvenirs.

"Do you like the gift?" he asked, and she brightened.

"I love it as much as I love you."

"Wow, that's a lot."

As he pretended to be shocked, she giggled and said, "I know."

He placed a few more pecks down her neck before rolling onto his back, holding her hand. Both turned to look at each other at the same time and dissolved into laughter at the cute little coincidence.

The next question slipped out of his mouth before he could reconsider asking. "If you're unhappy, you'll tell me, right?"

"Why would I be unhappy?" She pondered and turned to the side as he did the same, facing her.

"I don't mean right now. Everyone has those days, especially you," he said and booped her nose. "But you'll tell me, right?"

"Of course."

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise."

He sighed in relief when she hooked her pinky to his.

Anyone would've called him mad for putting his faith in a pinky promise, but in their world, a promise, big or small, should always remain unbreakable. So he trusted his Bambi to keep her word.

"We need to get used to each other's absence," she changed the subject after a moment, glowering at him. "It's easy to travel back and forth between Paris and London, but what will happen when you go on press tours?"

"We'll figure out a way. Don't you worry."

"I don't want to trouble you."

"You could never trouble me, kid. I don't mind traveling halfway across the world to see your face."

He ran his thumb across her pouty lip, wanting to ask her what was wrong, but she went first, "are you scared of it?"

"Of what?"

"Absence."

"Well, yeah, I am," he exhaled. "All the time." It was hard to admit it, but it did feel much better to get it off his chest.

"You know," she trailed off and bit her lip as her face relaxed. "There's a saying that 'absence is to love as wind is to fire: it extinguishes the little flame, it fans the big.'"

"Are we the big flame or the little flame?"

"We could burn this whole town down," she said, her big round eyes twinkled like stars.

Harry spread his arms and Y/N automatically shifted in to rest her head on his chest. The night air cooled their skin as soft breezes blew through their hair and clothes. His limbs gradually went numb and he was almost paralyzed from his neck down, but in a good and soothing way. He felt like he was floating and only felt like this when he was home.

"What did you get me the other day?" Her voice was clear and soft.

He looked down, beaming at her face. "Why don't you guess?"

"Shoes?"

"Christian Louboutin."

"Cheeky bastard," she snorted. "Have you returned them?"

"No, I keep them in case you change your mind. They're in my car actually."

When she narrowed her eyes, he expected a grumble, but then she gave him a shrug and said, "fine, I'll wear them to the wedding."

"That's my girl!" He pulled her right in by the arm and showered her face with kisses until she pushed him away, breathless from laughing so much. Y/N flipped onto her stomach, resting her cheek on her knuckles as she smiled down at him and he stroked her face tenderly.

"Don't forget to tell the wedding guests your rich boyfriend got you those shoes," he said.

"Oh, you mean my sugar daddy?" The corner of her eyes crinkled. "How about I tell them I met this eighty-year-old man and became his sex slave so he could pay my rent?"

"Sounds like a cool guy. What's his name?"

"Howard Stein."

"Oh God." He tossed his head back and cackled. "Imagine saying that name during sex."

"Oh, fuck me harder, Howard!" she moaned loudly, and they dissolved into laughter.

Only an hour ago it was pitch dark, but now the mist was visible, luminous. Harry knew it was time for him to go. They climbed over the fence and headed back to his car parked on her driveway. They kissed goodbye and held each other for a bit longer to make up for the lost time. He didn't forget to give her the nude Christian Louboutin pumps he'd bought in Paris. She could say she hated them but the glow in her eyes gave herself away. He was more than satisfied with that reaction.

With one last goodbye and a kiss on the cheek, he got in his car and drove away. As exciting as the journey last night had been, the one from his hometown back to London was almost depressing. The sky was cloudy and grey, probably sympathizing with what he was feeling right now. Tall buildings emerged from the mist as the city became closer. It didn't take too long for him to arrive at the airport.

Paris welcomed him back with sunlight and a clear sky, but also a crowd of fans and paparazzi waiting outside his hotel. He stopped to give a few photographs and took some photos with fans, trying his best to ignore rude questions shouted at him, such as "where did you spend the night?" and "were you with your new girlfriend?" and even worse, "did you stay with Ruby last night?"

He turned a deaf ear to them all and said goodbye to the ones who actually loved him. It was almost noon when he got to his room and shrugged off his jacket. He collapsed on the bed, arms and legs spread, thoroughly whacked out, but he couldn't fall asleep without texting Bambi.

⌲ Just got back to the hotel.

⌲ Bambi: Get some rest. You have to be on set in the afternoon, right?

⌲ Right. Fuck me.

⌲ Bambi: Later.

⌲ Gosh, you're dirty.

⌲ That's my girl.

Harry's smile slipped when an Instagram notification popped up on the top of his screen. He quickly tapped on it to open Isaac's latest post, which was a beautiful photo of the silvery skyline at dawn, probably taken that same morning. The caption said "Holmes Chapel", and both Y/N and Celine had liked the photo.

[amarabliss]

Oaths and Hearts - 16 (Ignis Scientia/Reader)

So this is a crossover between FFXV and Dragon Age Inquisition.

You fell through a rift into the fade fighting the demons you swore to protect your world from. When you popped out you were no longer in the lands of Ferelden instead trapped in Insomnia. The gracious king allowed you to say recognizing power when he saw it. One thing led to another and now you were part of the procession of the prince to his wedding years later. Before the final battle, after years of fighting, losses, and love…your friend…your king…Noctis has asked you to change it all…

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

(IT WAS A STRUGGLE! but here it is, hope you all enjoy!)

Ignis felt your hand in his gently squeezing as this bewildered man stared at you. You gave him a small smile as you introduced him, “This is Hawke.”

Recognition flashed through his eyes as they met Hawke’s, “Your Hawke? The one told you me about.”

“Hey, there is only one me.” Hawke smirked a little looking between the two of you.

“Yes, that Hawke.” You rolled your eyes a little, “But this isn’t a place to talk…”

Ignis looked back to Hawke as he spoke, “She’s right, we need to get you-”

He was cut off as a dark energy way struck him across the chest. Ignis’ eyes widened as the same creatures before strode toward them. He moved in front of you as the hideous one began to speak, “I see now…love… it always gets in the way.”

“Be quick!” The other hissed at her, “The infernal one approaches.”

He heard you take in quick breath before whispering to him, “Move!”

Reacting to the word he dove toward Hawke as you let out a cry green energy shooting forth from your hands. You hit the purple one directly. Its cry faded to the wind as its form disintegrated. The other one began rushing toward him and Hawke.

He reached out trying to summon forth his daggers, but nothing came. Raising his arm to block the screaming creature he watched as it froze. Literally…

He looked at Hawke whose hand was raise slightly, a small shimmer fading away, “What an ugly bastard…”

“Thank you.” Ignis looked at him before standing and helping him up.

Hawke groaned holding his side as he got to his feet, “Just another day…don’t mention it.”

“You’re hurt.” You walked over to them looking down to Hawke’s side, “Move your hands.”

“It’s fine.” He brushed your hands away as you reached for him.

“Hawke.” You sounded cross, something that Ignis was not used to.

“Inquisitor.” He smirked before reaching down for his staff, “We have more important things to worry about. Getting you both home for one. We shouldn’t waste any more time…your dear friend sounds like he’s on his way.”

“Friend?” Ignis whispered to you as Hawke took a few steps away to get a better idea where to head.

You looked at him a bit of fear lacing your eyes. He found himself distracted momentarily watching the way your lips tightened before you spoke. He missed you desperately and desired to crash his mouth against yours until breath escaped the both of you.

It was your voice that made the daydream disappear and the name you spoke made his anxiety shoot through the roof, “Ardyn…he’s here and…”

When you didn’t go on Ignis pressed you, “And what?”

“And he’s seeking revenge against me for putting him here.” You shut your eyes, “Ignis…”

“We need to move. Now.” Hawke stepped back toward them as he pointed behind them, “That, is what I followed when I found you.”

Ignis followed his hand and saw a dark cloud. Almost like the nightmare, but denser. His eyes widened a little before he looked at you, “Miasma…”

Your eyes widened and Hawke stared at you both, “What, what is that?”

“Another way to make demons…” you frowned looking at them both, “Andraste, what have I done?”

“This is not your fault.” Ignis took your hands in his, “But I agree that we mustn’t linger here longer than necessary.”

“Your way home is this way…” Hawke turned slightly and began walking.

Ignis stayed close to you as you walked silently next to him. His one hand gently came to rest on you back, “You’re thinking quite hard about something…”

“When isn’t she? She’s a problem solver, but you should know that.” You scowled glaring at Hawke as he laughed a little.

“I do know, but I also know she doesn’t share the burden of her thoughts enough.” Ignis smiled at you a little, “The weight gets heavy, you needn’t carry alone anymore.”

You looked into his eyes as they began to water up, “When we get out of here…”

“I will be right beside you. Don’t be afraid.” He squeezed your arms before he spoke again, “We’re so close to waking up, what’s troubling you?”

You looked back to Hawke before you spoke, “Come with us.”

Hawke stopped and turned to you as you went on stepping toward him, “Eos could offer you so much. Please don’t stay here…”

Ignis watched a range of emotions fly through Hawkes eyes before he shook his head, “You might have given up on Thedas…but I haven’t.”

