#there’s like six more main characters here so I’ll try to scribble them later or something

[aquatic-batt]

thought I’d bring in some old ocs while I’m talking about ocs, I need to make some new sketches of the others involved but here’s some newer ones of just Moira (she/her) and Raven (he/him)! Moira is the brown dog and Raven is the orange cat as well as the fully colored cat :V

basically Raven is a former cultist with a guilty conscience to show for it and Moira is on a mission to push forth a prophecy, and she uses said prophecy to help Raven back on his feet (er, paws) and realize he still has a chance to better himself

[trulivin]

Golden Eyes

A/N: SURPRISE! I finished it last night. Thank you so much for this request! I really enjoyed writing this piece. I did make the reader kinda Shu I would say because she’s called serpent at the Menagerie but feel free to change it to suit your appearance! Also, I hope I kept to the character. I felt like Kaz wouldn’t act like this really in his mind, and I don’t know somehow I ended up flopping back and forth between their POVs. BUT hopefully it worked out. 

This also has potential for a part 2 so let me know if you would like that. Anyways, send feedback and keep requesting! I could honestly write about Kaz all day LMFAO! Enjoy! (Word Count: It’s really long whoops)

Kaz Brekker X Reader, Six of Crows

Warnings: Some abuse, cursing.

*Oh look I made another aesthetic lol*

Kaz Brekker didn’t know why he did it. Three years after getting Inej out of the Menagerie, he found himself having the same conversation with Tante Haleen. “You are not taking another one of my girls, Brekker,” the lady snarled. “I have the money,” he shrugged, his face impassive. “I don’t care. You took one of my clients’ favorites three years ago,” Tante hissed at him. “You haven’t even let me tell you what I’m going to offer,” Kaz said. The peacock let out an odd noise, rolling her eyes at the teenage boy. Why does he even want this girl? She thought to herself. 

Truth be told, Kaz really didn’t know why he wanted this girl either. He just happened to be walking by the Menagerie a few nights ago and heard a lot of screaming. Tante Haleen had made a public display over beating this poor girl into tears in front of what seemed like everyone in Ketterdam. Usually, the woman would give her punishments in the confines of her office, but this time it was different. The girl’s screams still echoed in his mind.

It was a particularly still and soundless night as Kaz walked back from a successful deal he had just made. He was personally enjoying the quiet walk and the stars with the only sound of his cane tapping on the ground every step he took. However, his peace was soon disturbed when a high pitched scream rang out. Kaz immediately stopped, looking around for the source of the noise and realized he was very close to the Menagerie. 

“You ran another one of my clients off, girl!” Tante Haleen’s voice rang out. Kaz heard a faint sound of a belt snap and a girl crying. “I-I didn’t mean to,” a voice cried. “Didn’t mean to? Pff! You’ve always been a defiant whore. Trying to run me out of my own position! Girls like you need to be taught a lesson,” she sneered. “I swear, I’m not!” the young girl pleaded.

There was a faint crowd gathered around the main entrance to the building. Kaz approached silently, sticking to the shadows. There, in the middle of the ground was a partially-clothed girl, no younger than him, cowering under the peacock who was clutched a strap of leather in her hands. 

“Who would want your job anyway?” the girl half muttered to herself resulting in Tante yanking the girl up but her hair. If that young girl wasn’t in the middle of being beat up, Kaz would have been impressed with the girl’s snark. 

Kaz noticed the girl’s tear-stained face full of fear. A shiver ran up his spine as he watched the old woman continue to scold her, and for a fleeting moment, the girl cast a panicked look around the crowd and met his eyes. Beautiful golden eyes met his and he stood there stoically, studying her face until Tante brought down another hit. The girl screamed again, tearing her gaze away, and Kaz forced himself to walk away.

Her eyes burned into his memory as he finally made it to the Slat. Kaz talked with Per Haskell for a few minutes before heading to his room. He sensed Inej following him and when they reached the top, she asked, “So it went well?” Kaz nodded as he shuffled papers around his desk. Inej said something else, but he barely acknowledged it. He was too busy trying to figure out how to help the girl. 

Inej watched as Kaz was rummaging through papers and eyed him in confusion as she noticed he was pulling money together for some reason. She could tell he was distracted by something, and quite frankly had never seen him act like this. 

“Why all the money?” Inej asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. Kaz jumped ever so slightly, meeting her dark eyes. Inej caught his quick scare and was even more baffled that Kaz Brekker was so skittish. He was almost never like this.

The girl’s golden eyes flashed through his mind for a moment before he cleared his throat. “I need to buy something,” Kaz muttered, turning back to the papers. “What do you need to buy?” she asked skeptically. “It’s none of your business. If you have a problem with it then get out,” he snapped. Inej was caught off guard with his moodswing, but shot him an annoyed glance and slipped out of the room. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Kaz’s attitude anymore. 

Kaz jumped again when he heard his door slam. He had no clue why he was acting like this, it wasn’t him. Someone else’s pain was their problem, not his, but the girl’s watery eyes still burned in his mind like the sun on an extremely hot day.  

“Thirty-thousand kruge,” he said after Tante hadn’t responded. “Did the old man give you your allowance early?” the woman sneered at him. 

“No.”

She looked a bit taken back at his bored demeanor, and then narrowed her eyes at the boy. She despised him for taking away the Suli girl three years ago and she was wary in letting another one go to Kaz Brekker or Per Haskell. Tante never really knew who was actually in charge.  

“Well, are you going to take it?” he asked, impatiently. 

She mulled over it for a moment and sighed angrily. She could never pass up money. All of my girls are replaceable I suppose. “Yes,” she said irritated. “So she’ll be working for that old man of yours?” she asked as she signed the contract. Kaz scribbled his signature down and snatched the paper up before she could really read everything on it. 

“Actually no,” he said with a wry smile. “She belongs to me. And technically, I’ve paid off her contract.” 

The woman’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “I-You--little rat!” She snarled at him. “You can’t have her!” 

“Yes I can. Now go get her. I have other things to do today,” Kaz said coolly. He was ready to get out of this place. It reeked of filthy men and other spices that made his head spin a bit. 

Tante Haleen glared at the boy but said nothing before slipping out of her office. She returned a moment later with the golden-eyed girl behind her. “Well, it’s your lucky day, serpent,” the peacock snapped at her, “You get to go with Mr. Brekker here.” The girl’s eyes snapped to Kaz’s just like the other night and he could’ve sworn his heart jumped as the blazing color pierced his. He studied her face for a moment, noticing the dark bruise under her left eye and her swollen cheek. Under the damage, he also saw a very beautiful girl who looked as though she had been put through years of abuse under the hands of Tante Haleen. 

Unfortunately, he also noticed how, behind her bright eyes, there was absolute terror coursing through her. “It’s been a pleasure,” he smirked a bit turning back to Tante Haleen. “Are you ready?” Kaz turned back to the girl. She nodded, wide-eyed and somewhat confused. Kaz slid past them and out the office door. 

Y/N’s head spun as she followed the teenage boy out of the Menagerie. What did he want? Why did he buy my contract? What the hell is going on? How is he walking so fast with a freaking cane? All sorts of questions flew through her mind and her swollen face was throbbing giving her a slight headache.

As they made it to the doors, Tante Haleen’s voice called after her, “You better watch your back girl! I’ll get my serpent back and you’ll die in chains here!” Y/N’s head whipped around in fear, looking at the evil woman. “That won’t happen. You’re safe now,” the boy’s raspy voice said from behind her. Y/N turned back to him and practically ran out the door he had opened for her. 

Once they were on the streets and far from the Menagerie, the boy finally slowed his pace. Y/N swallowed nervously and asked, “So who are you exactly?” “Kaz Brekker,” he replied without so much as casting a glance in her direction. He kept on winding through the crowd making sure Y/N was still with him every so often. 

Surprisingly enough, Y/N had heard of a Kaz Brekker. The notorious ‘bastard of the Barrel’ or Dirtyhands. She just never thought she would ever meet him. Clients would always complain about being crossed by Brekker. They’d say, “I’ll rip those gloves off his hands and feed him his own fingers if I ever get a hold of that damn boy!” It was strange seeing the gloves fit over his hands. Y/N couldn’t seem to stop staring at them, wondering why on earth he wore them in the first place. 

“And you?” he added a few moments later, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Oh, um I’m Y/N,” she said. 

Kaz inwardly smiled to himself for the first time in a long time. He thought it was a very pretty name to match her pretty eyes. What the hell is wrong with you? 

He managed to maintain his expressionless face and turned to look at the girl, “Well Y/N you are officially free under one condition.” Her eyes narrowed at him as she began to grow more comfortable in his presence. 

“What?” Y/N asked. 

“You’ll become a member of the Dregs.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You lose the protection from us, and you very much could end back up there,” Kaz said. He didn’t necessarily want to say he owned the girl. She was free to do whatever she pleased, but if she were to go off on her own she would most likely be back where she started. Not to mention, Kaz would be out thirty-thousand kruge. The girl had a fire behind her eyes and he thought she could potentially be quite useful. He just wasn’t sure what her limits were yet, but he also didn’t want to lose an investment. She’s not just an investment, a voice in his head scolded. Shut up. You know I’m right. Ugh. 

Y/N thought for a moment. She knew about the Dregs and all the other gangs in Ketterdam, but she again never thought she would ever be tangled up in them. However, anything was better than the Menagerie, and she was decent in a fight so she could handle whatever the Dregs threw her way. “Anywhere is better than there,” she eventually agreed. Kaz nodded in approval as they continued on. 

Finally, the pair arrived back at the Slat. “Just let me do the talking,” Kaz said to her before opening the door. The main floor was crowded with a variety of  looking people playing cards and gambling. Heads turned as the door was open and everyone caught sight of Kaz with a girl in silks trailing behind him. 

One guy smirked at Kaz making Y/N cringe. “Wow boss I’m surprised they let you take this one out of the building!” the guy called. Kaz shot him a hard glare and snapped, “She’s not here for work. A new investment so shut up. She’s one of us now.” 

Investment? That didn’t sound any better, Y/N scoffed silently. Thankfully, though, no one in the room looked familiar. None of these people had been clients. 

The guy, Y/N noticed, seemed to cower under Kaz’s gaze. He seems to have very high authority in here, she noted. Just as quickly as they entered, she was following him up rickety steps. Kaz led her into an office on the second floor, and Y/N was faced by an old man. 

“Y/N this is Per Haskell. Per Haskell, Y/N,” Kaz introduced and the old man grinned. “My new member?” he smiled. “Mine,” Kaz interjected, “Sir.” “Ah yes yes, you used your own money,” Per Haskell dismissed him, slightly annoyed. “It is still my gang you know,” he said. “Of course, sir,” Kaz replied. 

Y/N stood quietly watching the two exchange words as if she weren’t standing right there. She could see right through Kaz and his act towards the old man. He may have sounded respectful towards Per Haskell, but Y/N had the sneaking suspicion that he could care less about the man’s opinions. 

“So, sweetie,” Per Haskell interrupted her thoughts. Y/N jumped in the slightest at the name. You’re not at the Menagerie anymore, and he was never one of your clients, she told herself. Kaz studied her and saw her back stiffen as soon as Per Haskell had opened his mouth. She was nervous. “What can you do? Weapons wise of course. And how do you hold up in a fight?” the man asked. Y/N seemed to be taken off guard a bit, but regained her composure, feeling more confident in herself again. 

“Well, um, before I was taken, my father taught me how to defend myself. And I’m pretty good at target practice,” Y/N mumbled, heat rising to her cheeks realizing this whole gang thing wouldn’t be like target practice. The man obviously knew it too and chuckled a bit before turning to Kaz. “You sure picked a good one this time, boy,” he said sarcastically. Y/N’s cheeks flushed even more red. And they flushed even darker as Kaz’s gaze rested on her for a moment. Y/N couldn’t help but be upset at herself for sounding so stupid in front of Kaz Brekker. Why do you care what he thinks of you? She questioned, averting her eyes away from him. 

“I think she’ll work out just fine, sir,” Kaz responded in an even tone. Y/N couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. His face remained unreadable with every word he said. “We’ll see,” Per Haskell said, the air in his tone signaling this conversation was over. Kaz simply nodded and turned to walk out of the office. He locked eyes with Y/N before pushing open the door. She followed quietly behind him still unsure of what really was happening here. 

They made their way up more steps when a voice stopped them in their tracks. “Y/N?” a familiar voice rang out behind her. Y/N turned around to see an oh-so-familiar Suli girl. “Inej?” Y/N half gasped. A grin broke out on the girl’s face as she bounded up the steps, pulling Y/N in a hug. Kaz raised a brow. 

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing Y/N here, Kaz,” she glared at the boy. Y/N was shocked she had the nerve to do that, but Kaz remained oddly quiet. 

The thought that Inej had known her never crossed his mind. 

“Well you know now,” Kaz said coolly. Y/N could see slight impatience in his look now. “Obviously,” Inej rolled her eyes and added, “Leave us be. I’ll show her around and she can stay with me.” Kaz narrowed his eyes at her, but didn’t say anything as he stepped aside letting the two go. 

In reality, something told him he didn’t want Y/N out of his sight. There was a lot of testosterone in the building and Y/N’s pretty features would surely stand out. But her reaction to Per Haskell’s words told Kaz she was more worried than she was letting on. He’d seen that look in Inej plenty of times to know it had been just as rough for Y/N as well. Tante Haleen had told him Y/N had been with her for five years, and according to the peacock, she was also a handful. He couldn’t imagine what Y/N had been put through because of her defiance, but he knew he didn’t want anyone getting any ideas. 

Up on the floor above, Inej had gotten Y/N settled in her room. “I never realized Kaz bought your contract too,” Y/N said quietly. Inej laughed and rolled her eyes a bit, “He didn’t buy it. Per Haskell did. Kaz just put the idea in his head so he could get the money. I still have to pay mine off. That’s why I work for him.” 

“Oh,” Y/N said, remembering what Kaz had said to Tante Haleen. He had put his own money up for her. Why?

As if Inej sensed her question, she said, “I don’t know why or how he got the money. But obviously you must’ve caught his attention. I’m telling you like I always have, it’s those golden eyes of yours.” Y/N let out a light laugh, but brushed her comment off. “It’s good he did though. We need more fighters like you. Don’t get all shy on them, I know how you get,” she added. Y/N rolled her eyes a bit, “I don’t like strangers.” 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you still can’t kick ass. I’ve seen you do it before.”

“And you’ve seen my ass get kicked right after,” Y/N said sourly. She had tried more than once to get out of being with some of the clients, earning her plenty of bruises. But, it was always worth it when Y/N had managed to leave some bruises behind as well. “Listen,” Inej said seriously, “You’re safe now. Kaz, in his own twisty way, will protect you. He may seem like a heartless, emotionless, dark person, but deep down he cares. Of course in his own weird way.” The two girls shared a laugh and Y/N couldn’t help but think she was right. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore. 

A month seemed to pass in a blur and somehow Y/N had found herself restless. She slowly earned respect amongst the Dregs, but now everyone seemed to coddle her. Even Kaz would hardly ever let her out of his sight. He hardly spoke to her and she found herself pouring her heart out to him. She told him about her family and what happened when she was taken, along with everything that happened to her in the Menagerie. All Kaz did was listen and nod. 

Y/N was annoyed she could never figure him out, and told herself she was going to stop telling him her entire life story, but somehow wound up back in his attic. Some days they would sit in silence as she sat by the window, and some days they would have little conversations. He answered most of her questions she had for him, but he always gave a round-about answer when she brought up the gloves. Sometimes he would just ignore her so Y/N would just drop it. 

The only thing Kaz really wouldn’t let her do was go on jobs. She was antsy and felt more at ease than she had in a long time so she could easily go shake someone up for some money.  “Can I go with Jesper?” Y/N would ask. “No he, Inej, and Specht can handle it,” Kaz would reply. He was never rude to her when she asked. He would just find some excuse for her not to go.

In reality, Kaz didn’t want her to go because he could still see the slight changes in her body whenever someone, particularly a man, would brush by her too close. One time Jesper had slung his arm around her in a friendly manner, and Kaz saw all the color drain from her face. Her golden eyes even seemed to lose their brightness. He didn’t want to put her through what some of the jobs required and risk her getting hurt, although he wouldn’t admit it. So, he didn’t make her do anything, and left her extremely bored and annoyed. 

And unfortunately, some of the Dregs seemed to notice this as well. 

Instead of questioning Kaz, they all assumed it was because she couldn’t do anything. Some would say, “It’s alright gold-eyes, I’ll be back. Don’t worry I don’t need protection!” or “I think someone needs to go with her to make sure she doesn’t fall over and hurt herself.” 

Finally, one day, Y/N was sick of the teasing. Specht, Rotty, and Jesper were teasing her about how her eyes made her look soft because they were such a pretty color. She rolled the golden orbs. “You know, you all assume I’m no good, but none of you actually have had the decency to let me hold a pistol or a knife,” she snapped. Jesper looked a little surprised by her outburst, but Specht and Rotty grinned mischievously. “Ok then, pretty-eyes. Why don’t we do a little target practice then,” Rotty snickered. Per Haskell managed to spread the word around of their first introduction and it seemed to stick. Y/N glared at him but nodded. The boys sprung up and in about ten minutes the main floor was set up with a variety of targets. 

A crowd seemed to gather and Inej was by her side instantly. She had also yelled at plenty of them saying, “Y/N is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.” But Y/N didn’t want her help. And she also knew Inej’s words wouldn’t make them shut up.

“So this is how you hold a knife,” Specht said slowly as if he was talking to a toddler. “Har har,” she glared. Y/N yanked the set of knives he had from his hands and went to stand in front of the target. She heard snickers across the room and some people placing bets.

Y/N huffed before clearing her head. Feel the blade in your hand. It’s supposed to be a part of you so when you throw it, it will go in the direction you want it to. Her father’s voice rang out in her head. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing silence to fill her ears. 

Kaz had come down to see what was going on and saw the room had turned into a shooting range. He was about to break up the semi-circle, but stopped once he saw Y/N in the center of it. Her eyes were closed and he watched along with everyone else. Kaz was curious to see what she really could do. 

In an instant, Kaz saw her eyes open, and watched as the three knives she held fly through the air and land in the dead center of three different targets. Her eyes immediately found his, and the liquid-gold was burning bright. He sucked in a breath as her eyes burned in his. Kaz couldn’t help himself. Her eyes were his favorite. 

Y/N felt his presence as soon as she rid herself of the knives. Her eyes found his watching her with a glint of approval. His mouth even quirked up in the slightest. A grin broke across her face at the thought that Kaz would be proud of her. Somehow they had gotten close over the past month and he had a special place in her heart causing her to always seek his approval. And though he would never admit it, but Kaz always found himself wanting the golden-eyed girl around him and only him. 

Everyone around the room seemed shocked at what had happened. Big Bolliger, however, interrupted the silence, “That was luck!” Eventually, others chimed in in agreement. Y/N saw that little quirk of Kaz’s mouth slip back into his hard look. “Then go stand in front of the target and have her throw again,” Kaz spoke from behind everyone. They whirled around, immediately falling quiet. “Well?” Kaz gestured for Big Bolliger to step up in front of the target. He gulped, but no one questioned Kaz. Rotty gathered the knives and handed them back to Y/N silently. “If she hits him then we know it’s luck. If she doesn't, well then I think you all will have gotten your answer if she can do anything or not,” Kaz said. 

No one said a word. Y/N should have been nervous, but she wasn’t. This was the first time she had been truly happy in the month she had spent here. She knew she could do it, and this would shut everyone up for good. Y/N took a deep breath and closed her eyes again, honing in on her father’s words. 

Kaz watched her eyes flicker open again and just like last time she placed the knives exactly where she wanted them: above Big Bolliger’s head, to the left of his ear, and to the right. 

Y/N smirked, satisfied with herself, but also got a bit carried away. Jesper was standing near her so she grabbed one of his pistols and shot right in between Big Bolliger’s legs before handing Jesper back his prized possession. Everyone seemed to be standing there gaping. Inej was smirking, and Kaz had a twinkle in his eye. She was even more proud of herself. 

“And she can shoot too,” he said. The crowd was still shocked as everyone stared at her. “Alright clean it up,” Kaz snapped, waving his arm. The Dregs jumped into action setting everything right. “It’s not like you haven’t seen anyone shoot before,” he muttered to himself, before signaling Y/N to follow. 

Once they were upstairs, Kaz admitted, “I will say I’m impressed. But like you said when we first met. Target practice.” Y/N glared at him, her sour mood returning. “I could’ve taken his eye out you know,” she said bitterly. Kaz didn’t seem to care about her tone with him. 

“I don’t doubt that either,” he replied. “But it is different out there when you’re in the moment--”

“How can you of all people think I don’t know that?” Y/N snarled, cutting him off and finally letting her anger bubble over. “I told you everything!” she hissed. 

“I told you how those men enjoyed a twelve-year-old girl! How I fought so many times and had knives pulled on me and took constant beatings from that wretched woman! How I was put in chains after I tried running away! I know what everyone thinks of me!” she shouted. 

“I know they all think I’m this weak, doe-eyed school girl who can’t throw a punch! They whisper behind my back, throw snide comments around, make bets! And I take it! I take it like every hit I took in that damn whore house.” 

Kaz heard her voice crack with her last sentence. He had underestimated her abilities and never really thought how tough she really was. He was always too busy silently fuming over how mistreated she had been growing up. 

“I know what they are thinking,” Y/N repeated herself. “And I don’t want you to think the same thing,” she mumbled quietly. Y/N’s eyes went wide as she realized what she just said out loud. “I--I just--,” she started but Kaz raised a hand. She shut her mouth and let him speak. “Do you know why I picked you?” he asked. She shot him a confused look. “I saw you that night Tante Haleen had thrown you on the ground in front of everyone.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She remembered seeing those dark eyes in the shadows of the crowd. A shiver ran up her spine thinking about that night. 

“I will say I have underestimated your abilities, but I don’t think like those other idiots downstairs,” Kaz sighed, letting his mask slip a bit. “I,” he paused for a moment. The two voices in his head were back: Why are you acting like this? Because she’s a pretty girl. Just another girl. She’s more than pretty if you think about it. Doesn’t matter. You’ve gotten to know her and you know she’s like you in a way. No. Admit it. Shut up.

Swallowing a bit of his pride, Kaz spoke softly, “I don’t want to see you get hurt like that again. You don’t deserve it.” It was true. Even if she didn’t talk much for the first few weeks she was with him, he found she was quite pleasant to be around. Y/N was kind to whoever she met no matter what they said about her, and she carried herself with a sort of confidence she probably didn’t know she had. And those damn eyes of hers too. 

Y/N’s face softened at his words. “Oh,” was all she could manage to slip out. Quickly, though to avoid extreme awkwardness, Y/N gave him a mischievous grin. “So you do care?” she commented. Kaz let out a breath and rolled his eyes, thankful she didn’t want to endure the moment after him opening up to her. “The Kaz Brekker has a heart,” she chuckled as he glanced down back at his work. 

“Yes, but most of it was buried with my brother,” he said shortly. The room was silent and Kaz looked at Y/N. Her grin was gone and she gave him a sympathetic look. He never usually wanted sympathy for Jordie, but somehow Y/N’s kind features brought him a sense of comfort. “I’ll tell you some other time,” Kaz said simply. 

She approached his desk slowly until she was right in front of him. Taking a deep breath, Y/N glanced down to his gloved hand resting on the top. She hesitated and took it in her hand. Kaz sucked in a sharp breath before letting it out. Her hand was warm and felt smooth even through his gloves. A part of him wanted to feel it without the leather barrier. He noticed the scars that danced across her knuckles and all the way up her arm. 

Kaz’s gaze trailed across her skin and up to the bright eyes that were watching his every move. He suddenly felt very conscious of his hair and tie. “I’ll be okay,” Y/N said softly. He took her appearance in once more and nodded. “Go see if Jesper will let you tag along on his job,” Kaz added. Y/N gave him a small smile before releasing his hand. A part of him ached for her touch again, and his hand felt oddly cold after she let go. 

Y/N silently made her way to the door. “I had a sister,” she said, turning to look at him again before disappearing back downstairs, her golden eyes burning through Kaz’s heart.

___________________________________________________________

Yay! To the nonny who requested, I hope this is what you were looking for! I have yet to make one with Kaz and the reader kissing because he’s very difficult to write for and I hate straying away from how the character actually is. But also I can do a part two with Jesper’s job and the aftermath plus her interaction with Kaz afterwards. Just let me know!

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream III

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 4, 559

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything; It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i... she feels… (Read below or on the AO3 link on the chapter title.)

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Anything

Maybe I should kill my inhibition

Maybe I'll be perfect in a new dimension

On the Saturday the week after Barry’s impromptu visit, Iris finds herself down on Main Street about half an hour after 10 in the morning. Nearly the entire 8 blocks of the street are sectioned off, with a plethora of white tents set up on both sides of the street. She glances on as she makes her way down the sidewalk, as people set up books and jewelry and clothes; beer and wine and harder liquor; food and sweets and other treats.

It’s the setup for Central City’s Fall Fest, one of a multitude of fests in the city that Iris calls home. It’ll be open to the public in a few hours and, like usual, Iris will make her way up and down the blocks a few times, holding a beer in one hand and something fried on a stick in the other, a couple of bags filled with things she doesn’t need in the crook of her elbow.

Now, though, she steps into the alley that leads to the side door of Golden’s, an Asian and American fusion restaurant and bar owned by the parents of her best friend, Linda Park. She gives a heavy-handed couple of knocks and only moments later, Linda opens the door to let her in.

Iris first met the other women when they were in the 7th grade. Iris’s parents had divorced several months prior to a new school year and for reasons not then known to Iris, her dad had gotten full custody of her and six-year-old Wally. They’d moved into a new house on the other side of town and that had meant a new school for her. Linda had sat beside her in their homeroom/advisory class and the girl with beige skin and long dark brown hair was constantly scribbling something in a notebook. Iris had discovered that they’d been stories, usually with families as the starring characters. By then, Iris had begun to write in her own notebook—musings and wonderings about the neighbors she’d just met, about what it meant to be the oldest child of divorced parents. They’d bonded over their writing; well, that and being two of only a handful of girls at the school with skin darker than the pale and spray-tanned skin of their classmates.

For over a decade, it’s been Iris and Linda. Through the messy stages of puberty and their even messier interactions with high school boys; through late-night study binges and even worse interactions with college boys. Through the drug addiction that took Iris’s mom and the car crash that had put Linda’s older brother on life support until he’d succumbed to his own injuries, they’ve navigated it all together.

Now, life gets in the way. Linda, almost immediately after undergrad graduation, had begun shopping around a number of short stories and personal essays she had written until, finally, a publisher had bit and opted to publish them as an anthology. A few years and too many nights spent locked in a room later and Linda’s book is a New York Times bestseller. Iris’s own success story is pending. In addition to completing her graduate degree (which, at 26, she’d started late, after taking some time off and working at a local newspaper), she runs a blog, one she’d started by accident. Her middle school musings had become pointed interviews and, with the classes she’d taken in college, had gotten the necessary skills to begin writing up her own human interest stories. It’s amazing, she’s learned, what people will tell you when they can hide behind the face of someone else. What a Life You’ve Lived is growing in popularity, making some money too, and it’s starting to become more than just a hobby for Iris.

Neither Iris nor Linda is ever truly free; but in a concentrated effort to make time, they brunch at least twice a month. This morning, it’s at Golden’s (where Linda is working as a bartender while she writes her next book) because her parents want them to try out new menu items. When the door shuts behind them, Linda turns and gives Iris a hug, wrapping her arms around her neck. Iris returns it, smiling into her hair, her familiar lavender scent a warm comfort she didn’t know she needed.

“I’ve missed your beautiful face,” Linda says, squeezing her hard once before letting her go.

“Yeah?” Iris asks, mouth lifting in a smirk. “Is it because you’re tired of looking at Daniel’s beautiful face?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Never, though I’d rather put my eye out before I tell him that.”

Linda has been dating her boyfriend Daniel Ngyuen, nerdy engineer and man ridiculously head over heels for her, for a few months, after they met at a book signing hosted by Linda’s parents.

“You’re ridiculous,” Iris tells her, and Linda preens in response.

Something in Iris tightens, a faint film of green clouding her view for all of a millisecond. She’s ashamed she even had the thought, that she feels anything but happiness at the light in her friend’s chocolate brown eyes or the glow in her cheeks. She’s not jealous of Linda, of course she’s not. But Iris can’t help but find some envy at the feeling of contentment that so obviously surrounds her friend and the juxtaposition of her own drifting existence.