“The chance of us physically coming to the Fade was infinitesimal…finding a door home…less. The rifts are closed, the veil only thins on specific days and I couldn’t even tell you what time of the year it is there anymore.” You told him your frown deepening, “Hawke please…”

“9:51…” He looked into your eyes intensely as he shook his head, “the year is 9:51 and it’s the 12th day of Pluitanis…approximately…I have not lost count. Like I’m sure you know they exact amount of days you’ve been away from you lover here. I will go home, Y/N, don’t lose faith in me.”

“I can’t leave you here again.” You shook your head shutting your eyes, “You’ve suffered enough.”

“Yes! I have, but it’s my choice! It’s always been my choice!” Hawke raised his voice, “I followed you, I didn’t have to. I volunteered to stay; you didn’t pick me! Now stop wasting valuable time, if you die here then there’s blood on my hands and not just yours, but your child’s.”

“Enough.” The both of them looked at Ignis, “Isn’t this what this place does? It takes everything you feel and twists it into something ugly.”

Ignis watched you both take a deep breath in before nodding. He sighed shaking his head, “I can’t imagine the decisions you both have had to make in a world ripped apart at the seams…”

He didn’t get a chance to finish saying how he felt the both of you were smarter then this situation. Dark miasma particulates rushed around him taking you out of his view. He shouted for you taking a step forward falling to his knees. It was like he was in windstorm.

He groaned pushing himself up a bit of panic welling up in him, “Y/N!”

“Yes…” His blood ran cold at the sound of Ardyn’s voice, “Hear your lover’s voice as he worries for you.”

A flash gave Ignis a direction to follow. He heard the sound of Hawke crying out in pain as Ardyn began to speak again, “No, no, no…no interruptions from you this time.”

“Leavuhh…leave him…” He moved closer seeing to silhouettes as you struggled to get out the words.

“You care for this man too…interesting…How many others are there?” Ignis finally came into the eye of the storm seeing Ardyn holding you up by your throat. You were clawing at his hand as you struggled to get air.

“Let her go!” Ignis shouted getting Ardyn’s attention snapped to him. Ignis’ eyes widened seeing the scourge that had taken over is body. Black ooze dripped from his eyes and mouth.

“Oh good…I can commence with the theatrics now.” Adryn’s eyes glowed an amber hue as he smirked.

“I said let her go.” Ignis squared off with him preparing himself for the worse.

“I have no intention of doing that.” A painful gasp escaped you he squeezed harder, “Far from it. She’ll dangle here as I slowly kill you. Then I’ll throw her into another dream until she breaks and I’m able to get what I need to get out of this hellscape.”

Ignis threw up his arms to block the sword that came toward him, but it never came. He lowered his arms slowly seeing a shield similar to one Noctis would use. Kneeling before him a hooded figure daggers shimmering away from his hands. A glaive?

(Art credit to @kantonliu​)

“What now?!” Ardyn hissed dropping you to the ground.

Ignis watched look at the figure in front of him, eyes widening as your hand went to your neck, “…Nyx…”

The figure stood up slowly reaching up for his hood as the shield faded away. The fade haircut was practically a signature for the man in front of him, but his voice was different, “This ends now…”

Ardyn made a move to attack but stranger moved in a blur, the same shimmer of kings, up to him. His hand landed firmly against Ardyn’s chest flinging him backwards and away from you. Ignis stood momentarily paralyzed by what was unfolding in front of him.

As he began to process the man knelt down to you helping you to your feet, “Are you okay?”

Ignis stepped forward as you stared up at this mans face. Another groan drew his attention away for a moment. He saw Hawke getting to his feet looking worse then before. He met Ignis gaze waving him off.

Ignis nodded as he turned back to you and this man. Everything began to catch up with him. He didn’t have the dark hair of Nyx Ulric, nor was it the same length. In fact he wasn’t even the same build as him.

“Who’s this guy?” Hawke asked stepping next to Ignis as he watched you reach up to his face. A very intimate gesture.

“You don’t know?” Ignis felt the crease in his brow grow.

“No…never seen him before.” Hawke looked at Ignis who’s eyes were trained on you.

The man put his hands over yours as you began to shake your head eyes filling with tears, “No…No you can’t be here…”

“Everything has always led here.” He took your hands between his giving them a kiss, “Always…”

“I’ll find a way.” You let out a sob before he pulled you into a hug gently turning slowly so he was facing them.

Ignis felt his breath leave him as he met his eyes. Green pools full of conviction as he spoke, “I know you would…if you remembered…”

“Wha…” You pulled away as his hand came up to your cheek.

“Sleep…” You began to fall back. He easily scooped you up looking at your face a small smile on his face before looking at Ignis, “Take her home, the way should be clear for you now.”

He stepped forward placing you in Ignis’ arms brushing his hand over your hair one last time. Ignis looked at his face seeing the familiar features. His eyes shifted to him again and Ignis felt his lips part slightly as he took a step away.

“Go.” He nodded summoning a set of daggers to his sides, “I’ll finish this once and for all, you don’t need to worry about Ardyn anymore.”

Ignis watched him turn away, quickly he turned to Hawke passing you to him before he stepped toward him, “Ulric…”

He stopped and turned to Ignis before he tilted his head a little smiling. He had your smile, “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised…I knew she’d recognize me…was iffy about you.”

“Why are you here?” He looked toward where Ardyn was before looking at Ignis again, “Ulric…”

“It doesn’t matter…” He wiped a hand over his mouth, that was when Ignis saw the Lucii Ring, “you won’t remember. You need to go. Now.”

He turned again and Ignis felt a lump grow in his throat, “I hope you know, that I love you and I’m proud of you.”

Ulric stop once more before nodding and turning around as tears formed in his eyes, “Every day, dad…I knew every single day.”

Ignis felt a well of emotions wash over him as Ulric stepped back throwing his arms around. He pressed his own arms around the young man, “You’re a Scientia…more then that you’re a Trevelyan and named after a strong man…you do everything you can do survive and go home.”

“Yes sir.” Ulric squeezed him one more before letting go, “Now go, I’ll finish this.”

Ignis nodded watching his son turn one final time heading away to fight the impossible. He wiped a hand over his mouth before forcing himself to turn and walk toward you and Hawke. Each step was agony and desire to turn around and help his son, but if they didn’t leave now…perhaps he’d never exist.

“Everything in order?” Hawke asked as he repositioned you into Ignis’ arms.

Ignis nodded looking at you resting in his arms, “Yes…we don’t have much time…”

“I’ll take point and clear anything out of the way.” Hawke nodded stepping forward.

Ignis followed quickly hearing explosions and roars behind them growing with each passing moment. He forced himself not to look back even as the ground shook beneath his feet. Soon Hawke was pointing ahead to a crack a head. It was bright and shining, and bits of Insomnia could be seen through it.

“There you go…the door home.” Hawke smiled at Ignis.

Ignis looked back seeing a bright light explode in the distance. He choked looking down to you, “Oh Six…”

“That was your boy wasn’t it?” Ignis looked at Hawke as he pulled his staff off his back, “Hmm…I suppose I still have a little fight left in me…”

“What will you do after?” Ignis asked him quietly.

“I suppose what I have been…” Hawke looked at him thoughtfully, “I remember being really foggy when I woke up from the fade…but if you can try to hold on to this…tell her I’m fine, that I found my way.”

Ignis followed him as he began walking away, “I do hope you find your way back to Fenris…”

“Did she tell you everything?” Hawke smirked looking back at him before nodding, “Thank you.”

Ignis smiled at him before taking a deep breath looking back to Insomnia. He looked down to you when you moved a little, “Almost home…”

“…I…-now…opmto…”

Your eyes opened looking up a bright white sheet. You felt heavy as you began looking around. Blurry visions of people came into view to the right as familiar voices began flooding your ears.

“Well we can’t just let them fight alone.”

“Prompto…Ignis told us to stay with Noct, so that’s what we’re going to do.” Gladio’s deep voice tried to be reassuring.

“Guys…” Noct spoke up suddenly, “Look…”

You looked over to where he was pointing. In a bed next to yours was Ignis. He smiled at you before he began to sit up.

“Whoa hey hey!” The boys began to rush over as he sat up all talking at once, “Iggy slow down…wait…you shouldn’t be…”

Ignis held up his hand to silence them as he swung his feet off the bed and stood up taking a step toward you. You watched him lean down to you pressing his forehead against yours. You reached up touching his face as his one hand rested against your belly.

“I had strangest dream…” You whispered getting him to laugh. You nudged his nose with yours, “You’re here…”

“I am…and I’m not going anywhere.” He smiled at you as you both heard the other three giving sounds of victory.

“Alright…Happy moments over.” Dr. Reed broke up the party looking at the couple, “There’s been way too many close calls in the last couple of hours and I want to make sure all three of you are healthy.”