It’s almost tangible, these differences, at least to her. Iris can see the confidence practically emanating from Linda’s dress-clad form, the long-sleeved maxi dress and tall sandals, her wavy shoulder-length hair, making her look a little like a goddess. But Iris imagines that’s what it must look like, to be at the start of a career you’ve always wanted, to have the love of a man you’re secure in, to just...know your place, your purpose.

And maybe Iris is being dramatic. She supposes she looks as put together as she’s always thought she needed to be in her light denim jeans, pale pink cropped sweater, and tan block-heeled sandals. She’s been wearing her natural hair out this week and the wavy curls are piled up in an artfully messy bun. Still, even if Iris can’t touch on why she feels so scattered, like all of the pieces that make up the whole of her are floating aimlessly around her body, she cannot deny that the feeling is there, taking up space in her head like the songs she latches on to keep focused, maybe I should pray a little harder, or work a little smarter.

They walk through the restaurant, bustling with the waitstaff preparing for the 11 am opening. Golden’s isn’t an overly large place, only able to fit about 50 people at a time, but Iris thinks it’s a part of the charm. It’s decorated in dark brown wood and bright white and gold light fixtures; the tables and booths are spread out in a way that allows for privacy, making customers feel as if they’re in their own little worlds.

Linda leads them to their usual table, one actually tucked into a little alcove where only the Parks and their guests are allowed to sit. At the table, there’s already a carafe of juice too close to red-pink to be orange juice, along with a bottle of champagne. Outside of the wine and marijuana Friday nights and the occasional party or club, Iris only really indulges in alcohol when she and Linda have these brunches. They slide into the booth and Linda immediately reaches for the champagne.

Over the next couple of hours, Iris is reminded of why, regardless of her own issues, she loves his woman. They laugh, sharing stories of Iris’s students and the customers who come into Golden’s. They get on each other’s nerves, making jokes and ribbing the other any chance they get. At one point, Linda’s parents come out, her honey-skinned Chinese mother Xuan and her dad Theo, Chinese and white with skin like baked sugar cookies, and Iris blinks adoringly up at the both of them, always lost in their beauty—both tall and elegant with ridiculous cheekbones.

“It’s sickening,” Linda mutters as she watches Iris watch them walk away, “how you look at them.”

“I’ve had a crush on your parents for as long as I’ve known them,” Iris replies. “If they ever want a thre-”

“Don’t you finish that fucking statement,” Linda gripes and Iris howls in laughter until Linda points out the attractiveness of Iris’s own father. “You know I’d always hop on the chance to be your stepmom.”

“And I’d happily sabotage your wedding day.”

“But it’d be worth it when I got to climb on top of Daddy West during the honeymoon.”

Iris throws a strawberry at her.

She hears him before she sees him. She’s been at Fall Fest for only about twenty minutes after leaving Golden’s, full and tipsy, walking through the steadily filling streets. Of all of the festivals in Central City, of which there are several (seasonal fests like the Fall and Spring fests; food fests like the Food Truck and Italian Food fests; cultural fests like the Juneteenth and Hispanic Heritage fests), the Fall Fest is one of her favorites. It’s during the best time of the year, when the sun is still blazing but the wind cuts through the heat. When the leaves have begun to drift off trees and dance onto the ground, changing into the shades of yellow and orange and red that only nature can paint. When the booths run the gamut in what they sell, from cooked and packaged foodstuffs, to clothes and jewelry, to dance or golf lessons. It’s the one festival, besides the Pan-African Celebration, that their entire family would attend, even for a few years after the divorce. Her parents would take off work and put aside their differences to spend time together--until Wally had felt too old and her dad had needed too many more work hours and her mom had gotten too lost; and then Iris had started coming with Linda and then, this year, alone.

But she doesn’t dwell—she tries not to dwell these days—and besides, she’s just heard him.

He doesn’t sound any different in the light of the day. In her head, she keeps hearing him as he is in the throes of passion, when his voice is more of a throaty curse, when it’s a rumble against her heated flesh. Here, out here with children screaming from their blocked-off sections and ladies laughing as they smell through candle selections and men arguing from the faux sports bars set up at random tents, he should sound like anyone else. He shouldn’t even be heard over the music coming from the speakers they can’t see—down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; do do do down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; i hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will—or the sheer noise that’s true for events like this. But he is.

She looks up, ignoring the woman still trying to convince her to buy a bottle or three of perfume, and she sees him, right at the booth beside hers. He’s with two other men, one shorter with light brown skin and dark brown eyes and black hair pulled back in a ponytail; the other only a bit taller than the friend, with skin darker than Iris’s, glasses, and a short afro. Iris vaguely thinks that the three of them together are some sort of setup for a bar joke. They’re dressed similarly, in pants and t-shirts, though Iris’s eyes catch onto Barry’s hunter green chinos and white shirt, the beige pocket square matching his desert boots. All three of them have relatively full beers in their hands and Iris is looking at the cup in Barry’s hand (or rather, his fingers wrapped around the cup) for about three seconds before it jerks, beer spilling out. She looks up to find he’s looking back at her too, muttering “Iris,” in surprise.

She watches her hand and smiles back at him, a bit awkwardly, stepping away from the booth where the woman has already moved on to a new customer.

“Hi Barry,” she responds, walking over to them. She spares a glance at the other two, the Black man looking at her curiously, the Latino man a bit more humorously. “Fancy seeing you here.”

It’s not her smoothest line, but Iris thinks she might be in shock. When he’d left her, again, before she woke up on Saturday morning, she’d found his number written in tiny handwriting on the notepad on her desk, the unimaginative “call me” scribbled beneath it. She hadn’t. She’d thought about; oh had she.

On Monday, she’d debated calling him up to grab a coffee during her break. On Wednesday, she’d gotten an email about a new story and she’d wondered, for a moment, what he might think about it. But then she’d thought of his sweet mouth telling her “I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory,” and she had decided that he likely wouldn’t care about her days.

Now, he gives her a thorough once-over, probably remembering, and Iris feels a flush of heat run through her that she knows has very little to do with the warm late September sun.

“Iris,” he says again, his voice a touch higher than normal. His companions look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Iris,” the long-haired one repeats, laughter coloring his tone. “I’m Cisco.”

“And I’m Chester,” says the one with dark skin, and they both stand there looking at her, grinning like loons until Barry cuts in.

“Alright, stop being weird.”

They don’t. Barry rolls his eyes and pushes past them to stand in front of her. Even with the heels she’s wearing, she has to stretch her neck a little to look up at him.

“Hey,” he says, this time lower, a soft breeze on her skin.

“Hi,” she repeats, just as softly.

The sounds of the carnival don’t disappear so much as they become muted, such as if she were submerged in water or if there was a rushing in her ears, because everything becomes background noise save for the concentrated sound of his voice.

“You didn’t call,” he says to her.

“I—” she starts, but she’s got nothing to say, not anything that won’t make her sound needy or desperate.

“Hey Barry,” Cisco calls.

“Yeah?” Barry answers, but he doesn’t turn away from her. No, he’s looking at her still, assessing her almost. He’s trying to figure something out, she decides, or at least that’s how it seems, what with the way he stares so intently, blue-green eyes pouring into her, bringing up images of them staring up at her from between her thighs, bringing out impressions that feel like more than lust, like more than just two people who’ve only ever bared their bodies to each other.

“We’re gonna go to another tent,” Chester says. “Catch up with you later.”

“Alright,” is the reply, those eyes glittering like the sea in the afternoon sun, still fixed on her. There’s a slight frown to his mouth, and when he speaks again, she can’t tell if he’s reached his conclusion or not.

“Walk with me?”

She nods before she even thinks about it. “Sure.”

They start back down the path. The booths are in abundance this year; it’s a bigger festival than she’s seen before. For a while, they don’t talk. They walk side by side, arms brushing every so often, stopping at booths that catch their attention. For him is a booth with a variety of multi-piece puzzles, some featuring landscapes and gardens, others of the solar system or space. For her, it’s one selling notebooks, beautiful leather-bound journals. She stops, enthralled, picking up one in coral-colored leather with rose-gold edging.

“We can also engrave the name,” the sun-tanned woman with pale blonde hair behind the tent says. “Or you can order custom colors.”

Iris nods, murmurs, “these are really nice,” and continues flipping through the heavy cream paper in the coral notebook. These days, much of her writing gets done on her overused Macbook; it’s just easier that way. But when she writes, for herself—little anecdotes about her day, her feelings spelled out in poetry—she does so in notebooks like these.

“You’re a writer,” Barry wonders and it’s a statement as much as it’s a question.

“Yeah.” She looks up at him and nods. “I’m actually getting my master’s in journalism.”

She puts the journal down once she notes the $40 price tag and thanks the woman as they walk off, Iris looking back at the notebook with longing.

“I also run a blog,” she tells him, and the words tumbling out of her mouth are a shock.

“Really?” he looks at her in surprise. “What’s the site? Is it popular?”

It’s not like she’s embarrassed of her blog or anything, but it feels different, to tell people she knows about her work. Because it’s one thing for strangers to read what she types out in earnest, and in tears and in vulnerability, but it’s something altogether different for people she knows to do the same. They aren’t her stories, not actually, but they are always her words, always her emotions she puts into them, and it feels too, too telling somehow.

“It’s growing in popularity,” she tells him, because she’s the one who opened this can of worms. “It’s called What a Life You’ve Lived.”

He hums, like that means something to him, but before she can ask what, two kids come barreling through the aisle. Iris tries to step out of the way and she slips, her heel catching in a small crack in the asphalt. Her knees buckle, but before she can hit the ground, Barry’s arms are around her. One of his large hands holds onto her, pressed against the bare skin of her belly, and then she’s pressed fully against him.

It’s absurd how much she likes the feel of him—the slim but corded muscles in his arms, the apparent strength in his fingers; and she likes the smell of him too, the faint hint of his laundry detergent mixed with the heat of the sun mixed with the citrus of his cologne. It’s another moment (™), which doesn’t make sense because he’s only just caught her from falling. But he’s looking at her like there is more in her gaze besides the brown of her irises, the flutter of her lashes. It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i...she feels…

“Are you alright?”

Barry’s voice is quiet, too quiet for the energy they’re surrounded by. And maybe she doesn’t even hear it as she does read the movement of his pink mouth.

“Yeah, I am.”

He straightens, then, and gives her a half-smile. “You know, Iris, if you wanted to fall all over me, you could have just called.”

He likely had been trying for levity, but it’s pointed, right there at the end. She steps away from him and he lets her, his fingers sliding along the small of her back until they’re no longer on her skin. It leaves her cold

(only that can’t be true, because it’s far too warm out)

and she watches as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I was waiting on your call, Iris.”

They've moved into a corner where the direction of the festival booths turn right. Straight ahead of them is a 21+ section; it features a stage where performances will begin around 5 as well as a number of makeshift bar stations. There’s a similar set-up with kid-friendly activities on the other side of the festival. Barry’s friends are standing at one of the bar stations talking to two women, both with chestnut-brown skin and long kinky hair. Iris’s eyes shift to take in the rest of her surroundings, to the sound of people laughing and the couples holding hands and the families who seem elated to be together on a day like today.

When she turns back, Barry is patiently watching her, head tilted to the side, expression thoughtful, like it always tends to be.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Barry suggests “We can walk around some more. And once we get sun-tired, I can take you to this spot that I like nearby and we can talk. Maybe about why you didn’t call.”

She licks her lips, pulls the bottom one between her teeth. She hedges, long enough to tell herself that this would be a foolish endeavor, that she should just say no, that he’s nice and cute and what harm would it do. But, really, when he asks, those cyan eyes gleaming and his cheeks faintly pink and his face so goddamn hopeful it almost makes her look away, she really has no other choice.

“Okay, sure.”

She doesn’t tell him why she doesn’t call.

What she does is tell him about her dad and how she’s always been in awe of him, of his grace and his strength and the lessons he’d taught her. She tells him about Wally, who’s brilliant and searching, trying to figure out his way (not unlike her, though this she doesn’t say). She tells him about Linda, her sister in all of the ways that count, who’s always with her, even when she isn’t. And when he asks, because of course he does, she tells him about her mother who was beautiful and kind, all the way until sickness took her away.

She tells him this because he tells her first, about a larger-than-life father whose proximity to wrong-doing bureaucrats had landed him in prison, and an easy-going mother whose life had ended because someone else had been desperate for the money in her purse.

They do indeed walk around ‘til they’re tired, until around 6. Then Barry takes her to a little American bistro where they pride themselves on grass-fed meats and homegrown vegetables. They devour burgers the size of their heads and a mountain of fries that deserve their own table. He stuffs her with food and a piece of pie after, and he asks her some questions. He wants to know her favorite color and the television show she’s currently watching and if she’s always wanted to be a writer: yellow and Bridgerton and only since her parents’ divorce, when she’d needed to know that hers was only a unique story—or maybe she had needed confirmation that it wasn’t. She wonders about his dream job, his favorite hobby, the one thing he wishes he could do: forensic scientist, which he is, amateur theater, and getting his dad out of prison. That opens up a space for more convolution than should be allowed on a first date, and so she asks him more about amateur theater.

After, he walks her back to where her car is parked past Golden’s. When they get there, he listens for the sound of her car alarm, and then he turns her around, pressing her back against her car door. He walks closer, a hand at her waist, the other reaching up to cup the back of her neck, thumb circling lightly around her throat.

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispers. “I had a really nice time.”

“Yeah?” His mouth ticks up, that half-smile that is somehow both charming and a little bit maddening. “Enough that I might get a kiss?”

She tilts her head as if in thought, even as she gives in to her desire to touch him too, reaching up to finger at the faint moles dotting her cheeks. She only barely nods her acquiescence when he closes whatever distance is left and kisses her. Iris is always surprised by how warm his mouth is, by how sweet he tastes. He tastes like the apple pie they had earlier, but also like early sunset coffee on cool fall mornings and like how slow sex in the middle of the night feels.

He’s gentle in some ways, his mouth moving slow against hers, his tongue licking into her mouth like he’s trying to find life inside of her. But he’s a little rough too, squeezing at her waist so he won’t fondle her in the middle of the street, tightening his hold on her throat, only a little, but enough that Iris begins to feel the action in the throb of her sex. They kiss, eyes closed, her own fingers scratching at the nape of his neck, her hips thrusting against his in time to the flick of his tongue across her bottom lip, until she feels the swell of his dick against her belly and her loud moan tears him away from her.