[acdeaky]

london in winter

warning: fluff, dialogue heavy at parts 

note: happy secret santa @anotherhystericalqueen​ and merry christmas! i am so so happy with this and i hope you enjoy it! mwah 💋

word count: 2.3K

at the beginning of every person’s life, their skin is untainted. the clean flesh that covers their body is yet to be graffitied by the hopes of love and forever with a soulmate. children grow up learning the stories of their parents and grandparents, their meetings and the day they met. even before they knew the name of their soulmates, children were dreaming of the day they would meet the person they were meant to be with for the rest of their lives. many were excited, others nervous about who it could be. but they all went about their lives without worrying too much, waiting until the day when their countdown begins. 

the tattoos appear around age 13; unlucky for some, others not so much. it’s like a game of figuring out who’s soulmate is who’s. at 13, there’s a limited amount of people who it could be, so finding your soulmate at the same school was rare. but people still found enjoyment in the subject. teasing their friends about the name of their soulmate even though they knew that it wasn’t anyone they actually knew at that moment in time. 

a name and a countdown is what covers everyone’s right wrist. seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and even years. it’s the one thing that’s always on everyone’s mind: who’s mine?

it was september 21st 1996 when joe mazzello’s wrist was littered with the name Y/N and a countdown which wouldn't expired for another 23 years. he remembers his older sister and younger brother begging him to show them his wrist. mary had already experienced the excitement of the tattoo and has showed his friends as soon as possible, john was yet to experience that. but joe couldn't bring himself to show his family the thing he should have been excited about. 

he tried to keep it quiet throughout the years, but people caught sight of it - friends, family and fans - but when asked about it, joe kept quiet and just shrugged it off. there was no reason that his friends and family could think of as to why joe was secretive about it. unknown to anyone but him, joe was embarrassed; embarrassed about meeting his soulmate at the age of 36, even when he knew there were people who had to wait longer than him. 

that day where he saw he only had a few hours until he met his soulmate was a day he had waited long for. images and thoughts of what she looked like filled his mind as he tried to go about his day as normal. 

but things don't happen like that. 

it was 25th february 1998 when Y/N L/N’s wrist was littered with the name joe and a countdown which wouldn't expire for another 21, almost 22, years. she remembers her friends the countdown regardless of how long away it seemed. all of her friends has already gotten theirs; some where short and some were a bit longer, but her’s was the longest. that didn't matter to her. the excitement of knowing that someone out there was made for her was enough. 

she didn't keep it quiet throughout the years; everyone she met was asked about their name and countdown and her’s was shown to them. the joy on her face when she spoke of the ‘joe’ who she was yet to meet brought a smile onto anyone else’s face. unknown to anyone but her, Y/N was nervous; nervous about meeting her soulmate who she had dreamt of since her 13th birthday, even when she knew there was nothing to be worried about. 

the day where she saw she only had a few hours until she met her soulmate was a day she had waited long for. the nerves she had once felt had turned into excitement and she struggled to go about her day as normal. 

but things don't happen like that. 

00:28:03

london in winter is something that deserves to be seen by the world. the way the blanket of snow lightly covers place from big ben to the london eye, the houses of parliament to buckingham palace; nowhere is safe from the wrath of winter in england. the majority of the cold weather is fought by pedestrians cowering in warm buildings, cups of coffee or tea in their hands, warming themselves on the inside and outside. 

hats, gloves and scarfs are removed as soon as the blast of warm air from inside the shops hits shivering bodies, Y/N’s being one of them. as she walked into her local coffee shop to get her usual breakfast, things seemed like usual; the regular barista was behind the counter, the man three floors down from her was doing his morning work in his usual corner, the line was two people long like it usually is on a saturday morning. as much as her excitement crept up on her, and as much as she thought her day wouldn't be like this, things seemed normal.

too normal. 

honestly, Y/N was just glad to be able to get her breakfast quickly and sit in her usual seat. still bundled up in her coat and scarf, she looked out of the large front window to gaze at the snow which fell gently onto the streets of london and the surface of the thames. almost as quickly as she started, her breakfast was finished. she waved goodbye to the barista and stepped out into the cool air. 

it was refreshing for her cheeks, too warm from the heating of the coffee shop and ready for the harsh winter weather again. like usual on her saturday, Y/N walked through the backstreets she knew so easily and ended up at parliament square garden. a short walk over westminster bridge would lead her back around to her apartment building. 

00:51:46

anticipating the british winter was something that all failed to do. somedays it would be cold in the morning, but grow warmer as the day went on. somedays it would be warm in the morning, but grow colder as the day went by. other days it was just down right cold. today was one of those days, but joe had failed to listen to the advice of his two best friends and had opted out of wearing gloves and a scarf saying “i’ll be fine, it can't be that cold”. but how wrong he was. 

joe ended up taking refuge in a bustling starbucks where about a dozen other people had the same idea as him; getting a coffee to warm them up on the inside and the outside. he felt like he had been there, waiting in line, for hours (it was only 15 minutes), but had finally gotten his coffee, added what he liked and had found a lone seat towards the front of the shop. it gave the perfect few of the small part of london he was in. as he watched the snow fall onto the streets, he thought of california, of new york, of home, wherever that may be. this weather was different to anything else, it was unusual. 

when he woke up this morning, joe didn't think he would be sat freezing in a starbucks alone. if anything, he had hoped to be there with his soulmate later on in the day. he definitely didn't plan to be as cold as he was and definitely didn't think he would have to take refuge in a coffee shop. 

he made a mental note to listen to ben and gwil more often. 

once his coffee was drunk and he had warmed up significantly, joe made his way back into the cold and continued down the streets of london which weren't exactly familiar to him. he recognised a few landmarks here and there, but nothing told him where he was. after walking on further, he reached the jubilee gardens (which he only recognised due to ben talking about the london eye being near them). having a sense of surroundings, joe walked along the bank of the thames, watching the london eye go around slowly as he passed. 

00:13:19

westminster bridge brought about the perfect viewing spot for the london eye, the houses of parliament and the hungerford bridge just further down the thames. amount the snow, ice and other pedestrians, Y/N stood leaning on the edge of the bridge, watching the snow fall and the world go by around her. the calmness of her day and the weather made her forget all about her soulmate. the closeness of the time to their meet, the seconds ticking by, but no care was given in that moment; her view couldn't be more picturesque if it tried. 

00:06:27

new boots and ice were never a good match, but, like the rest of joe’s short day, things hadn't gone exactly to plan. as much as he tried not to slip, he felt like a deer walking for the first time as he gripped onto the side of the stairs, trying to survive before making into the top. once he did, he decided between venturing further into london or crossing the bridge to the right of him (only god knows what it was called in joe’s mind). the bridge seemed like the better option, rather than getting himself lost in the depths of london again.

joe stepped onto the bridge, his feet trodding in the snow as he managed to find patches where no ice could be seen. as he walked, he glanced at his surroundings, in absolute awe of london in winter. the snow settled on the thames and the paths gave a winter wonderland feel to streets. even though the day had been unusual, joe was glad that he refused the guidance of ben and gwil, happy that he found this himself-

“oh, my god, are you okay?” and suddenly, all joe was seeing was the sky. “let me help you.” was all he could hear as he tried to place what had happened.

“thanks.” he mumbled, brushing himself off and dusting his hair of snow. just as he brought his hand down, his coat sleeve had rolled up slightly.

00:00:00

“this will sound crazy, maybe or maybe not, but...are you Y/N?” she only nodded, slightly scared at how this strange man knew her name.

“i-i don’t know if i should answer that.”

“what about your wrist? what does it say?” joe. she knew, had it sketched into her mind as well as her wrist. joe. she had even worked out the day they would meet (and as it got closer, the time as well). joe. with her watch still at home and her phone in her pocket, she had forgotten that today was the day.

joe. her soulmate.

“it says joe.” she replied, pulling her coat sleeve up to show joe’s name and her finished countdown.

“and mine Y/N.” joe did the same, revealing his countdown and her name. 

it was strange. she didn't think it would happen like this; her soulmate literally fell for her. well, not for her, behind her, but he still feel before he had even met her, and that was something she would remember to bring up later on. 

“hi, joe,” she giggled, placing her hand in front of her for joe to shake. “how are you?”

“i'm good, thank you,” he took her hand and shook it gently, smiling at her. “and how are you?”

“i'm good,” they dropped each other’s hands and placed them into their coat pockets, the chilly breeze too harsh for their bare hands. “i can’t believe we've had to wait this long; 22 years has dragged on.”

“23 for me. well, 23 years and 3 months, but that's not important.”

“so you're a...september baby?”

“yeh, and you're...”

“a february baby, yeh. 25rd.”

“no way,” he smiled, an exasperated smile on his face, “i'm 21st.”

“that's basically the same date.” Y/N giggled again before smiling at joe. 

honestly, she didn’t think he would be like this. charming? yes. funny? definitely. but joe? this joe? he’s better than what she expected. all she knew was that she couldn't wait to get to know him more. 

“sorry, i was staring. and now i sound like a creep because i said i was staring. i'm sorry, i'm just happy this has finally happened.”

“it’s okay,” Y/N smiled and watched as the stress from joe’s face left him and a smile appeared instead. “did you wanna go somewhere? get out of the cold?”