“Fuck Iris,” he all but growls, licking his lips as he looks her over, a little wrecked. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, playing with the soft strands of his hair, until she notices it’s all messy, matching the state of his swollen mouth, his wrinkled skirt, the heavy dent in the center of his pants. She wonders what she looks like.

“Get in the car, baby.”

Wide-eyed at the endearment outside of sex, Iris does as he tells her to, sliding in and buckling up before he closes the door. When the purr of her engine starts, he motions for her to roll her window down. She does, waiting as he plants his elbow on top of the car, bending his lean frame down so that his face is level with her.

He smiles softly at her. “Go out with me next Sunday.”

She bites at her lip, if only to give herself another moment to breathe. Because this date would be moving beyond a two-night stand, beyond an impromptu date, far beyond kissing on the side of the street.

“What time on Sunday?”

“Early afternoon,” he says and leans in even closer. “I’ll pick you up.”

She nods before she can talk herself out of it, even if she knows that she should. Barry motions for her with a crook of one of his long fingers, and it makes her think of what’s been playing in her head, of down for the ride, down for the ride; you can take me anywhere, and when she comes to, he places a sweet kiss on her mouth.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says, pulling away slowly.

And then Iris watches him—his strong and assured walk, his compelling and commanding aura—until she can’t see him anymore.

Do do do down for the ride, down for the ride

You could take me anywhere

I hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will

[babb1es]

Wizard 101: Congratulations! You’ve won!

You remember Wizard 101?

Who am I kidding of course you don’t.

Please don’t kill me I’m not like Nazeem I swear.

Wizard 101 starts you off by picking a class(Fire, Ice, Storm, Myth, Life, Death). Then you design your character and you’re off to see the Great Tree of Ravenwood and it’s 6 schools of magic.

BUT! You are interrupted in your humble quest to learn and absorb information like the developing teen you play as by a mysterious cackling in the tower. So like a stupid person you investigate because knock off Dumbledore told you to.

Surprise, there’s an evil wizard in the tower. He tries to kill you with the sky. I’m not even joking I’m completely serious the man throws flaming meteors at your head. So you nearly die but are saved! By Knock Off Dumbledore! Wow!

After that traumatizing experience K.O.D sends you off to explore your dorms and meet your teachers. Just an FYI, every school has a dungeon across from it, avoid at all costs until you’re ready to get your ass kicked. But there is a chunk missing from Ravenwood, the School for Death. Apparently the evil wizard you ‘fought’ was a former teacher, and when he went insane he ripped the school out from the ground.

I should probably mention that by ground I mean floating island in the sky because that’s what the realms in this world are. Floating islands. In the sky.

So ignoring the feeling of unknown death by falling you get from walking to close to the chunk missing from the island exposing you to an endless abyss below, Ravenwood is actually quite pretty. I should probably mention that there is a giant sentient tree in the middle of the square and you eventually get to talk to him and go, this is so weird, inside his mouth to where the gateways to other realms reside inside his trunk.

Yeah.

Lets not talk about that.

Lets talk about something else. I wouldn’t be Babbles if my posts didn’t advertise weird story ideas for pre-existing properties so here we go.

6 different kids.

6 different players.

One for each school.

All of which screaming and running around confused as they were pulled from their homes and into the game. The six have the potential to become the most overpowered mages in the game because of their real world problem solving skills, common sense, and creative ideas for magic no one thinks of because every one else is even more of an idiot than they are.

However as they are busy screaming and sharing a maximum of one and a half brain cells, we will gently put that future in a box and wait till they are quiet enough to open it.

Once they are done running around and tripping on their robes, the kids start asking questions. They each discover that the others situation is the same as their own, so they sit down for ten minutes and talk and try to form a plan. They eventually agree on that the most likely way out of the game is simply complete it.

And so the quest begins and our merry band of cursing teenagers is told to get their ass in the tower to which they adamantly refuse because “Do you not HEAR the evil cackling?! I’m not touching that tower with a ten foot pole.” They are of course, dragged in anyway because K.O.D doesn’t actually care about his students safety he just wants bodies to throw at Evil Guy.

Unsurprising the kids have a close brush with death, but surprisingly after the meteor shower the Fire Mage picks up a broken piece of meteor and just yeets it Evil Guys head. It doesn’t do anything because he missed, but Evil Guy can respect stupid recklessness like that. He doesn’t get the chance to finish the job thanks to K.O.D finally showing up to save the kids an look good.

To outside observers. The kids are not impressed and hastily scribble down a plot to assassinate him and put a pin in it for later.

They are herded to their dorms where the six of them immediately break the rules once the teacher is out of sight and bunk in the same room.

The next morning when they are NOT running off of adrenaline and the fear of certain death they take the time to explore. And freak out when the tree starts talking.

I don’t remember what happens next so I’ll continue this later.

Death Mage: The calm one, mom friend. He is the second voice of reason in the group and is very quickly developing anxiety due to the crazy ones acts of pure stupid. Does his very best to keep everyone safe. Practically worships the buddy system at this point. Is grossed out by corpses.

Ice Mage: The main voice of reason. If the end boss doesn’t kill her, the stress of keeping order will. She may be reserved, but she is a ride or die kind of friend and will absolutely attack without hesitation. After egregious planning and plotting. She likes fried fish. However when confronted with a unicorn all maturity goes out the window and it’s like she’s six years old again.

Myth Mage: Chaotic, but a quiet sort. Always looking for loopholes. Prefers to send golems than to actually engage in combat. No one can tell whether they are a boy or a girl and honestly they’re afraid to ask. They have the potential to be a harbinger of doom but don’t care enough to do so. A cleaning maniac. They summon a cyclops in the undead district so they don’t have to get close to the undead walking around.

Storm Mage: Batshit crazy. She got struck by lighting in the middle of the and screamed “I AM G O D” before passing out and falling into a pond. She and Ice Mage have a rivalry over whether fried chicken or fried fish is better. T Posed at a vampire once. It worked. Has a minor case of kleptomania.

Fire Mage: He is Storm Mages partner in crime. Quotes vines regularly. Cries because he doesn’t have Internet. Adopts one of those funky little unicorn pets. Massive resistance to burns but very good at starting fires. Everywhere. Helpful against the undead because he feels like he’s in Zombieland and is just having a good old time. Basically the groups crowd control.

Life Mage: Arguably the most terrifying one in the group, she doesn’t have a large repertoire of offensive spells so she casts like 90 different shield charms on herself and sprints at her enemies with a knife and screaming war cries in elvish. When she does get hurt, she just casts a healing spell and just keeps on going. You cannot stop her. She's decided to be a harbinger after being told that she must be kind and good and not to be violent out of complete spite. Massive Tolkien fan. Great cook. Beat a banshee to death with a studded baseball bat once. Really likes board games.

[peanutparade]

Someone asked me what my process was, and I’m not sure I gave her a satisfying answer in the PM, so here I will attempt to explain how I make a game from start to finish.

*Please note the the drafts above are not for the same story, but for the purpose of illustration.

**Also please take this advice with a grain of salt. I’m not a published author (though I do know a bit about the publishing industry), and I’m definitely not a perfect writer. This is my process, and the things I try to keep in mind when I’m writing, and you may find this advice to be complete garbage.

Step one: Get an idea for a story. I can’t really give any tips on how to go about doing this. I tend to take inspiration from other works of media (classical literature is my favorite, though I have taken cues from more contemporary sources as well).

Step two: Consider who your characters are going to be. It’s okay if you only have one or two characters in mind at first. I’m pretty utilitarian about my characters, so most of them don’t get created until step three.

Step three: Open a word document and just start typing shit out. (I use Google Drive so I can access it from anywhere, and for another reason which I’ll get to later.) Don’t stop to think, don’t even breathe. Just type. Any idea that comes into your head goes in the document. Some of it won’t make sense with everything else, some of it will contradict other things, some of it will be vaguely defined. You will fix that later. This is the most important part (especially the way I write), because it’s where you’re going to get an idea of how your story starts and how it ends, as well as cement your cast of characters. If you need a scene where your main character goes to a lighthouse, then you know you’ll also need to come up with a lighthouse keeper (see my comment above about being utilitarian with characters. I’m no authority, so if you do things differently, that’s fine, but I don’t like making characters that don’t serve a purpose).

Step four: Annotation, annotation, annotation! (This is the other thing I use Google Drive for, as it has a comment feature that I heavily rely on.) Go through all your scribbling and make notes for yourself. Be a little hard on yourself here, because this is the part where you’re going to try to make everything you’ve written in Draft 1 cohesive. This will be a long process, as you need to think about how all of this is connected, as well as think about what sort of arcs your main characters are going to go through. I read somewhere once that ALL of your characters have to go through an arc, but that’s a bunch of wacky nonsense. Some characters are minor characters, and thus do not require depth. The only character arc that MUST be included is the main character’s arc. Remember: character arc ≠ character motivation. ALL major characters (protagonist(s), love interest(s), villain(s)) MUST have motivation for what they are doing. The motivation doesn’t have to be anything too complex, just so long as the audience understands why the characters are doing what they’re doing. (Minor characters with motivation can make the world feel more real and lived in, but they can also make the story feel bogged down. Brevity is key here, and sometimes less is more.)

Step five: Draft 2 All of that plotting you just did? Throw it away! Just kidding, don’t actually throw it away. BUT you’re going to rewrite your plot outline, tidier this time, and only refer back to Draft 1 when you get stuck. Feel free to come up with new ideas during this time; Draft 1 is not your story’s final form. If you think of scenes or quotes, feel free to include them in this draft, but you’re mostly just outlining right now. (As you may notice in the image above, Draft 2 is also subject to annotation.) Draft 2 is where you should be solidifying the themes of your story. Character arc(s) should tie into and support this theme. This is also the draft where you should be catching any plot holes (especially if you don’t have an editor/beta reader), as once you’ve begun actually writing the story, any problems here will only compound as you go.

Step six: Write the story It’s pretty straightforward. Follow Draft 2 (and any additional annotations you made on Draft 2), and go scene by scene and write. I never skip around, as it makes it hard to keep track of what characters know at what time, but I know of authors that do skip around, and they seem to do okay. You’ll have to figure out what works best for you.

Step seven: Edit, edit, edit! Aside from the obvious (typos and spelling errors), look out for:

Scenes that are too long or too short. Counterintuitively, these may be the result of the same problem: a lack of purpose. Ask yourself, “Does this need to be here?”

Long-winded info dumps. Consider the old adage, “show, don’t tell.” Whenever information can be conveyed through action or reaction, write it that way. If you can convey two things at the same time (i.e. something about a character and also something about the world--bonus if these two things are actually unrelated to each other), do it.

Information that your audience wouldn’t logically have being the key to resolving the plot. Especially in sci-fi and fantasy stories, if the conclusion of the story relies on knowing something--even if it’s something that the characters all know--you need to make sure your audience also knows this, or else they will be frustrated. Keep in mind the Rule of Threes.

And that’s the story portion done. If you’re making a visual novel/dating sim, there are other steps you need to do. (I usually do this stuff while writing the story so it doesn’t get tedious, but if you’re hiring people to do this other stuff, you should probably have the writing done ahead of time. If you’re hiring writers to help you, you should have Draft 1 done, at the least. Your writers can probably take it from there.)

NOTE: Any job you don’t do yourself is something that will cost you money. If you can find other aspiring creators to volunteer their time to your project, good for you, but please do not approach anyone directly unless you plan to offer to pay them (”for exposure” is not payment).

Step eight: Character sprites Major characters are going to need to be represented visually in your visual novel (go figure!), so... draw some people? I know some people make character design sheets, but I just jump right in, and then later, make microedits to the sprites as the mood strikes me. The design sheet thing is probably a smarter way to do it. I use photoshop, and I would strongly encourage keeping hair, clothing, and facial features on separate layers until you know exactly how you plan to code them into your game.

Step nine: Backgrounds Same as the sprites, except places instead of people. I’m bad at this, so I have no right to give anyone advice. I use a 3D interior design app to create a guide for what I want rooms to look like, and then I use that to get my vanishing points and furniture sizing right. This method is 50% tracing, 50% wishing I was dead. I do not recommend it.

Step ten: Audio If your game will have voice acting, get that together now. If you’re composing your own music, you’re more talented than I am. For my first game, I utilized royalty free options (incompetech and bensound), but now I hire a composer (I do still supplement my soundtrack with royalty free options if it’s for something inconsequential). I don’t use many sound effects, but when I do, I just look for free options online.

Step eleven: Coding I use Ren’py because it’s free and easy to learn (provided you don’t want to do anything too complicated). There are tons of resources online to teach you how to use Ren’py, both from official sources and unofficial sources. I’ve never posted in the forums myself, but the people there seem very kind and helpful if you get stuck. (If anyone wants to see how I code, specifically, I’ll do a Part Two for it, but I have to warn you that my games are the coding equivalent car repairs done with bubblegum and duct tape.)

Step twelve: Playtesting Make sure your game works. It’s pretty straightforward. You can even recruit some guinea pigs--I mean, friends to help you. (I don’t have any friends, so I do this part on my own.)

By this point, a year or so will have passed (give or take, depending how long your game is, how much time you have to work on it, and how much of the work you plan to do by yourself), and with any luck, you’ll have a game! Posting your game on itch.io is free, but putting your game on steam will cost you $100.

Like I said to the person on patreon who originally asked me about my process, making a visual novel is a lot of work, but I encourage everyone to at least try it and see if you like it.

I look forward to hearing your stories!  ♥

[searchingwardrobes]

Happy belated birthday, @courtorderedcake​ ! I am so sorry this gift is late! It’s been a week, we’ll just say that, and I wanted your gift to be good. I know you have been through SO much difficulty, my dear, and I wanted to write a fic focusing on Emma’s tough past and her strength because I know you identify with her so deeply. This turned out going in a much different direction than I anticipated, especially with the Daddy!Charming at the end. Nevertheless, I hope you like it! I based this on the song of the same name by Pearl Jam, and the two lines I used at the end made me think of you, Court, as well as Emma: “She holds the hand that holds her down/ She will rise above.”

This fic doesn’t follow the season seven timeline simply because it makes my head hurt and it was just easier to ignore it. I also needed Emma’s past in the Land Without Magic to touch her in the present, and the whole “all the realms are in Maine” wouldn’t really work here. Therefore, this is three years after the season six finale. Henry is sixteen Neal Nolan is three, and baby Hope is two months old.

Summary: The past collides with the present when Emma gets an upsetting phone call. But she isn’t a lost girl anymore.

Rating: T for brief discussions of child neglect, emotional abuse, and alcoholism

Words: 3,500 and some change

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @jennjenn615​ @distant-rose​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @tiganasummertree​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @snidgetsafan​ @thislassishooked​ @branlovestowrite​ @scientificapricot​ @stahlop​ @hollyethecurious​ @shireness-says​ @winterbaby89​ @wellhellotragic​

Neither Emma nor Killian would say that their pasts were a faded, distant memory. Trauma just wasn’t that easy to get over. They would say, however, that this life they’d built in Storybrooke made the memories easier to handle. They had legit, “I’d go to hell and back for you”, family and friends. They had the home of their dreams where they could give Henry and Hope all the things they never had. They no longer felt the pang of hunger or the bite of cold.

Most of all, they had each other. Having each other meant sharing the burden of those memories for the first time. It was like peeling an onion, and Emma didn’t mean that metaphor in the usual sense. She meant the layers stung like hell, so they could only handle tiny bits at a time. It was okay, though, Killian told her. They had a lifetime together.

Taking the pain a tiny piece at a time was why the phone call came as such a shock for both of them. It wasn’t that Emma forgot about Hank, it’s just she’d never heard anyone speak of him aloud in almost thirty years.

Killian watched her face go pale, saw her arm go limp even though he could still hear a tiny voice coming through the speaker of her phone.

“Emma? Is everything okay?”

She dropped the phone without ending the call, and it hit one of the throw pillows and slid to the edge of the couch. Without saying a word, she headed upstairs, and Killian snatched the phone up and pressed it to his ear. The person on the other end was saying “hello? Ms. Swan, are you there?”

“This is Mr. - this is her husband,” Killian said. Though Storybrooke was no longer isolated from the outside world, Killian still essentially didn’t exist outside of its borders. Their marriage, though real in every way that mattered, wasn’t legally official outside of their little hamlet of fairy tale characters.

“Oh,” the woman on the line said, “well, could you just let her know that visiting hours end at nine pm?”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “Visiting hours?”

“Yes, if she’d like to come visit Hank Gregory. Her foster father?”

Killian sank to the edge of the couch. “Could you fill me in, please? My wife was a little - overwhelmed by your call.”

“Well, Mr. Gregory was admitted to Maine Medical Center here in Portland about two days ago with complications from both liver disease and diabetes. We’ve done all we can for him, but he’s been admitted into the ICU.” The woman took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength to get the next words out.

“I told your wife this already, but he doesn’t have a lot of time. We asked if he had any next of kin he’d like us to contact, and your wife’s name and number was all he gave us. He said she was his foster daughter?”

Killian rubbed the curve of his hook against his chin. No wonder the nurse phrased it as a question - this call likely wasn’t going the way she had envisioned. Across the room, Henry had discarded his video game controller and was watching Killian with a question furrowing his brow. Killian wished he weren’t so worried himself because it’s one thing for the man to have Emma’s name. It was quite another for him to have her cell phone number.

“Let me jot down those visitation hours,” he finally told the nurse, motioning to Henry to get a pad of paper and a pen. The lad dashed to the kitchen and fished them out of the junk drawer. Killian repeated the information from the nurse as Henry scribbled it down. After ending the call, Henry regarded him intensely.

“What was that all about? Mom seemed really upset.”

Killian sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not one hundred percent sure yet, Henry.”

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

“Are you’re absolutely positive that you want to do this, love?”

Emma was clutching the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, but she nodded at Killian anyway. They were twenty minutes outside of Storybrooke, and she’d been completely silent the entire time.

“I need answers. The man treated me like shit for two years, and now, 24 years later, he calls out of the blue?”

Killian really wasn’t sure what to say, so he merely rubbed Emma’s arm with the curve of his hook. She smiled at the gesture, and her body relaxed. One of her hands released the steering wheel, and she reached over to grasp his. He lifted it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

“The bastard isn’t going to die without me getting a thing or two off my chest, either,” she added with a bitter chuckle.

There was a time a few years ago that the anger radiating from her and the harshness of her words would have him worried. His mind would have gone immediately to his own bitterness towards his father and the darkness that kind of path leads to. But now he knew better. Emma had faced the darkness and risen above it. He also knew she had to face her demons on her own terms.

“I’m right beside you, Swan, you know that.”

Her face relaxed and she turned her palm to lace their fingers together. She lifted their hands and pressed her lips to the back of his before letting go so she could put two hands back on the wheel. She bore right and soon the Bug was heading down 295 to Portland.

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

Maine Medical Center was enormous, comprised of several different buildings. To make matters worse, parts of it were being renovated and construction zones were everywhere. They finally found the correct building, finally found a parking deck, and then walked what felt like a million miles to the ICU. Killian had never been anywhere but Storybrooke General, but this massive place had the same sterile smell and chilly air. He noticed Emma shivering and put his arm around her as they walked. She leaned into him, clasping his prosthetic hand in hers, his hook not exactly appropriate for the setting.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” she whispered.

“It’s what a husband does,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.

His quip at least elicited a tiny chuckle from her. They approached the nurses station for the ICU, and Emma told them who she was and that she was here to see Hank Gregory. A smiling woman in her sixties whose spectacles reminded him of Granny Lucas led them to the correct room, which looked more to Killian like a glass prison. She eased the door open and called to the patient in the bed with a voice only slightly above a whisper.

“Mr. Gregory, you have visitors.”

The man’s eyes blinked open, and he turned his head towards the open door. He was covered in wires and tubes, and things blinked and beeped all around him. The nurse pressed a gentle hand to Emma’s arm.

“I’ll let you visit.”

Emma simply nodded, and Killian could tell she would rather flee. But she let out a long, slow breath and then took a step closer towards the man in the bed. His skin was pale and looked as thin as paper, littered in bruises. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks sallow, and there was a yellowish pallor to his face. He was mostly bald with only a few wisps of dingy gray hair. Killian glanced at Emma. She dropped her arms to her sides, and her hands were balled into tight fists.

“Emma,” the man said on a struggled breath, “you came.”

“How the hell did you find me?” she bit back.

The man’s eyes blinked, moist with tears. He looked sad, resigned, but not angry or defensive. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you over the years. Trying to, anyway. You can be a hard girl to find.”

“Yeah, I kinda pride myself on it.”

He ignored her jab, and smiled at Killian. “And who is your young man here?”

“I’m not ten anymore, Hank. This isn’t my young man, he’s my husband.”

“Killian Jones.” Killian gave the man a slight nod, unsure if he should attempt to shake his hand or not. He glanced nervously at Emma, wondering if she was offended by his polite greeting, but her gaze hadn’t left the man in the hospital bed.

“Nice to meet you, son.”

“He’s not your anything.” Emma propped her hands on her hips. “How. Did. You. Find me?”

He sighed, his head sinking even farther into his pillow. “I saw you in the papers a few years back. Emma Swan Always Gets Her Man, that was the headline. I’ve done some, well . . . work with computers, so I -”

“You obtained my personal information illegally, right? Did you know I’m a sheriff now?”

Hank tilted his head. “No, actually, I didn’t. Funny thing, I was following your career in New York, even found out about your son -”

“You stay the hell away from Henry!”

Hank ignored her “-but then the two of you just . . . disappeared. I held onto your number, though. When I gave it to the nurse, I wasn’t sure if it would even work. I was even less sure that you would come.”

Emma’s chin was tilted, and Killian knew what that meant. “Why me?”

“You’re all I’ve got left, Emma. You were my daughter, for God’s sake!”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your daughter. I never was.”

“Maybe not by blood, but I loved you like my own -”

“You don’t know what love even is!” Emma was shouting now, and Killian glanced nervously at the door. He wasn’t going to stop her, though. Obviously, whatever was pouring out of her had been bottled up for years. Hank was obviously not long for this world, and he knew better than anyone that his wife needed to say everything that had been left unsaid.

Hank was crying now, tears catching in the wrinkles that marred his face. “I didn’t treat you right, I know that, but I did love you, Emma. I did.”

Emma shook her head. “Really? You loved me so much you spent all of the money on liquor while I starved? Loved me so much you spent every waking moment in that damn recliner with the tv on? Do you know how many times I had to clean you up after you’d puked all over yourself? How many times I had to haul trash bags full of empty bottles out to the curb?”

“I know, I know!” Hank was sobbing now, his voice breaking as he struggled to speak. “When Denine and I took you in, we were gonna do it together. We were so excited to give you a home. But then she died, and I . . . she was my life, Emma. I was grieving so badly that I lost myself in the drinking, and -”

“I was grieving too!” Emma shouted. “And I was only ten!”

An awkward silence fell then, the sounds of the hospital machines louder within it. Hank’s gaze trailed to the ceiling, and his hands picked nervously at the thin hospital blanket. He let out a shaky sigh before finally speaking again.

“I’m dying, Emma. My liver’s useless, my kidneys are failing.” Groaning, he struggled to sit up in the bed, his right hand shaking violently as he reached for the blanket across his lap. When he yanked it aside, Killian’s eyes widened in surprise to see legs that ended in blunted stumps where feet should have been. Emma, however, didn’t react at all.

“Look at me,” Hank choked out. “I hated myself so much, I literally killed myself. Didn’t give a shit about my diabetes, so I lost my feet.”

“Serves you right,” Emma replied coldly.

“You’re right, it does,” Hank agreed, awkwardly covering himself back up and collapsing against his pillows. “Denine would be devastated if she saw me now.”

“She was good to me,” Emma whispered, hugging her arms around herself.

Hank nodded, tears gathering in his eyes once again. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was before it’s too late. I hoped that maybe we could -”

“Fine,” Emma interrupted him, “you got to apologize, but if you think that means I’ll forgive you, then I guess you’re gonna die disappointed.”

Emma completely ignored the broken man as he sobbed in the hospital bed, turning instead for the door and striding from the room. Killian followed her, but he couldn’t help glancing back at Hank Gregory with sympathy.

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

Emma felt physically drained, yet a buzz of righteous anger still tingled along her skin. Killian, however, had fallen into a melancholy she couldn’t understand. They had decided to get lunch in the hospital cafeteria rather than drive around trying to find a place to eat. They had found a spot to sit next to a window looking out at a courtyard, and Killian seemed far more interested in watching the people walking past than the food in front of him.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, reaching out to grasp his hand, “what’s wrong?”

He gave her that smile that never fooled her because it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, love, really.”

As if to try and prove it to her, he picked up his fork and speared a piece of broccoli. Not very convincing, however, when it never reached his mouth. Emma sighed and put down her grilled cheese.

“Yeah right, nothing.” She regarded his brooding nervously, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Do you think I’m an awful person? To yell at a dying man like that?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. As difficult as it was, it had to be said.”

If anything, Killian’s words only made him look more depressed. Emma frowned. “But you think I should go back and forgive him?”

Killian shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to do in a situation like this. I confess, I wish you would, but . . . “

“But what?”

He finally met her eyes, dropping the fork with the uneaten broccoli. “Can’t you see it, Swan?”

Her brow furrowed. “See what?”

“Is there really that much difference between me and Hank Gregory?”

Emma couldn’t help it, a short laugh escaped her lips. “You can’t be serious.”

“A one-handed pirate with a drinking problem,” he grumbled.

“What?”

Killian rubbed his forehead, unable to look at her. “It’s what Pan said in Neverland when I told him you were finally seeing me for who I really am.”

Emma rolled her eyes, though she knew Killian was serious. “And you’re going to believe that psychopath?”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong. And here you are, refusing to forgive . . . an alcoholic with no feet.”

Emma’s eyes widened as his words sank in, then her face softened and tears moistened her eyes. “Oh babe,” she told him softly, grasping his hand again and rubbing his knuckles with her thumb, “you’re nothing like him. I’ve seen you drink too much, sure, but you’re not an alcoholic. You’ve never neglected me or Henry or Hope. You’ve done nothing but put us first.” She let out a long, slow breath, relieved when she saw a tiny glimmer spark in her husband’s eyes. “Hank ignored me, neglected me, yelled at me and called me names for two long, excruciating years.”

“Oh Swan,” he told her in a choked voice, “I’m not sure I was much better after losing Milah.”

“No, stop it,” she said firmly, grasping his prosthetic and his hand firmly in both of hers. “That may be true, but I know you, better than anyone. I have no doubt in my mind that if a child needed you, you would have been there. As a matter of fact, you did just that, for Neal - I mean Bae.”

“And then I mucked it all up like I always -”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Jones.”

He gave a small laugh, and ducked his head. Since she didn’t seem to be getting through to him, she got up, plopped right down in his lap and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

“Forget the past, remember? Isn’t that what we said on our wedding day?”

“Yes, but -”

“No buts. Hank Gregory was never a father to me. He sucked, okay? You, however, are the best father I could ever dream of for Henry and Hope.” She punctuated her words with a searing kiss, not giving a damn that they were in the middle of crowded, bustling Maine Medical Center.

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

Emma rubbed her palms on her jeans nervously as she watched the dying man through the glass of his room in the ICU. Killian put his arm around her and pulled her close.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

Emma nodded. “Yes. You were right, I did need to say those harsh words.” She turned to him and shrugged. “But they weren’t the only words. I guess I have too much of my parents in me.”

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

With a steadying breath, she stepped away from her husband and opened the door. She had thought Hank was sleeping, but she had been wrong. He turned towards the door and smiled when he saw her.

“I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Yeah, well . . . “ Emma shrugged as she approached his bed. She stepped to the foot of it and grasped the edge with both hands. “I was talking to my husband, and he reminded me that people can change.”

Hank’s eyes brightened with hopefulness. “I have changed, Emma, and I was hoping maybe I could get to know my daughter again.”

Emma lifted her hand. “Please don’t call me that, Hank. I found my real parents, and they’re wonderful people. My dad and I especially are close. He and I -” she chuckled, surprised when tears rose up in her eyes thinking of David. “Well, we’re a lot alike. My mom definitely says so about a hundred times a day.”