“please,” he nodded, removing his hand from his pocket and allowing her to lead the way. “you first.” after mumbling a quick thanks, Y/N led joe back the way she came, starting up another conversation as they went. 

and as the days went on, the weeks turned into months. winter turned into spring and a friendship turned into a relationship between Y/N and joe. it wasn’t too long after when joe asked her to be his, and it wasn't too long after that when they met each other’s family. the mazzellos fell in love with her - just like joe did - and they accepted her into the family quickly. they teased and taunted joe about being so embarrassed growing up, his worrying truly for nothing. 

after that evening with his family, there was only one thing he was truly sure of: he loved Y/N.

-

TAGLIST: @never-kept-the-same-address @j0hn-deaky @sohoneyspreadyourwings @brian-maybe-not @deakysbabybooty @1001-yellow-daffodils @retromusicsalad @hardcoredisneynerd @painkiller80 @leatherjacketmazzello @scarecrowmax @mebeatlized @seesiderendezvous @alright-mrfahrenheit @someone-get-a-medic @miamideacon @chlobo6 @teenagepeterpan @spacedustmazzello @deakysgurl @forever-rogue @xcdelilahxc @keepsdrawing @igotsuckedintothevoid @soulexposed @supersonicfreddie @laedymoon @inthedayswhenlandswerefew @warriorteam1924 @painandpleasure86 @boomerangbassist​ @mamaskillerqueen​ 

[meetthetank]

Peccatum Chapter 20: A Despair Filled Farewell

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), Jackass/The Commander (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), 6O (NieR: Automata), 21O, Jackass (NieR: Automata), The Commander (NieR: Automata) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe, genre typical violence, long fic, Slow Burn, War, Chapter 13 is rated E, CW on chapter 18, Hate crimes

The sun crests over the harbor on a cloudless dawn, dyeing the sky a subtle pale red that fades into a brilliant blue. Roosters crow and gulls screech as they awaken and begin fighting over whatever scraps of food they can find on the streets. The world awakens slowly.

Somber bells toll, breaking the morning silence. They are bells of mourning, portents of death, yet their sorrowful tones draw the citizens and refugees alike from their slumber. Humans of all ages are eager to start their day with a bit of entertainment, to forget briefly about their dwindling food supply and all they’ve lost, and revel in bloodshed. Despite throngs of people brimming with desire for bloodshed, they make very little noise apart from their footsteps and idle chatter.

Within minutes the gallows square is flooded with people, all packed into the square. Guards keep the populace in order, barring them from climbing onto the gallows platform or bothering the Headsman as he sets up the block and cleans his axe. As excitement mounts within the crowd, soldiers bearing Commander White’s insignia step in to control the more rowdy individuals. They confiscate several boxes of rotten food, but for each one taken two more seem to appear.

Hidden in the crowd, obscured by dark hoods and overcoats, 2B and 21O weave through the throngs of people towards the gallows. Others wearing similar hoods pass by them and give 21O a brief touch on her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. 2B only keeps her eyes forward, steeled and intense. Her shoulders are squared, her head held high, and her fists are clenched so tightly that the leather creaks and groans against her strength.

21O places a hand on 2B’s shoulder. Somehow she’s far calmer despite the fact that it’s her son that’s soon to be on the gallows. Her hand’s weight makes 2B calmer, but the fury still boils just beneath the surface of her poised facade.

Another hooded figure, this one much taller than 2B or 21O slinks past them. They stop briefly behind 21O, their electric blue eyes glinting in the morning sun. “It’s gonna be okay. Just stay calm and stick to the plan,” Jackass says just above a whisper.

“Of course.” 21O whispers.

“Just a few more things to set in place,” Jackass mutters. “Everyone else is already set.”

2B turns to add her own confirmation, but by the time she does, the only thing left of Jackass is a flutter of black fabric as it vanishes into the crowd. She takes a deep breath to steady herself. She has to trust in Jackass’ chosen soldiers, the scouts, and 21O. Rarely if ever in her childhood had she relied on others, and now if 9S is to survive she must go back on years of training.

Suddenly, the crowd begins to shift in two directions. Over the din of the crowd, a horse neighs and the creaking wood of an old carriage drifts to 2B’s ears. The crowd around it whips into a frenzy, screaming indistinct words and phrases. They part around the horse and carriage; guards on either side of it push those citizens that get too close away with rough shoves and cautionary jabs with their pikes. A stone thunks against the side of the carriage, followed by someone’s fist, and a dry stick. Soon the objects hitting the old wood began to drown out the slurs and violent words.

2B suppresses a low growl, balling her fists so tightly that her gloves feel like they’re about to split apart. She practically feels her blood boil beneath her skin, growing more and more with each hateful word the crowd shouts at the carriage. At one point, a man leaps over a guard and latches onto the small window on the side, clinging onto the iron bars and shouting at the prisoner within. It takes all of 2B’s self-control not to scream and wreak havoc right then and there. But- she takes a deep breath. Deep even breaths to calm herself down. They still had so much longer to go.

The crowd impedes the progress of the horse-drawn carriage, but it does eventually reach the gallows. Guards spread out around the carriage, their pikes pointed out towards the crowd to keep the screaming masses away from the prisoner as they drag him out. Chains rattle and 2B cranes her neck to peer over the crowd to see 9S, bound by his hands and feet, falling out of the back of the carriage and into the mud below.

His face is covered by a crude, cloth sack decorated with horns and fangs to mock him. When the guards escorting him hoist him up again, his head whips back and forth. He’s clearly overwhelmed, his chest heaving with each breath at an alarming rate. Rocks and rotten fruits pelt him from all directions. His skin is covered in welts, bruises, and infected wounds seeping with pus. His back in particular looks closer to a red, bubbling swamp than the smooth pale skin 2B is familiar with.

21O’s hand flies to her mouth the moment she sees the state her son is in. The pained gasp makes 2B’s heart ache for her. The agony of a mother seeing her child being put to death strikes a chord with 2B that would surprise her, had she the time to pay attention to it. 21O shifts anxiously, only to be calmed by 2B taking hold of her free hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. It wouldn’t be much longer now; they can make it through this together, for 9S’ sake.

The guards attending to 9S yank on the chains binding him, causing him to stumble forward. One of his legs looks...wrong. It doesn’t seem as if it can support his weight, as he drags it along the ground. His knee and lower leg look warped, like the bone hasn’t grown correctly. It makes it difficult for him to walk normally, and he doesn’t even try to resist the soldiers pulling him along like a dog. A few citizens reach out and yank on his tail, only to be beaten away by a guard seconds later.

It feels like hours before 9S and the guards reach the steps to the gallows. One soldier shoves him in the back when he hesitates to start climbing the stairs. 9S tumbles forward, his covered head smacking against the wood with an audible crack. He struggles to stand, but without the use of his hands and with one leg unable to bear his weight he writhes pathetically on the ground like a dying fish. Still, the guard tugs on his chains, and when 9S doesn’t move, he yanks harder and harder. They drag him up the stairs, his legs kicking out wildly in resistance. 2B can hear his muffled, painicked screams. It makes her stomach churn and throat close up.

The guards hoist 9S up by his arms and toss him in front of the headsman like a sack of flour. One guard hands off the chain leash to another who stands below the gallows, who then pulls on 9S’ chain so that he’s forced to the edge of the platform and near the grim stone block.

With great thundering footsteps, the headsman lumbers up behind 9S with his axe in hand. He kicks him like a dog before lifting the battered boy up by his head with one massive hand and shoving him down with his head on the block. The headsman then rips off the sack covering 9S’ head, blinding him with the intense and sudden morning sun. He blinks and winces away, trying to curl into himself. A swift kick to his side from the headsman makes him straighten back out. The guard holding his chain also tugs him forward, forcing 9S to face the crowd screaming for his blood. The crowd surges with cheers and taunts, calling him horrible names and cursing his family. All his bravado and heroism means nothing to them. He is an outsider, a fiend, a monster.

2B stares at his red, puffy eyes, his cheeks stained with blood and bruises, and the gut-wrenching fear that clouds his eyes. She wants 9S to see her, as much as she wants to let him know it will all be okay, but all she can do is stand there with her fists balled and a grimace on her face. 21O once again puts a steadying hand on her shoulder, to keep her from enacting the plan too early. As much as it pains both of them, they must wait for the exact moment to strike.

“Speak your last words,” The headsman grunts, just barely audible over the din of the crowd.

For the first time this morning, a hush falls over the crowd. 2B finds it odd, even a bit admirable, that no matter how much these people hate 9S for existing they still find some importance to last words. A strange twinge of nostalgia hits her, nearly lost beneath her focus and rage. Perhaps this culture and the one she left behind aren’t so different after all. Though, because of the silence, 2B can finally hear the pained wheezes 9S makes. He looks out to the crowd, then back at the headsman with pleading eyes. Something tries to escape his lips, but all that comes out is a strangled whine, like that of a beaten animal begging for death.

21O’s hand tightens on her shoulder, bunching up the fabric of her cloak. There’s a glint in her eyes, the unholy fire of a mother defending her child. They glow a pale green, illuminating them in the dark of her hood.

The headsman picks up his axe and begins to raise it. The blade, sharpened to a razor’s edge, twinkles like a star in the morning sun. He struggles to lift the heavy, unbalanced weapon at first, but his strength proves greater than the weight of the axe.

9S closes his eyes and rests his weary head on the stone block. He almost looks peaceful, as if he had simply gone to sleep. His chest no longer rises and falls, but trembles ever so slightly. He winces as the edge of the axe blade kisses the back of his neck ever so slightly.