Tears rolled freely down Hank’s cheeks. “Oh, Emma, I’m so happy to hear that. Knowing that, I really think I can leave this world in peace.”

Emma blinked, startled. “What?”

“I was such a horrible parent to you, Emma, and you were so innocent. I never forgave myself, and I tortured myself after children’s services took you away wondering what happened to you. Wondering if you ever found a family to love you the way you always deserved.”

Emma nodded, the tears flowing freely on her own face. “I have. I really have.”

“Anyone else besides Henry, your parents, and that handsome husband of yours?”

“Yes,” Emma said, pulling her cell phone out of her jacket pocket as she came around to the side of the bed, “my baby girl Hope. Here she is on the day she was born.”

Hank’s trembling hand came out to bring the screen closer. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is, isn’t she?”

An awkward silence fell as Emma pocketed her phone. She shifted her feet awkwardly, wondering if she could really spit the words out she had come here to say.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Hank finally said.

Emma’s face softened as she held his gaze. “Yes, I do. Not for you, but for me.” She took another deep breath and reached out to grasp Hank’s hand. “Hank, I forgive you.”

The man let out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes closing as he whispered, “thank you.” He must have been saving that breath for Emma’s words because as soon as it fell from his lips, every machine in the room started beeping. Emma was shoved out of the way as doctors and nurses rushed in to attend to the dying man. She found herself back in Killian’s arms, weeping against his shoulder.

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

The drive home was a bit surreal with nothing but silence their companion back to Storybrooke. Emma didn’t think the feeling was grief - she’d known that, and God, she’d never forget it. Yet she did feel emotionally spent, and wrung out of all coherent thought. Killian didn’t seem concerned by her silence, content to watch the scenery go by and hum along with the radio. Occasionally, he would take her hand in his and give her a reassuring smile.

Emma was surprised when she saw the Welcome to Storybrooke sign - it was like she had driven home on autopilot. When they parked outside of their house, her heart flipped to see her dad’s truck. David came out on the porch before they had even exited the vehicle, Hope cradled in his arms.

“Snow needed to take Neal to t-ball practice so I -” David’s words were cut off when Emma launched herself into his arms. His free arm came up to cup his daughter’s head, and he was shocked to hear her crying against him. He looked to Killian with a startled expression and was relieved when his son-in-law gave him a small smile and a tiny nod that Emma was fine. Killian gently took Hope from him, grinning as the two month old squealed in delight. His arms free, David held Emma tighter.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” he finally asked her.

Emma pulled back, a smile lighting her face despite the tears. “Yeah, I am. Better than okay. I just . . . I love you, Dad.”

David swallowed back the lump in his throat. “I love you, too.”

She holds the hand that holds her down / She will rise above.

[vandorens-archive]

ten questions tag | i was tagged by: @mshelleys, @emdrabbles, @pe-ersona, @evergrcen and @septemberliterature. thank you so much, and i’m so sorry i’m getting to this so late!

everything is under the cut!

@mshelleys

i. if you could change the genre of one of your wips, what would you change it to and how would the story/characters change?

So, trahison already features a ghost and a brief stay at a manor. have i considered turning it into a full fledged horror because of that? perhaps.

ii. do you think of your characters as actors playing a part in a movie or as people in history actually doing things that effect the future?

i think of them as actors playing in one long, crazy, unpredictable play. 

iii. role swap your protagonist and antagonist but keep their personalities the same; how different would your story be?

honestly, not different at all, because when it comes to it, the subject of trahison’s antagonist (s) is pretty complex. 

iv. are any of your characters based on you, family, friends, or someone else you know?

oh, absolutely. my characters range between self inserts, to characters i wish i was more like, to characters that are essentially walking, talking, breathing love letters to the people i care about.  

v. how long have you had your main protagonist(s) of your wip(s)?

I’ve been working with marin, nate and ruby for years, long before they were even called that and were a part of a dystopian crime novel (don’t ask). antoine joined them soon after, followed a while later by beth and isadora, and miles was invented during the plotting stage. 

vi. do you prefer to write chronologically or just make a bunch of scenes and order them after they’re written?

it depends on what i’m working on and how serious i am about it, but if we’re only talking about trahison, then chronologically!

vii. imagine the problem in your wip is sorted out, how would the protagonist recount the story to their children if they asked?

with a far away look in his eyes and an uncharacteristic fondness in his voice, marin would turn to his children, and tell them how extraordinary his friends were during his university years—their zeal, their inquisitiveness, and conveniently leaving out the uncomfortable loyalty they all had towards each other, until time and life’s commands separated them. 

viii. favorite (non-spoilery) line(s) of your current wip(s)?

This small bit of description, albeit a little purple prose-y, is one that i’m very, very proud of.

“ The morning rain had made its grave in the dirt, the bittersweet smell—like exotic black tea—rising into the air. It was the night pluviophiles came to dance. If I think hard, I can still taste the ghost of the raindrops on my tongue and sense Beth’s radiating warmth beside me; its own ghost ” - trahison, chapter three

ix. if your wip was a movie, could you see it be done in the 70s, 80s, 90s, 2000s, or 2010s? why that decade in particular?

so, fun fact, i hadn’t decided when to set trahison (see: the big question mark in my plotting notebook) but i have recently made up my mind and decided to set it in the seventies! if it was a film, then i could see it being made in seventies france! very a la the dreamers.

x. are you able to just make up a story on the spot, or do you need help (plot generators or other outside influences)?

sometimes i’ll take the help of prompts or media, but otherwise i just come up with things on my own!

@emdrabbles

i. what do the names of your main characters mean? did you pick them for the meaning or another reason?

i picked the trahison characters’ names based on two things: how much it related to the character’s backstory or personality, and how pleasing it sounded out loud. here are the meanings of their names:

marin — of the sea

ruby — deep red; precious stone; behold a son

elizabeth — god is my oath

nathaniel — gift from god

antoine — priceless one; beyond praise

isadora — gift of Isis

ii. what book are you currently reading?

I’m currently reading the time machine by h.g wells!

iii. last sentence written?

“ When the end of the world comes — I’ll film it ” — copycat, or the one where i predict the future. 

iv. who are some of your faceclaims?

i usually don’t use faceclaims, but if i had to choose:

marin van doren (trahison) — timor simakov

eloi hill (psychophantia) — maxence danet fauvel

cass parker (penny lane) — monica tomas

v. gimme some worldbuilding facts!!

alright, here’s one: in the world of psychophantia, not only is the magic system and your powers controlled by your morals, but so is your social ranking, your education, and any future you may have—to an extent. 

vi. do you outline? if so, do you have a specific method?

i’m a plotter and only really work well with a solid outline, however, my outlines range from a series of messy, incoherent bullet points to meticulous scene-by-scene planning based around the three act structure. this post is my go to for plotting assistance! 

vii. favourite author?

Like every tumblr user ever, i love donna tartt and maggie stiefvater, but i’m also a huge fan of f.scott fitzgerald, agatha christie and vera caspary!

viii. what is your oldest wip?

trahison! It went through many, many changes — from changes in genre to changes in character names, and there’s still a possibility that it could change even further. 

ix. what is your favourite wip?

every wip i reblog under my #others. tag! You all are so damn talented!

x. where do you get your inspiration from?

everywhere around me! from conversations i have with people, from films and books i consume, from the music on the radio — i like that anything and everything can inspire me to create.

@pe-ersona

i. in one sentence, explain your current wip!

a group of secretive students attempt to become immortal, only to uncover the worst parts of themselves — and each other — as they do. 

ii. was writing your main interest or did you have other interests?

although writing is my main interest (see: my social media bio on every platform ever), i also like to journal, sew, cook and make videos! my interests usually do have to do with the intention of creation. 

iii. what’s your favorite genre to write? to read?

I love writing horror and mysteries. those are my favourite genres, but i also love reading a good contemporary romance!

iv. what is one goal you have for your wip this year? how’s that goal going?

to finish the first draft! so far, not so bad, though i do wish i could write more, but unfortunately, time constraints plus school restrict me from doing so. 

v. how old is your wip? or when did you start writing your wip?

trahison is nearly three years old, but i only started writing the current version of it a year ago. 

vii. what scene made you cry or laugh or both?

these lines made me laugh out loud the first time i wrote them:

“ Up the stairs stumbled Miles, my slovenly genius roommate. He grinned at the giggles and winked at the exasperated stares. 

The gall of him! 

I wanted to be him. 

He managed to find his balance enough to reach our dorm. I immediately stepped back to let him in, and to make sure I was in no association with his uncomposed state. Nate gave a disapproving look at his back as he staggered in. 

I took another step back, raised a pointed eyebrow, and closed the door ” — trahison, chapter three

vii. how many ocs does your wip have? who’s your favourite?

my main wip, trahison, has six main characters. out of the main six, my favourite has to be nathaniel. he is very much the epitome of pure, and sometimes i wonder how he ended up in the middle of such a dark plot. 

vii. you have a brand new idea for a wip, what do you do? 

brainstorm, brainstorm, brainstorm. scribble down whatever the hell pops up in my brain, attempt to link it together by a thin string of yarn, cross my fingers and hope for the best.

ix. you are having your first book-signing, where are you?

i’m in a small bookstore, nestled in a corner near the storage room. almost no one knows about this town, so the line is small but chatty, fans exchanging theories and analysing certain paragraphs. the sight of them makes me feel warm inside. 

x. you have the ability to live in any book, publishing or not, what would it be?

would it be too cliche to say the harry potter universe? other than that, other worlds i would love to be a part of is the world in my novel penny lane, or in midst of a detective story.

@evergrcen / @septemberliterature

i. how did you come up with your wip’s title? what does it mean in relation to the story?

okay, so i discovered the word ‘trahison’ after hearing my french teacher say it, and immediately knew i had to use it for something. ‘trahison’ means betrayal or treason in french, which is one of the main themes in the novel. 

ii. do you title your chapters? if so, what’s your favourite?

I don’t, but I would love to!!

iii. what’s a recent line you really like?

Not a very dramatic or noteworthy line, but here’s one from a poem i’m writing:

“ So the two of you get in the car, proceeding to have an argument with the radio ” — examples of easy solutions, or the one where the internet has no answers. 

iv. are there any writing-related quotes you really like?

“i think a lot of art is trying to make someone love you” — keaton henson

v. do you have an idea for a cover design for your story?

A black background with serif text, that’s it. It’s simple. It’s mysterious. It’s the type of vibe I want to exude. 

vi. what sort of au can you imagine your story being?

...dark academia au anyone?

just kidding. in all seriousness, though, i can see a royalty/political au for trahison, or a medieval fantasy au!

vii. which oc would be the most angry with you as the writer?

eloi. i really need to give that poor boy a break. 

viii. if you had to tell the story from a different pov, which character would you choose?

ruby! she’s the token enigma of trahison, so i think her point of view would be very interesting to see. 

ix. what would be your oc’s taste in music if they lived in our world?

OKAY let’s see:

marin — classic rock, so the who, queen, def leppard.etc

ruby — that one person who you’re pretty sure only listens to classical music, but is actually very attuned to modern day music. she would mostly listen to female singer-songwriters, so take lorde, marina, lana del rey, and other such artists. 

beth — take one look at her playlist, and you’ll see that ninety five percent of it is mitski, while the other five percent is bedroom pop. she would like very tender, calm, cry to in bed music. 

Antoine — same as marin, but add other modern day music artists with eclectic sounds, such as twenty one pilots, arctic monkeys, that sort of thing.

nathaniel — classical music, instrumentals, and film soundtracks make up his playlist. if it has sung words, he won’t listen to it. has little to no understanding of modern day music and is too scared to find out more about it.

isadora — 2000’s diva pop plays in the background of her life. rihanna is her go to whenever she gets to control the party. Don’t be surprised if ‘rich girl’ by gwen stefani starts playing in your head at the sight of her. 

x. what’s one personal goal you want to achieve by the end of the story?

finishing it with pride!

[jumpchain-drop]

Chapter 4.1: 0.0 Years

“….aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

SPLASH!

Ow.

“...ey… Hey… Hey…! Wake up…!”

My head was swimming as I slowly came to. I was soaked; I had washed upon a beach on a very green-looking piece of land. Various flotsam and jetsam were on the beach, though my eyes were drawn to the piece in the direction of the voice.

It was the closest, and it was a little bronze cage. Inside was a red ball of light with... fluttering wings.

“You’re awake!” came the voice from before. “You’ve been there for… I dunno how long, I was asleep when you washed ashore. Can you get up?”

“Just… give me a minute…” I got up. I don’t know why I was having trouble with this. For almost the last every ten years, I’ve been dropped roughly three times in a span of a week to a similar situation. Then again, even though I was winded after each of those, I was never hurt, and the voice said it was for his amusement. Maybe those were like… slapstick or something? I’m tangenting.

A few moments later, I got up to my feet and opened the cage door. The light inside flew out and fluttered around me joyously.

“Freedom!” it shouted. “Oh, I’ve been in that cage for weeks! I love getting to stretch my wings again!”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” I mumbled as I looked around at all the other stuff on the beach. On closer examination, there weren’t cut pieces of kelp or chunks of driftwood – they didn’t even seem to be damaged. The bottle looked the most like trash, and it had what looked like some kind of coupon inside it. Some strange red gem. A box that vaguely resembled a camera. A large shoulder bag, with the ends of apparently two scrolls sticking out, one a dull red and the other a more vibrant crimson. A fancy-looking hourglass, and a large old-looking mallet with an equally-old-looking shield right next to it.

“Oh, right, I haven’t introduced myself yet!” the ball stopped in front of me. “Thanks for letting me out! The name’s Twig! I’m a spirit of power – a fairy!”

I think I was mouthing “fairy” when it dawned on me. I turned to mouthing “Zelda” as I snapped my fingers.

I turned and looked around all my surroundings. Beyond the beach spread a vast ocean, stretching all the way to the horizon in every direction I could see it in.

Wind Waker.

I was in freakin’ Wind Waker.

“...So, are you going to tell me your name, or…?”

“O-Oh, my apologies,” I said, returning my focus to Twig. “I’m… Robert, sure, why not. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Same, Robert. You’re a weird one and really spacey, but you still rescued me, so I’m gonna stick around. So now that you’re awake, what are you gonna do now?”

“Well, for starters...” I looked around at the items that littered the beach. “I’m going to clean this up.”

“Is it all yours?”

“Knowing my life as I do, it probably is.”