Taking careful aim, the headsman raises his axe high above his head.

Just before the axe reaches its highest point, 21O releases her hand from 2B’s shoulder.

“Show them no mercy,” she whispers.

All of the rage and hatred caged within 2B explodes in one single moment. The muscles in her body coil and unwind in an instant, launching her through the crowd and up to the gallows. A shimmering, blinding light envelops her and within seconds she transforms into a roaring, furious dragon.

2B slams into the headsman just before he swings his axe down. Blood thunders in her ears as she sinks her teeth into his flesh. His entire head, neck, shoulders, and chest all disappear in her beak. The sweet metallic taste of blood hits her tongue, and for a moment all thoughts leave her mind. She revels in it, she bites down harder and shakes the man back and forth rapidly just to make him bleed more. Her beak and pointed teeth slice through his flesh with little to no effort. He punches at her mouth with flimsy blows, but his feeble resistance falters after she shakes him to death. His arms fall limp by his side, and she tosses his corpse into the crowd.

With shrieks of terror, the people scatter in all directions. 2B spots a few black hooded figures spurring on more chaos, running and screaming at guards or starting a panicked fight in the middle of the madness. There’s more than just the crowd that they have to contend with as well. Some soldiers draw their bows, only to find that their strings have been cut. Others simply fall to the ground as if their legs had been pulled out from under them.

A number of city guards close to the gallows rush up to engage her after they overcome their initial shock. Her feathers stand on end as she stands protectively over 9S who gazes up at her in terrified awe. She snarls at the soldiers and their pikes, baring her teeth at them. Her dark eyes glare at whichever of them is brave enough to move, flitting back and forth between the small group. One charges forward with a wavering battle cry and is quickly silenced when 2B leaps up and crushes him beneath her weight. Her talons shear through armor and flesh alike, and the man is reduced to ribbons of meat and metal in seconds.

Two soldiers come to their senses and run from the furious dragon, but the others hold fast. The remaining three sprint at 2B all at once, their pikes aimed at her chest. One leads the pack by a slight margin than the others, and 2B takes advantage of this. She snatches him up in her beak and spins on her knuckles to slam her tail into the other two soldiers, knocking them off the platform into the crowd. The soldier in her beak screams and struggles, but his cries cease with one single bite to his neck. She tosses him away like trash, spitting out globs of his blood afterward.

Alarm bells toll throughout the city and 2B raises her head to see above the crowds. A larger platoon of soldiers starts to make their way through the streets and begins to break through the crowd. She spots some soldiers still struggling to find bows with intact strings, but this coincidental luck would run out eventually. It was time to go.

2B quickly presses her the tip of her bloodied beak to the side of 9S’ head before wrapping her clawed feet around his broken body. With a few furious beats of her wings, she ascends into the sky with 9S lying limp in her grip.

As she soars over the city and their battlements, soldiers and city guards all scramble to shoot her down any way they can. The south wall archers let loose their arrows, but her erratic movements make her an impossible target to hit. Beneath her, the platoon gives chase on foot and horseback only to find the gate conveniently blocked by dozens of carts and a hooded figure with electric blue eyes.

Unimpeded, 2B soars into the rising sun with 9S in her talons.

A/N: This was the last chapter of Book 1 of my NieR Automata Fantasy au! Book 2 is in the planning stages now. Look forward to that coming soon!

[abloomntime]

A Bloom In Time Part 13

"WHEN were you going to tell me about this exactly?!," Snatcher whisper screamed at the little girl.

Finding out Poppy was ok was a MAJOR relief of the girls' heads and Snatcher had allowed her to be lead into his home where she could rest for a small while. Currently she was sitting on the footrest he never really used since, well he had no legs and was slightly scowling picking all the leaves and sticks from her tangled, messy hair. Bow was currently resting and was absolutely THRILLED to discover the thing she thought was a weird plant randomly put on Snatcher's chair was in fact. A cat. And Bow having been raised in the Nyakuza City surrounded by cats was of course adored all things kitten like. She had shouted 'A kitty!' quite loud when Rough Patch woke at the sounds of new comers to his home. Of course being the lovable creature he was, didn't even fight back when the young girl picked him up and held him. He just did was he usually did, lazily lay there and purr as Bow curiously pet his leaves. Snatcher had pulled the little girl aside once he had the chance and demanded to know what the peck was going on around here?! Poppy had also wearily been glancing at the few subconites that had gathered around around and peered curiously at her while she did so, but Snatcher had assured her they wouldn't harm her. Besides, they couldn't even harm a small mushroom even if they tried, let alone a grown woman who once upon a time sold flowers to them at one point.

"Um...B-Boss?" One of his minions had tottered over to him and pointed a hand at Poppy worriedly. "I-Isn't that-"

They were hushed up when Snatcher snapped a deep scowl towards them and hissed. Some of the minions still had their memories after death and it looked like they recognized her as much as he did. "Yes. And if any of you say a word of that to her, you'll be put on 'checking the manor' duty! Not ONE word out of any of you!"

The minion looked suddenly nervous and backed off. "Y-Yes, Sir! No, Boss! Right away!" Before he ran back off towards the small group. Not wanting to risk being put on that duty.

Satisfied he snapped back towards the little girl who looked back up to him without so much as a shread of fear, as if used to his anger by now. "Now what in the pecking world is going through that little head of yours?! She told me you let her fall from the sky like a rock! Are you just an expert at dropping things from the sky, kid?"

She pouted like any child her age would. "I didn't mean to! I didn't know she'd be so heavy for teleporting with me! And she's ok so everything's ok, right?"

......He literally facepalmed himself and dragged his claws down his face before looking back at her. "That ISN'T the point, Kid! You gotta be more CAREFUL with these things. Especially when you KNOW it might hurt someone. I thought you learnt this after you dropped those time peices from the sky TWICE!!"

"HEY!! The mafia broke my outer door! And then Mustache Girl stole them! It's NOT my fault!" She ended her rant by crossing her arms.

"Yeah. Well, you did a fantastic job protecting the time peices. But in any case, WHY did you even bring her here in the first place?!"

Her pout melted a little. "Well...She was acting really weird. Like she was sleeping but her eyes were open and she wasn't saying anything. Grown ups always act so weird. So I thought since you're a grown up too and like to be quiet all the time you can help!"

The innocent smile dawned on her face was what made Snatcher sigh and take a glance over at Poppy who just took another small piece of twig from her hair, scowled and flung it to the outside. Seemed like a good enough reason to a child. And he's seen her to crazier things for wackier reasons than wanting to help someone. But out of ALL the things she could've decided to do she brought him his dead, long lost lov-.....Friend. He groaned reaching a hand up to grip at his head. Out of ALL the crazy things to EVER happen to him THIS was the weirdest. Dying and becoming Ghost King of all of Subcon? Weird but he saw it as just rewards for what Vanessa did. She took everything from him so he took everything from her. Finding out there was a sentiant peice of him trapped in another plane of existance? Ok. But that comes with all the cursed magic that came with him. Having shiny time pieces fall into his forest and having a small alien invade his forest? No big deal. He always suspected life beyond his planet with the moon penguins and being able to visit the sun be a thing. So an alien with weird other worldly powers wasn't too much of a shock when he's already seen so much weirder things over a thousand years. Adopting said alien?.......Well.....He guessed he's always wanted a kid deep down. Vanessa did to and he was happy she was willing to have one with him way, WAY back then. But Vanessa was moving WAY too fast and in the end he did always end up with what he wanted. He was SO thankful Hattie wasn't related to Vanessa in any way. Hiding inside a crate to go on a well deserved vacation after getting his but kicked by said alien? HEY. TICKETS. ARE. EXPENSIVE. PERIOD. There was NO way he was paying 152 pons just for a measly few days on a ship in the middle of no where. Accidentally bringing everyone back to life with a time piece? OK! That one was on him. He could admit that. Those things really were too much trouble and he clearly wasn't thinking straight at the time. Coming face to face with the woman he secretly fell in love with?

........All the guilt and what ifs were still there and he still had nightmares about it every so often. But now she was here and....When he first saw her the hard slap of reality in the face sent a shockwave throughout his being like being trapped in ice again. Then everything came rushing back.....EVERYTHING!! The very first time they officially met when he saw her building her makeshift stand in the square. She was about to fall off her ladder trying to paint the sign above her flowers. And he was passing by at the same time and he couldn't just let an innocent lady fall and hurt herself. So he dropped what he currently had in his hands, ironically a couple wild flowers he picked from the woods for Vanessa, and managed to catch her bridal style before she hit the cobblestone roads.

"H-Hey." His brown eyes looked over her worried for any injury to the woman in his arms. "A-Are you alright, Ma'am? Have you hurt yourself? That was quite a stumble."

She rubbed her head before looking at him. "Nah. I think I'm alriiiiiiii-...IGHT!! T-T-THE PRINCE!?"

Her blue eyes went so wide when she found out she was in the arms of none other than the famous Prince Philip Snider. But that lasted only a moment before the memories were blasting at him faster than he could physically remember. It happened so quick remembering all those things at ounce. He remembered after a while he was curious about the flower stand in town, so whenever he visited Vanessa he would just instead stop by there. At first he wasn't too  sure about spending all those pons on the flowers when he could pick wild flowers for free, but when he saw them. He had NEVER seen roses so red. Like the color of the prettiest red paints. Or Tigerlilies with such bright tan petals and deep dark black stripes. Resembling the beast in all it's glory. And lilacs so purple like the twilight at the very beginning of sunrise. Better than any wild flowers he'd ever seen. Vanessa thought so too. And after all at that point in his life he beleived Vanessa deserved nothing but the best and Poppy's flowers were the best he'd ever seen. That's how the two began talking. When he complimented her amazing flowers and she proudly told him all she did to make her hard work so beautiful. And he always admired hard work. Back in his day it was VERY hard for a lady to get a successful career by themselves outside a maid, cook, teacher, or very few they were born in, and as a future leader his life was full of hard work to prepare him to run a country one day. Even when his days from Vanessa's obsession became hard, she was always able to make him smile with her spunky attitude, good advice, or just any of the small things he noticed her doing Vanessa would've never done. Poppy was kind and gave him the patience and space to be himself when vanessa couldn't. Sure they were both stubborn and spoke their minds all the time. But there was a big difference. With Poppy it was when she was often giving the hard truth and her honest opinions on things. Even when she gently tried to tell him the things Vanessa did was unacceptable, it was always her being honest with the intent to help. With Vanessa it was her always giving criticism and demands.

Give her a expensive gift. "...I thought my prince could get me better than this. You're supposed to be pining for my love!" Give her flowers. "These are beautiful. But not as beautiful as me. You shouldn't be trying to compare me to small plants that will lose beauty." Do any lil itty bitty small thing she disapproved of. "Don't slouch over like that reading. Sit formal at all times or you'll ruin you're entire posture when you get older. Are you trying to grow a beard? Shave it. You look better without it. Don't thank the cook again. They are below us and should know their place. In the kitchen to serve ME. I thought you knew better than that!" And then their relationship grew into a casual convo every time he visited, to a good friendship, and then....well at least to him a one sided love. And then the very last conversation they ever had, his one last chance he ever had to tell her how he felt or to do something to save everyone, slapped him hard enough with the guilt to make him scream. All the shock and reality making his self twist into a tight not and suddenly being pulled loose letting it all out. But that wasn't the problem right now. Right now he had to solve a question. What does he do now? This was too early. Way, WAY too early for any talks or to even come up with a proper plan on how to even go about this. Where would he even start?....Well, he guessed he already had done it. When he first came back to his senses after seeing her, he was angry and frustrated. Was fate toying with him again? But then he looked at her and got a good sense it wasn't and just liked throwing the past in his face a lot. Once the notion of this really being Poppy came to him well....He.....MAY have gotten a little carried away with the sudden feeling of possession and needing to stake a claim to her. Especially when he now has her to himself it has a ...fullfilling feeling to it which almost mad him feel guilty in a way. But what was he gonna do? Let her walk away like that? Besides. This new deal benefitted them greatly now. He can ask her for small favors, maybe a talk...or something? he was still figuring that part out, and in return she gets his unlimited protection, immortality, and all the benefits of still owning her own soul. Which he's only ever done once ever before. So this works out greatly for the both of them. Hattie tilted her head at the sudden silent eternal monoluge of the ghost and tried waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention. It worked as he blinked and resumed his scowl at the small child.

"Uh...A-Anyways, why did you think I could help?"

"Because you're a grown up?...." She hummed. "Maybe Cooking Cat can help instead. She's a lady too."

"HA! That cat couldn't even run a full lap around a house and not be gasping for air. 'Sides, Kid. Whatever she needs I can handle it, can't be hard. Mortal dilema is sorta what I'm an expert in by now. And I'm pretty sure I already handled any poor imminant danger by making her sign a contract."

....

.........

..............

..........................?!

WHAMP!!

"OW!!" His claws immediately snapped up to cover his face where an umbrella suddenly wacked him in the face and everyone looked up for a moment at the loud yelp from the ghost, except for Rough Patch who still laid there. The ghost hissed and stared back down at the angry little girl with a scowl that could scare himself. "KID!! WHAT THE ACTUALLY PECK-"

"You stole her soul?!," she asked just loud enough for him to hear her.

Immediately his face became one of shock when he jumped and slapped one of those clawed hands over her mouth and snapped his head back to the house. Some minions were still looking at him but Poppy seemed more interested in unsticking a small stick from her tangled hair than she was seeing a ghost argue with his adopted alien daughter. ....He turned back to her feeling Hattie struggle against his hand and he leaned close. "NO! I didn't steal her soul, Kid! I'm not completely heartless! I just.......Gave her the same contract you have that doesn't involve any life threatening plots or perils."......She suddenly looked confused. "Y'know! Protection against danger wise."

......She blinked and tilted her head. A contract just like....hers? Then did that mean- Her blue eyes suddenly went wide as she looked at him in wonder. "Does this mean I get a big sister!?"

He looked confused for a moment....before shaking his head. "No, Kid. Not adoption papers. I meant just...." What was the simplest way to explain this to a child? "I meant she signed a contract that means she'd be working for me, but nothing dangerous. And she's going to be very protected. Ok?"

She stared at him a moment longer, but nodded and seemed to understand. "So...She's not family?"

"I-.....Family?"

Family......A family.....HIS family.  His head turned back to Poppy and how she was now bending down and letting Bow nicely help her clear any more stuck leaves and sticks from her long hair. She always had a natural way with kids. Almost a ...motherly way if he did say so. His yellow eyes widened as that thought hit him and bounced around over and over again in that head of his. Slowly his eyes looked back down towards Hattie who still looked confused at his actions. A family. He's always wanted one when he was alive. He and Vanessa had discussed a couple times what they would do once their wedding had come and gone. Children were almost always a topic Vanessa discussed and insisted on. If it was a girl she would be the most perfect princess who would take after her of course and she WOULD be named Victoria and if it was a boy she'd make sure he wouldn't make any mistakes in becoming the perfect King one day. Any slip ups he made were going to be made sure he didn't and he WOULD be called Charleston. Vanessa thinking back on it now, would've made a terrible mother, Poppy on the other hand......She'd would've made a great of a mother as she would've been a Queen. As the few times he had ever been back to that manor or the dreaded nursury, the what if's had crossed his mind a couple times especially back in the early days of being a ghost. What if they had had a child? Would they had been like him or her? But all those what ifs soon died out once he had actually aquired children of his very own at last. And made sure to securely put his claim to his new eternal fatherhood. But-.....What IF the girls had a mother figure in they're life? They could use one right? Surely Poppy could be better than that Cooking Cat and WAY more better than Vanessa could've ever been. And looking back at Hattie specifically, she did have almost the same shade of brown hair he had when he was alive, and blue eyes Like Poppy's. It was almost like she was a mini mix of the two......Yeah...YEAH!! Guess who just found out the new placement. This would work out great too! Poppy loved kids, and these two won over everyone eventually.

"....Actually, Kid." That familiar fanged grin she knew came back to him. "She's a very new friend."

"You know her?"

"I-....Well no! And you're NOT allowed to tell her who I am! I mean who I was as a human! It's our little secret." He couldn't have this blown up in his face right now.

"Why?"

"Because I said so, and because it'll help us solve her problem. You want me to help her get better right?" She nodded her head yes. "Well there you go. Just keep your yapper shut and let me handle it ok?" She nodded again. Of course he....wasn't sure how to handle how to go up to her and say 'Hey! You know that prince who secretly liked you a lot but too afraid to say it? No? Well that's me! Im the ghost who tricked you into signing a contract and possibly made you lose everything by Vanessa but life happens. Right?'....Yeah. no. He'd figure it out later. Much. MUCH later. He nodded back. "Good girl. Now why don't we go meet your new...'mom' figure?" He turned back towards the tree house and started towards it.

"Mom?" Her face turned to one of wonder and curiousity again as she bounded after him again.

"Well....Kinda. She's going to be more of a live in nanny. I had one of those when I was your age." He couldn't remember the name of his parents old Head Maid too well, just her friendly old face and that she took care of him when his parents were too busy.

"What's a nanny?"

"A babysitter," he clarified before turning his gaze back towards the home. A long shadow came over the two girls pulling the last few bits of debry out of her hair, but both looked up towards the giant ghost looming over them all and smiling that familiar fanged grin of him. "Alright. New employee. Are you ready for your first contracrual obligations as my newest servant?"

Poppy Blinked up at him in shock. "N-Now?...So soon?"

He chuckled. "Of course. But what better way than seeing if you made a good investment than by testing out the product early on?" He waved a hand at her skeptical look. "Look. You signed the contract, it's only fair I ask you to do one thing for me in return. It's not even that hard."

....Poppy sighed and looked down. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Nope! But relax. I'm giving you all the easy tasks compared to any and all of my previous mortal helpers!" He rubbed his hands together before smiling and putting his hands on Hattie's shoulders. "I want YOU....to help me take care of these two little troublemakers from now on."

She blinked. "Excuse me."

"They can basically take care of themselves with my help of course. They're practically invincible by now, running off all the time around this planet and my forest. But they could use an older woman's touch around the place. Cooking, stories, playing. Y'know the stuff a mother would do."