“Good enough for me! I’m pretty strong, so I’ll help how I can!”

I rolled my eyes, but I appreciated the sentiment. I decided to get the bag first, for the obvious reason one gets a bag when collecting a lot of stuff.

When I picked the bag up, I found something was half-buried in the sand underneath it. “A giant scale…?”

Twig fluttered over to look at it. “I know this. This is one of the scales of the Sky Spirit, Valoo. Boy, you must be pretty mixed-up to be a Rito and not recognize it.”

“Wait, I’m a what?” I blurted out, but already my memories were stirring. I put my face to my hands and found my beak. How’d it taken me this long?

Felt my arms; no wings. Wait, were Rito wings always out? I reached for my memories of playing Wind Waker HD, but… dang, I played a lot of games just to experience them. Pokémon was something that was popular enough with me, and Banjo-Kazooie was important to my childhood (plus I had strategy guides for it), so I was able to recall details about those worlds with little hassle. But Wind Waker? I hadn’t played it until it came out on the Wii U; hell, I hadn’t played any Zelda game with anything resembling competency until the 3DS. I knew the critical path at a macro level and what each of the dungeons and bosses were, as well as the major characters, but I was drawing a blank on pretty much anything else.

“Seeing how out of sorts you are,” Twig said, “I probably need to fill you in on what should probably be obvious.”

“...Yeah, probably.” I mean, I wasn’t making any progress on my end.

“The first step to improvement is acknowledging there’s a problem.” He fluttered around the scale as he continued. “So, the Rito worship and attend to this super-old dragon, Valoo, that’s about as old at the ocean itself on their home on Dragon Roost Island. In exchange, the Rito get some of his scales. They do some kind of ritual with them, and that lets them grow wings so they can fly and get from island to island without a hitch.”

Right, that was coming back to me a little. “’Some kind of?’” I pressed.

“Hey, I don’t know everything or anything!” Twig answered, jerking up and down in an angry manner. “I have no idea how they use the scale. If you want your wings, we’ll probably have to take it to Dragon Roost Island and ask.”

“Works for me,” I said, putting the scale in the bag. Shouldering it – which was actually closer to the small of my back, but same effect – I started to pick up everything else. Twig actually wasn’t joking when he said he could help, but as he struggled to pick up the camera-box, it was clearly closer to exaggeration. I appreciate the thought.

When I picked up the hourglass, I took a moment to look it over. The sand that filled its bottom half reflected the sunlight with a beautiful gleam, looking less like sand and more like gold.

“Hey, Twig, you know anything about this?”

He fluttered around it for a bit, examining it. “I’m not sure… It feels familiar in some way, but I can’t put my finger on it. It definitely looks like a valuable treasure, though.”

“I’m kinda all about valuable treasures,” I said. “So I’m definitely holding onto it.”

It wasn’t too much longer before everything else was in there. I ruffled through everything and found that already inside the bag was the notebook. I wasn’t surprised in the slightest at this point. Like every other time, there was writing on the first page.

Layer 4:

You have ten years in this world.

Eight of your companions have been imported into native forms.

Two of your companions have landed in an alternate world. You will eventually be able to reach them.

Space will be made in the warehouse to ensure all purchased items will fit.

Entertain me.

“‘Ten years in this world’?” Twig asked from over my shoulder. “Are you sick or something?”

“No, I’m not- Wait… You can read this?”

“Yeah. Should I not?”

That was weird. As a test, I had previously shown the notebook to a couple of the Gray Jinjos, who unlike Team Firma I was certain were capable of reading English. However, they couldn’t make anything out but incomprehensibly cryptic scribbles, even the parts I had written myself – and my handwritng’s not that shit.

“No,” I answered. “I can’t explain it, but only me and a certain few people should be able to...”

Wait.

What the heck.

I just got here, I haven’t even seen a door yet, much less a locked one, and I’m pretty sure even without flawless memory I wouldn’t forget putting a fairy in a stasis pod.

“Hey, there’s more writing now!” said Twig. I looked back at the notebook.

Oh right, forgot to mention. One new companion has been chosen as able to join you without use of the stasis pod. You have the means by which to identify them. If they agree to join you, they will do so automatically.

“Oh come on, I’m not even allowed to choose my team anymore…?!” I grumbled.

“From everything you’ve said, I’m sure it’s talking about me,” Twig said. “Do you not want me, or…?”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” I said quickly. “Just… I’ve been jerked around a lot. I’ll explain more later, but… welcome to the team, Twig.”

“I won’t let you down, Robert!” His true fairy form was faintly visible in the light he admitted, and I saw him salute. “So, what’s the first order of business?”

“Well, if six of my companions are in this world, maybe some landed on this island too. Let’s go look for them.”

“Alright, I’ll follow your lead.”

“First off, any idea where we are, Twig?”

“I believe the residents refer to this place as Windfall Island. Dragon Roost is due east of here.”

“Wings are item number two. Let’s start exploring this place.”

Windfall Island is a large (for this world’s standard) and busy place, so finding stuff that was relevant information wasn’t easy. Most the Hylians – even though they don’t seem to call themselves that now – were nice enough, even though they kept assuming I was lost while trying to deliver the mail. To be fair to them, I was essentially carrying a mail bag around with me, but it made trying to figure out things that weren’t where people’s houses were a bit of a pain.

The first major bit of news I learned was that I was the second Rito on the island that no one had seen before. The first was female, a bit younger-looking than I did, but dressed in some expensive-looking clothing. She was last seen standing on the high cliff overlooking the ocean, the one with some kind of tombstone on it. For lack of better options, I decided to check it out.

I first saw her from behind when we got there. I was in more traditional – standard, I guess – Rito tunic, according to Twig. She, on the other hand, looked almost like royalty. Her body was covered with this almost form-hugging white dress. There was a short red cape flowing over her shoulders, more of a mantle than a cape, I guess. Her actual body, however, was far from mature; she honestly looked more than a little like a girl playing queen. The main things counting against this was her more-than-shoulder length hair that was mostly white but the tips were dyed red, and the halberd she was holding.

I started the uphill approach towards her. “Hi there-”

“Not another step.”

I stopped less from the command than from the sudden cold tone of it.

“...I didn’t think you would find me so quickly,” she said after a moment. “I would have put more thought into my ultimatum if I did. But I guess it’s better to rip that bandage off quickly.”

“That expression is stupid,” I blurted out. “Anyone that thinks it’s a better idea to rip a bandage off quickly doesn’t know how to take it off without uprooting more than a couple hairs underneath it.”

“I don’t think mouthing off to her is going to make her act nicer,” said Twig.

“Your new friend is right, Robert.” She started to turn around, revealing distinctive golden eyes.

“...Anita?”

“Correct.”

“...You look very nice.”

“Thank you, but flattery will not help you.”

“If she’s your friend, she’s kind of a mean one,” Twig whispered.

“Hmm, yeah...” I muttered. “She’s always been a little aloof, but...”

“It’s rude to just mutter to yourself while having a conversation,” Anita butted in.

“Doesn’t seem like much of a conversation to me,” I said. “What’s with the attitude, Anita?”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s a perfectly fine response to what’s been done to me.”

I wanted to ask what she was talking about, then I remembered Manaphy being Piddle before, as well as the idea of the two Terras that became one. I guess when you picked any arrival option besides the ones I was seemingly always shunted into, you got a background and memories to go with it. Problem was I had no idea what those backgrounds could be.

“OK,” I said. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere like this. How about we take a deep breath, assume I’m an idiot, and you explain your perspective on this?”

“...Very well,” she replied. “But any sudden moves and I will not hesitate to strike.”

“Fine by me.”

She turned back to the cliff a little and took a deep breath of the sea breeze before facing me again. “Indeed, my name is Anita. I was born thirteen years ago on Dragon Roost Island. I’m sure even the idiot you want me to assume you are knows about their own species?”

“I know about the Rito,” I answered. “They need a scale from the great dragon Valoo to fly.”

“They also operate the mail system around the Great Sea,” Twig added. “Taking everyone’s letters and packages from the mailboxes, taking them to Dragon Roost to sort them, and then delivering them where they need to go. It’s a noble profession, and it helps connect those that can’t leave their islands.”

“Unfair, isn’t it?” Anita said suddenly. “A whole race dedicated to serving other races – and as the Korok don’t use the mail system, only the Hylians benefit. Only the line of attendants to Valoo himself do not have to undergo a mail Rito’s training. As a hatchling, I often wondered why the Rito would allow themselves to be used like this, so I dug through our history, even the parts that the chief would rather everyone not see. What I found blew my mind: the Rito didn’t always exist. Long ago, the Great Sea was a vast land, a kingdom, and living in that land was the race we once were: the Zora.”

“I’ve heard about that,” I commented. “When the Great Sea rose, the Zora tribe went onto land and evolved over time to develop wings, probably with Valoo’s help, and in turn became the Rito. Which never made sense to me – the Zora were aquatic creatures, and given the indication of ‘sea Zora,’ I was of the impression they could also live in salt water. If anything, the land turning into a sea would it make it better for them.”

“Well, despite being an ocean,” Twig spoke, “the Great Sea is remarkably hostile to intelligent life. We can still drink it after filtering, but the only ones that can live in it are the Fishmen. The occasional dumb monster get by just fine too. Any other living thing, though, can only swim in it for about thirty seconds at most before sinking like a rock, no matter how good a swimmer they may be. Almost as if the Sea itself was pulling them into its depths. Almost no one goes swimming at all anymore. Not voluntarily, at least.”

“Oh gheeze…” I winced. That was fucking terrifying to consider.

“The fairy speaks true,” Anita said, almost hugging her halberd to her. “Such a shame the Zora had to become these forms to survive. Their swimming was of great importance to them. Did you know that the Zora did not wear clothing? So dedicated to swimming they were, they wanted nothing to hold them back. They often had extra fins to give the impression of clothing. The only Zora to have clothing was the Zora king in traditional garb of red cloak, who was often extremely bloated and unable to swim anyway. I had to model my dress after the appearance of one of the past Zora queens.”

“.,.Boy, you’ve sure researched this a lot.”

“It has been my obsession.” Her eyes certainly seemed mad enough when she said it. “So much about them was washed away in the flood that created the Great Sea. So much lost… So much to discover. And once I have it all… I’ll be able to restart the old rites… and bring the Zora back.”

“Given the whole ‘ocean that hates sapient swimmers’ thing going on here-”

“Silence!” She brandished the tip of the halberd at us just only a second longer than it took to confirm I wouldn’t continue talking. “The Zora will return, I will make sure of it. No matter the cost. What cost could there be left, given I was banished from Dragon Roost for my research and for hoarding any Zora artifact I could find, including this halberd. And once they have returned, I shall be their new Queen in their gratitude. I know I will fit the role; I know that I am a reincarnation of a Zora Queen. It’s in my very soul to retrieve my people.”

Wisely, I decided to think to myself how absolutely deluded she sounded about that instead of saying it out loud.

“Or at least I thought I knew,” said Anita, her voice seeming to switch tracks entirely, “until at dawn today, when I suddenly woke up to the truth of my reincarnation. That, in a previous life, I was a monster under the ownership of an unworthy young man, and not the Queen I was sure I was. A life that I have full memories of as if I’ve lived it myself. As you might imagine, this makes me very upset. Especially at the one that I am now certain is the reincarnation of that young man.”

I could feel Twig looking at me.

“...Given my circumstances, ‘reincarnation’ might not be the right word...” I eventually said. My concern for my life was probably pretty apparent given none of what I said, well, said so.

“Regardless!” She swept her halberd in a large gesture. “While I still have my goals as the Anita I am, the Anita I was – or perhaps also truly am – has her own will to carry out, and seeing as it involves raking you over the coals, I’m inclined to go along with it.”

“Boy, Robert, your choice of friends leaves something to be desired,” said Twig.

“Shut up, Twig.” I groaned. “The hell you going on about? Why the hell would you – either of you – want to be so antagonistic?”

“Then I’ll be as clear as I can manage,” said Antia. “I’ve listened to all the stories you’ve given us inside that warehouse. You and everyone else you brought along and changed, enough accounts and evidence of the truth. You’ve been going around for three decades, doing crazy things and fighting monsters and getting treasure. Meanwhile, I’ve known you for a total of a little more than two weeks, as the fourth trainer in a row to win my Ball in a card game.”

I felt my soul wince at that. Only now, after Terra’s talk on how Pokémon view equality, did I truly realize that winning a Pokémon from a hand of poker would probably be the worst way to get a new trainer from the Pokémon’s perspective. “You don’t think I’m your equal. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“At least you have that figured out,” she replied, her words too bitter to even really be sarcasm. “I am done with being another trophy. So you’re going to prove to me that you are my equal, my way.”

“And what way is that?”

“I made a deal with the voice in the elevator,” she said. The dangerous vibe that surrounded her was the only thing keeping my temper regarding the asshole voice from shooting my mouth off. “I selected my choices towards its fulfillment. You have these ten years to show me you are worthy of my loyalty. If you don’t… I’m staying here.”

“Staying here…?” My eyes widened with the realization. “You don’t mean…?”

“I do. Your little jaunts across the universe continue without me.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to… hate? No, it wasn’t that. Pokémon didn’t broil themselves like that. She wanted me to prove myself her equal. She was challenging me. “Fine. So how am I supposed to prove myself then?”

“It’s quite simple,” she answered. “I have plans to carry out. Selfish plans that will no doubt ruin many lives in these oceans. You will have to stop me. But I’ll keep getting stronger; I don’t think you can do it.”

“If it’s a battle you want, I can give you one,” I said, getting into a fighting stance. “Right now. I’m a Pokémon too now. I’m pretty sure I could give you more than a run for your money.”

“Oh I’ve no doubt you’d win,” she said, not breaking her composure once. “Which is why you have to prove your dedication further than a mere single battle. It would not show the strength you’ve claimed to use in those two decades I slept through. No, foiling a much larger campaign is the only way. Of course, it wouldn’t surprise me if you declined, if you decided my value to your team isn’t worth the effort of taking me down.”

“...” What could I say to something like that…? Did she… really think I didn’t care…?

“But if you do truly value me… come and get me.”

And then, before I could react, she hopped backwards off the ledge.

“Anita!” I ran over to the ledge shouting, when it was crested by a large puff of red smoke as a red-and-white streak shot curving into the sky. The resulting burst of wind knocked me to the ground and sent Twig reeling into a nearby wall. By the time we recovered, she was gone.