"I'm sorry. You want me to play the part of being their MOTHER," she asked almost feeling like laughing at the ridiculousness of the question.

Yes he did. But of course instead he answered with, "No. I want you to basically help ME watch THEM. Like a nanny kinda."

"Ha! You've gotta be kidding me!"

"Does it LOOK like I'm joking around, Lady?" He absolutely wasn't. "Look. I was generous enough NOT to take your soul, take you under my wing, and if it wasn't for my slip up you probably wouldn't even be not frozen." Which was true in a sense. His mistake technically did unfreeze her. "So asking you to just help out can't be too far a stretch don't ya think?"

She scowled again. "HEY!! Being a nanny wasn't in that resume!"

"Well I can argue it IS since it didn't state what specific work I needed your help with. Just that you'd agree to help me out with, Lady. I run a whole haunted area of the land full of thousands of ghosts and undead creatures, deal with an annoying corpse at night time, and have to care for two girls in outer space or where ever they decide to go. Not to mention the trouble they cause, intruders in my woods, and hundreds of employees under my command. Please don't make me regret sparing and hiring you now. I can always change my mind." He was bluffing on the last part. He'd never do anything to hurt her especially now that he had her under his claws but the look on her face wasn't one of terror it was a deeper angrier glare.

"I THOUGHT you said you were going to help ME! Not use me as your free nanny now!"

"I AM! Who wouldn't want to be able to have a normal job after being frozen to death?!," he argued back.

"You MADE me have no other choice to sign that pecking paper!! YOU PURPLE ONION VINE!!"

"HEY!! I HAPPEN TO BE KING OF WHAT'S LEFT OF YOUR PAST PRECIOUS SUBCON, 'PRINCESS'!!" He shot back leaning down closer to her.

Poppy dared to stand up and shove her face and scowl back at the ghost's. "OH!! EXCUSE ME 'YER MAJESTY'!" He mock bowed. "IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE I SHOULD DO?! HOW ABOUT TIDY UP THIS LIL HUT YOU GOT GOIN' ON?!"

"HEY!! MY HOME IS THE BEST HOME ANY GHOST COULD EVER WANT!! YOU THINK IT'S EASY FOR A POWERFUL OVERLORD OF THE DEAD TO WATCH TWO LITTLE GIRLS WHO PESTER ME ALL THE TIME?!"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU COMPLAINING 'BOUT BEING THEIR FATHER?!"

"I. AM. NOT!!! IT'S JUST HARD TO KEEP TRACK OF THEM ON THE JOB!!" "AN ALL POWERFUL SPIRIT CAN'T WATCH TWO LITTLE GIRLS?!"

"HEY!! THEY'RE NOT ORDINARY KIDS I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW!! NOW STOP UNDERESTIMATING ME IN MY OWN HOME IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU!! YOU.....YOU....ROSE HEAD!!"

"OH REAL CREATIVE!! VINE BODIED!!"

"UNGRATEFUL WOMAN!!"

"JACK O LANTURN FACE!!"

"DOTTED FACE!!"

Hattie gave a deadpanned look as the two continued their petty arguement and Bow blinked in her direction before slowly putting Rough Patch down and getting up to walk over to her. The two little girls watched the two keep going at it like an old married couple for a moment, the minions watching in confusion just as much as Bow. Poppy didn't look afraid of him at all. Even arguing with him with an equal temper. Snatcher honestly....Didn't look enraged like he usually would have been if a total stranger who signed a contract with him had been fighting about duties he wanted them to perform. He just looked....average person annoyed, like two siblings or friends having a small argument over something useless.

"Uh....What's happening?," Bow asked Hattie without looking at her.

"I think no one here is a grown up anymore," Hattie replied flatly still watching the adults argue.

"ALRIGHT!! WELL WHAT DO YOU THINK WOULD BE QUALIFIED AS 'HELP' FROM ME TO YOU?!," Snatcher asked finally wanting to end this pointless argument.

Poppy actually stopped for a moment....Looking at him for a long time in silent thought at his words. What.....What DID she want help with really? She was lost. Both literally and thoughtfully as she still blankly stared at him thinking........What DID she want help with? She couldn't...She couldn't get anything back at all, and what was a dead person going to help her with anyways? From what she knew from what they said to her, all she got excited over was the fact there was someone in her situation...Ok. Maybe not exactly her situation persay, but similar at least. She was dead for crying out loud and now she's living basically a wild story some toddler thought up of.  The quiet thinking seemed to catch Snatcher's attention as his scowl slowly by surely softened and watched as her's became even more unsure and deep in thought. He HAD helped her....Sure took a 'little' trickery, but it all worked out in the end. But he guessed like him when he first died, she was more than just lost-

"I......I don't know," she finally answered in just above a whisper. Looking back up to him with an almost panicked face. "......I really don't know."

Snatcher stared at her, a pang of worry and something else flashed across his face and through his shadowed body. All too familiar a situation and feelings. So it was kinda surprising to everyone when he lowered himself to not loom over her, but to look her in the eyes. As if she was an equal. A calm look over his face now and the angry aura from earlier disappearing as he spoke.

"Hey. I can understand that. Believe it or not you're not the only one who's gone through that kind of thing....I'm certainly no stranger to feeling like that. In fact it took me forever literally just to realize my place after I got lost," he spoke in a calm and steady voice to her. MAking the minions and girls around him give each other confused looks.

"B-But.....H-HOW did you do that?!," she demanded glaring back at him again, "I w-wanted HELP!! Not a job-''

"Lady-.....Poppy. Do you mind if I call you that? I think I would like it better if I did. Make it easier to talk for the both of us." She definately stared at him with 100% surprise now....to which he sighed and reached a hand up to rub his safe. Sentimentality REALLY wasn't his best side. "Ok. To make it in mushier terms..I DO want to help you ok. Believe it or not I do and I have my reasons. But you gotta know I can't change the past no matter what. Trust me I have TRIED and look where that got me. Stuck fused with a mushy corpse and having to lead a whole bunch of strangers through the forest like a tour guide." he glanced at her confusion again. "Uh..B-But that's not important. The important thing is that I can't change or fix anything that's already happened alright? I can't send you back. I can't give you anything from your old life......And I can't change what happened to you." Her face dropped and eyes widened even more- "But, I can help make the future easier and help you with whatever you need to settle down with alright? But you got to understand that it's NOT just going to be with a snap of my fingers. I know, I've experienced it for hundreds of years. Just know that...You're not going to be alone in any of this alright?" He without thinking offered out a clawed hand to her with a small smile. "Do you trust me?"

She still stared at him, and for a long moment no one said anything. The girls and minions were looking on in surprised wonder at the caring tone and meaning of the words that flowed out of the giant ghost's mouth, but no one made any more to do or say anything in fear of the quiet being shattered. It took a moment for anyone to react, but a bit reluctantly the red haired woman's shaking hand reached over and settled inself into the larger purple claws that came around her. ....Huh. Weird. She would've thought a ghost would've felt cold as stone, but instead he felt warm but not too hot either. Kinda like a crisp fall evening. Either way it wasn't what she was expecting when she allowed her bare skinned hand to hold his, and he felt...Oddly soft as well. Almost how a peach felt. Maybe he had fire inside of him keeping his being warm? Possible. His eyes and the inside of his mouth glowed as he spoke. But she wasn't too sure with ghosts since she never was one.

Poppy hiccuped again and reached a hand up to wipe at her eyes to get herself to stop crying before she started crying again for the third time in a span of hours. She still didn't know what time of day it was. "Y-Yeah...Ok?" Her voice came out soft and meek. And a little shaky too indicating she wasn't trying to cry and Snatcher quickly caught onto that. Seeing two little girls do a similar thing once.

"Hey. You know...I-It's alright to cry. Happens to everyone at some point right?" That got a small huff of a chuckle out of her and his smile (which he still didn't know he had) got wider....When a thought hit him with the speed and force of a meteor. "Hey! I know what can help a  little bit. Y-You like flowers right? "

".....H-How do you know that?"

He had a flash of panic fly over his face for a moment before he coughed and shrugged. "You said you had a flower stand before Vanessa sent her goons to take you right? O-Obviously you must've liked growing things then. Or at least flowers."

"O-Oh. Yeah. That makes sense."

he sighed. Close call. But went back to that small smile. "Look. If you don't want to look after a stranger's kids I get that, but all I'm asking is a little help in return. And who knows. Maybe starting with something simple like this will help you settle down and get your thoughts together. Y'know. Something small then work our ways up to where we think would be the best action for you. Alright?"

She still stood there for a moment, before sniffing and nodding her head again. "'Aight. Sounds nice."

"There. See. Don't worry about anything. As long as I'm around there's not going to be any misfortune to you. I can promise that." He stopped when he felt a tug on his tail and turned around. "Hm? Oh. It's you." Hattie stared up at him with a confused look. "Well what's that face for?"

"Are you feeling ok? You're acting kinda funny...."

"WHAT?!" His hand was removed from hers as he stared down at the girl. "I-I'M PERFECTLY FINE!! I WAS JUST HAVING A BUSINESS TALK WITH MY NEWEST EMPOLYEE!! THAT'S ALL!!" He crossed his arms before looking back to all the minions surrounding him. "Well?! Don't just stand there! Back to your posts!"

The minions immediately did as their leader ordered and jumped and scrambled in all directions from his scowl. Poppy blinked again and looked at the still deadpanned child staring up at the ghost. "Is ....Is he always like this?"

She shook her head. "No. Usually he's more cranky. But maybe he hit his head too hard doing that weird crawl with human legs."

In an instant Snatcher snapped to her. "HEY!! YOU AGREED NOT TO MENTION THAT AGAIN!!" She stuck her tongue out at him and he grumbled before nudging her with his tail. "Well....Go take her home or something. I have some...business to take care off." Or more like to plant as he turned his head around to look in the direction of the Subcon Village.

Poppy blinked up at him. "Wait. You're leaving me? Now? So soon after I just got here?!"

"Yes," he stated bluntly. "I got something in mind to help you, but I can't risk you all running around while I'm trying to conduct business. "

She laughed unbelieving. "Unbelievable! What am I supposed to do in the mean time?"

"I don't know. See the ship? Have the girls show you around, I have to work."

Poppy still stared unbeliving before Bow smiled and grabbed her hand. "It's ok. He can be really.....um...Straightforward, but whenever Snatcher has an idea it USUALLY works. He doesn't like it when everyone interrupts him." A small tug to her hand made Poppy stumble a bit as Bow happily pulled her away from the ghostly home. "Come on! I can't wait to show you the Metro room!"

"The what?"

Hattie still stared at the leaving ghost with a raised brow at his strange behavior and hummed...Before shrugging it off for now and turning to bound after the other two girls. Oh, well. Snatcher was probably just having the mood swings as he called them. Grown ups were so weird.

[daleisgreat]

Cobra Kai - Seasons One & Two

I never considered myself a hardcore fan of the original Karate Kid films. I enjoyed them growing up, and the first film held up when I re-watched it with a friend three or four years ago. A few years ago, YouTube picked up the rights to have their own exclusive series that features the characters from the original movies and have it pick up where those characters are today, 30 years after the original trilogy left off. It is called Cobra Kai (trailer), the name of the rival karate school that series antagonist Johnny Lawrence (William Zabka) attended. The first episode of both seasons one and two are available to stream for free, but to see the rest of the seasons you will have to be a paid subscriber to YouTube Premium, or you can be like me and pick up the DVD set that combines the first two seasons for under $20. The first season picks up in the present, nearly 30 years after the original trilogy wrapped up. It starts to focus on where deadbeat Johnny Lawrence is currently at in his life, barely able to make ends meet on his own and finding himself recently out of a job. He reluctantly helps his neighbor Miguel (Xolo Maridueña) out of a jam with some bullies. Miguel is impressed with Johnny’s karate skills and wants him to be his sensei, and once Johnny stumbles into some money, he re-opens the Cobra Kai school.

Cobra Kai is not all about Johnny’s journey as fate leads to Johnny soon enough getting reacquainted with his rival, Daniel LaRusso (Ralph Macchio). Daniel is in a much better place in his life; he runs a car dealership with his wife, Amanda (Courtney Henggeler) and they have a daughter Amanda (Mary Mouser) that Daniel has passed on his karate tutelage onto. Eventually Johnny and Daniel’s egos heat up once again and in their proper way of thinking the best way to exact revenge on one another is for them to train their prized pupil in order to win the regional karate championship to rub in the other’s face. Only Amanda is hesitant on getting back into karate and fate leads to Daniel taking Johnny’s estranged son Robby (Tanner Buchanan) under his wing where this eventually all builds up to Robby and Miguel squaring off in the finals of the all-important regeional karate tournament. By the end of the first episode I was completely on board, after originally thinking there was no way they can pull this off thirty years later. However, once you see Johnny and Daniel exchange words for the first time again all these years later it is readily apparent there is an organic chemistry between the two and it was eye-opening how the two did not miss a beat after three decades. Another factor that helps is Cobra Kai nails the tone it is going for. It retains just enough of that cornball-80s charm with elements of Johnny and Daniel still living in the past. Apparently Johnny boycotted new technology post high school and scenes with him discovering the Internet, smartphones and dating apps are all a riot. The humor is balanced out by playing it straight with the new younger faces introduced and going along for the ride with Miguel, Amanada and Robby’s teenage growing pains.

Seeing all the characters evolve over the course of the two seasons is a remarkable feat of television. Johnny goes on a journey from being deadbeat dad, to trying to be the same ruthless sensei that his teacher Kreese (Martin Kove) was to eventually learning a moral or two. Miguel’s and Robby’s season spanning arc is truly something else and watching them gradually become different people stayed with me. The build up to the season finale at the karate tournament hit all the right nostalgia wrinkles and I love how the tournament organizers overplayed it and properly recognized Cobra Kai’s AWESOME entrance. The karate tournament itself is masterfully produced and once again brought back fond memories of the original films with plenty of nice little nods and callbacks throughout. The final fight between Robby and Miguel lived up to the hype that built to it throughout the season. After picking up the DVDs I invited my brother over to watch this with me as I had a gut feeling he would appreciate Cobra Kai as much as I would, and sure enough by the season one finale tournament we both were unabashedly rooting for our favorites and feeling every kick and blow dealt throughout. Season two raises the stakes with an old face in the controversial original Cobra Kai sensei Kreese coming back to help with Cobra Kai’s expanding student-base while Daniel officially starts his own dojo, Miagi-do to combat Cobra Kai’s influence in the area . Season two focuses more on Daniel and Johnny building up their respective dojos and minor friends of Amanda, Miguel and Robby in season one have bigger roles in season two when they also pick sides in the high school karate wars. Seeing the dojos poke and prod at each other during the course of the season appropriately built up tensions in skirmishes in the mall and a house party before culminating in a epic 10 minute fight on the first day of school where apparently school security is worryingly laxed. The fallout of that tumultuous brawl for the ages has major ramifications for certain characters at the end of season two, and while season one closed on a mostly positive note for most characters, season two saw its finale swing in the other direction with most characters in precarious positions.

I dug season two almost as much as season one and liked how the kids were a bigger emphasis in the sequel season and we got to see more of the periphery characters shine in the second season. The adults still play a big role in the follow-up season with Danny patching up squabbles with the wife, and Johnny having a standout episode where he reunites with his fellow Cobras in a ‘special’ heartfelt episode. Krese is still as ruthless as ever and wears Cobra Kai’s motto, “No Mercy” on his sleeve. Watching both dojos try to expand their rosters and quarrel at school during the daytime got both my brother and I riled up as we anticipated everything would come to a boil at another karate tournament, but were thrown for a loop for the gratifying over-the-top fight scene at the school. Again, the consequences for that big fight were felt in the closing scenes of season two with a few added little twists that put the future of Cobra Kai and Miagi-do in jeopardy for season three. Speaking of Mr. Miagi, while Pat Morita passed away long ago, I will give props to how Cobra Kai has his presence remained a glowing constant on the show with frequent references and past clips implemented at poignant moments throughout the series. Almost every episode of Cobra Kai has quick clips and callbacks to the original movies, even The Next Karate Kid got a couple subtle nods (the Jaden Smith/Jackie Chan reboot got ret-conned out of cannon according to producer interviews). By the end of season two I was surprised how deep the writers and producers pulled for references and periphery characters that made a return, and I am grateful they peppered in brief shots of the original films to remind me of them.

There are a fair amount of extras for both seasons. The first season only has 20 minutes of bonuses with deleted scenes, audition reads, interviews with the composers for the series and two musical performances from William Zabka’s band. Season three has almost double the extras and aside from a gag reel and deleted scenes it also features more extended behind-the-scenes specials covering both season’s fight choreography, character profiles and a very handy feature highlighting most of the references to the earlier films. Not a boatload of extras by any means, but what is here is pretty good and I will give props to YouTube for not being content with only the episodes on disc. I recall giving the cold shoulder to Cobra Kai initially thinking there was no way they could pull this off after all these years. I got there was a little bit of Johnny Lawrence nostalgia going on with some of the commercial spots of the character several years back, but in no way was I prepared to be blown away by how good Cobra Kai is and how it recaptured the same underdog spirit that made me love it in my childhood. Nor was I prepared for how they would introduced a new generation of students that won me over as much as Johnny and Daniel did three decades prior and made their journeys equally as riveting as Johnny and Daniel’s. Do not brush off Cobra Kai like I initially did and at the very least give the first episodes that are currently free on YouTube a shot. Past TV/Web Series Blogs 2013-14 TV Season Recap 2014-15 TV Season Recap 2015-16 TV Season Recap 2016-17 TV Season Recap 2017-18 TV Season Recap 2018-19 TV Season Recap Adventures of Briscoe County Jr: The Complete Series Baseball: A Ken Burns series Angry Videogame Nerd Home Video Collections Mortal Kombat: Legacy - Season 1 | Season 2 OJ: Made in America: 30 for 30 RedvsBlue - Seasons 1-13 Roseanne – Seasons 1-9 Seinfeld Final Season Star Trek: Next Generation – Seasons 1-7 Superheroes: A Never-Ending Battle Superheroes: Pioneers of Television The Vietnam War: A Ken Burns series X-Men – The Animated Series: Volumes 4-5