“...OK,” Twig said, dusting himself off. “I am so out of the loop here that I’m completely off the necklace. Nothing about that made sense. What the hell is your deal? And her deal? And the general deal? And what the hell is a ‘Pokémon?’”

I was still getting my thoughts together when Twig’s interjection broke me out of my thoughts. “...Let’s get something to eat, to discuss it over. There’s a good bit to cover...”

“...So, you’re from another world where this world is some kind of game. And you weren’t always a Rito, but a human – which is like a Hylian but less pointy ears. And the voice of a jerk in an elevator because I don’t feel comfortable with the word you used is doing all this, they take you to a different world every ten years, and you use the notebook to talk to them.”

“That’s the short of it.”

“...Wow. And I thought the entire idea of this place not always being an endless ocean was farfetched. I mean, there’s the legend on the wind about the kingdom that disappeared, but I never thought we were right on top of it.”

We were – well, I was – sitting on the edge of a fountain the most town square-like spot in Windfall, eating a seaweed wrap. It took me awhile to get somewhat used to the taste of seaweed. Twig was used to it already, and had the occasional nibble from it.

I swallowed my latest bite. “If it’s ever too much for you, it’s fine if you jump ship. Wordplay not intended.”

“No, I think my curiosity insists on me sticking around. Besides, you could use my help against that girl Rito.”

“How so?”

“All we need to do is find a few gems like the one you have already!”

“The gem?” I asked. I ruffled through my bag a little before pulling out the small red gem.

“Yeah, that one!” Twig bounced happily. “That’s a Power Gem! See, you can see the mark of Power on it!”

I turned it over. Indeed, there was some wavy white mark on it.

“As a spirit of power, I can make use of these Gems!” he continued. “Once you have enough, I can absorb the energy within them, and I’d be able to grant you new strength!”

“I’m certainly going to need all the strength I can get if I’m going to win over Anita. Do you know where the others are?”

“If I knew where they were, well, I certainly wouldn’t be in my current state. I know there’s twenty altogether, but that’s it.”

I sighed. “That makes sense enough… First one of my companions goes rogue for perfectly reasonable reasons and now this treasure hunt… Not that I don’t like a good treasure hunt, but I’m feeling overwhelmed… I really could use one of my girlfriends right about n-”

It was at that moment the second major bit of news suddenly attached itself to my face. In the resulting shouting and flailing, I fell backwards into the fountain with a large splash.

“Robert!” said the leaf-faced creature that stood in front of me. “I’ve been looking all over the island for you!”

“Personal space!” I shouted, lifting the deceptively-lightweight living branch off me. “Who are you?”

“I’m Terra!”

“Terra?!” I brought the creature back down to hug her. “Boy I’m glad to see you- OK I’d like to get out of the water now.”

During the time I was drying off, we exchanged situations and got everything sorted out. First of all, Terra was now going by the name of “Elmily,” as the Korok (a species I’m like half-sure I actively tried to ignore the existence of back home) had names derived from trees. The second was that she already had an idea of what Anita was up to already. Due to being an elevator and not a meeting hall, the voice had each of the eight imported companions come in and make their builds one at a time, and it was very generous with talking about what those before had selected. As such, she had a general idea of what everyone before her was doing, which turned out to consist of the five teammates I had prioritized. It also turned out this time the voice was deciding the starting location for each companion individually of my own, at random.

First new thing we confirmed was, far as she knew, she was the only Korok and Anita and I were the only Rito; everyone else had chosen to be a Hylian.

“If two companions landed in a different world,” she said, “one of them was probably Maria. Her location was selected to be ‘World of the Ocean King.’”

“Ocean King...” I pondered for a bit. “I think that name came up in the sequel, Phantom Hourglass. It’s certainly not in the Great Sea, I’m certain of that.”

I heard Twig mutter “Phantom Hourglass…?” but Elmily continued talking before I could respond.

“One of those after me must have gone there too. Though I’m mostly concerned with one location in particular...”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, Cody landed on Outset Isle...”

“I think that’s the tutorial island, he’ll be fine.”

“...but Bolt and Shadow landed someplace called ‘Forsaken Fortress.’ And judging by how your eyes are bugging out, my concerns are well-founded.”

With that knowledge, the matter of transportation became very important. Turned out everyone had gotten a free boat, but the non-Hylians also had a flight item – i.e. Valoo’s scale – that could be received for free by foregoing said boat. All three known non-Hylians had done so, including me, and I had no idea how to use mine. Twig wasn’t big about flying across the ocean by herself, so Elmily offered to fly her Deku Leaf across to Dragon Roost Island while the wind was blowing that way and find a local adult Rito that could help me with that while also not asking too many questions.

Before she did that, though, we came to the consensus that “Robert” really wasn’t enough of a Rito name to pass casual inspection. After a couple hours of debate and getting as much info about Rito names out of Twig as we could, we eventually settled on “Naskema.” Hopefully it doesn’t mean anything bad.

Year 1, day 2: Elmily has come back with a Rito named Quill. He’s a little surprised that someone as old as I am hasn’t already undergone gotten my wings, but true to the plan, he didn’t ask too many questions. Guess I owe him a favor or something for this? Honestly, I’m already tired of this island and want off it already. At least it has locked doors and I found enough rupees hammering down the grass to pay someone to build a doorframe for me, so it wasn’t like I was sleeping outside.

(The new plate has an icon that looks like the Triforce with the Wind Waker overlaid over it and I think I see a hint of lime green; it’s only day 2, so the colored wedge is practically invisible. As well, the only light on the roster board that’s red is Bitbit’s, so everyone else was imported, and the two Terra didn’t know the builds of were Tooty and Manaphy.

I tried calling in Bitbit like I did Shadow before to make the trip instead of Elmily, only for nothing to happen. When I demanded answers to the notebook, it replied I could only have up to eight active companions by default. That sucks, missing a flyer in this setting, but there’s not really anything I can do about it.)

In the intermediate time, I more examined my belongings and found that the two scrolls in the bag are treasure maps! X marking spots and everything! Spots that are all in the ocean. I’m certainly not going swimming in the Psychonauts death water, but surely a sea-faring society such as this has access to some kind of salvage mechanisms that could be used.

Quill’s getting the necessary things set up in the other room now. Hopefully this will be quick and painless.

Year 1, day 8: THIS WAS NOT QUICK AND PAINLESS

I AM NEVER GROWING WINGS EVER AGAIN

[spacebrick3]

Evenfall University: Ring of Fire Part 2

Part 2 of Mira’s adventures at Evenfall, and we’re introduced to some more of @note-katha‘s 1) amazing world of Evenfall, and 2) the main characters of her story!

Her classes, like her time at the university, don’t get off to a flying start. Hard for them to when she doesn’t believe in the course material. Which is why we find her now arguing with one of the professors: one Nina Wyst, Th.D (Doctor of Thaumaturgy), teacher of the Introductory Second Circle class at Evenfall.

“I don’t care whether or not you think I’ll be able to ‘wield the powers of creation and destruction at will’!” she scoffs, standing next to her desk and slamming a palm onto it, “because those don’t exist!”

“Miss Niemczyk,” and at least she can pronounce her name right, “that’s really not my concern. My subject doesn’t hinge on your belief, though your grade may. The midterms and final exams will test your abilities to perform with at least a modicum of power within your given circle - Second, I hope, for all of you, because if not you’re in the wrong class-“

She refuses to take the [obvious] hint to sit down and stop arguing. “So as long as I find a good special-effects crew, I’m set?”

“You will be taking the exams alone, Mira. Otherwise, it would be considered cheating.” She gives a lazy grin, tilting her chair back by another degree. “Look. You chose to come here, why not gain something from it? It’s not my problem if you believe in it, but it’s certainly yours.” 

With a snap of her fingers, a marker appears in her hands, and Wyst turns to the board behind her. The rest of the students react half a second later, muttering among themselves. “Second Circle magic, as I’m sure you’re aware, is the highest circle of magic people are gifted with, as well as the highest we are permitted to access. Highest in power, as it were, though lowest numerically, because of…numbering systems. Those old Babylonians were onto something, if you ask me-“

“Ever heard of Clarke’s third law?”

She sighs. “I try to encourage my students to be questioning, and you are succeeding admirably. Too admirably. Be quiet and let me do my job as a teacher, please.”

“‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic’ - Clarke, in 1973. You tell us that what you do is magic - well, I don’t believe you. If you went around and showed a laptop, or a movie projector, or - or a car, or a plane, to people from 3000 B.C. then they would say it’s magic, too.”

“You’re interested in technology, then, Mira?” she asks, pinching her nose.

She is, although normally people mean computers and if(else) statements and tiny circuit boards when they ask that. ‘Technology’, to them, is just whatever the newest widespread innovation is, and those are all in computers. They’re done and over aeronautical engineering - except in the fuckin’ military, and she wants nothing to do with that.

“I guess?” is the best she can offer.

“Fine, then. Consider the Second Circle…materials science, of a sort. 3-D printing, engineering, chemistry - whatever field you want to say we’re talking about. After all-“ she smirks- “I am not telling you about magic, but instead about technology. Is that acceptable?”

“Um-“

“Because if it’s not, I may have to ask you to leave. I can only tolerate so many disruptions in my class, Miss Niemczyk, and while I applaud your spirit I find it misplaced. Understand?” Getting a glare - but silence, also - in response, Wyst spins the marker in her hand and turns back to the board. “Great! Before we have a more formal introduction to the magic, or ‘tech’, there is some administrative paperwork to handle - if any of you do manage to injure yourselves be aware that you may have a tricky time getting insurance to cover it…”

Mira sulks - there’s no better way to put it, even to herself. She slumps back in her chair, crossing her arms and muttering indistinctly under her breath. snatching the prerequisite forms from the poor front-row student assigned to pass them out with a grumble. Yes, you can call it technology, but that doesn’t - why do you choose to call it magic, then? she demands, in her inner world where she can win the argument. What do you gain by associating it with the mystical, huh? 

Unfortunately, winning the argument with herself does not put her in a better mood, or even a less argumentative one. You ever heard of Klass’ law? Because that’s one thing you didn’t address: any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from a rigged demo, and so is your ‘magic’. Just because you call it something different-

The girl next to her, in a glaring orange sweater - it’s not even pastel, sweaters are supposed to be pastel - taps her on the shoulder. “Hey - aren’t you the one - didn’t you say the same thing earlier?”

“That magic doesn’t exist?” Mira gives her a suspicious look, this unknown factor with dark brown skin and a full page of notes already scribbled on her page. “Were - were you taking notes of that argument?”

“No!” she whispers, guilty look giving her away. She’s even worse of a liar than Mira, who at least knows enough to deflect the conversation. “Maybe…look, it was interesting! It’s a compliment!” Even as she says it, though, she flips the pages in what she a) probably hopes is a casual manner, and b) definitely isn’t. “So? Are you the one from orientation?”

No use in denying it. She hoped she’d be noticed, wouldn’t she? She supposes she has only Samantha to thank for the whole school not already knowing her name, and whoever asked that question about the First Circle. “That’s me.”

“Why’d - I mean - what magic do you have? Or…um…” She flounders, realizing the problem too late. “…tech…”

She lets it go on longer than it needs to, a small smile creeping back onto her face. “I’m in here. Only two choices, really. Take a guess.”

Her gaze takes in Mira’s flame-red hair, the burn marks that still creep up her arm (when she finds whoever ran Steve’s Sulfur, they will die, and it will involve copious amounts of their flawed product), and her sullen mood. There’s only one conclusion she could come to: “Destruction?”

It’s the wrong one. “Guess again.”

“You’re…creation? Hey!” She brightens. “I’m creation, too!”

“Statistically, half of this class is,” Mira says flatly. “Nothing special.”

She waves it off. “So, uh, I know your name - Mira, I assume, unless she got your name wrong - but you don’t know mine, obviously. I’m Kalavathi - but you can call me ‘Kal’, everyone does - Nayri.” Kal holds out her hand, realizes it’s currently holding a pen, and quickly swaps hands. “Nice to meet you…?”

She sighs. “Course. Mira Niemczyk, don’t bother spelling the last name.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Their class is still doing nothing, Wyst going over the particulars with a nervous-looking student. “Hey - want to come over for dinner tonight? I think we’re - well, I’m positive we’re probably making pasta again because it’s what we can cook and what we like. But there’s always extra, too, and our other roommate…um…” Her mouth tightens. “She doesn’t generally come to dinner with us, so the invitation is open to you.”

It’s - an easy choice, actually. Harmony and Aishwarya and Nitya have no cooking skills - probably didn’t need them, at their fancy prep school in California - and her meal options are limited there. Meal options and conversation options, given that they all know each other and seem more content to talk within their group. Her own room - it’s one thing she brought from home, snacks, and the food truly is bigger in Texas - is just lonely. “Sure. Why not?” “Sure. Why not?”

Kal beams. “Great! See you at six!”

They separate after that, Kal heading to her own classes and Mira to Astronomy. It’s a useless class until it can start meeting at night - which the professor promises her is soon, just the moment they know her classmates can tell Mars from Mercury. But for now absolutely nothing is happening, which gives her the chance to fuck around on her laptop (she told herself she was going to get work done, and then she didn’t).

Still, she manages to lever herself out of the dorm and trudge over to where Kal said hers was, the weather only a light drizzle of rain. She doesn’t think she’s seen the sun since she arrived, and is almost starting to believe Harmony’s theory of magical rain. Almost. 

She stops. Starts. Turns the other way, to check who she saw leaning uncertainly against the wall. “Samantha? Is that you?”

Her glasses almost fall off her face - they’re horrendously unbalanced, sliding down every time she so much glances at the ground. Samantha does a lot of that, it seems. “Yes - Mira, I wasn’t expecting to see you…”

“It’s not that large of a campus, we’d probably run into each other-“ Wait. “How do you know my name? You told me yours but I never told you mine,” she says with a frown. 

“Oh! I, uh, I heard you shouting,” she mutters. “You…are very loud, sometimes. You were shouting, and saying that magic didn’t exist - like you did earlier. She said your name - Mira.”

“And you were just hanging around outside my class?”

“I - I had nowhere else to go,” she says with a hint of something indescribable, an echo of Mira. “The Third Circle class doesn’t start yet…and where else should I have been? You’re the only person I know - that I met - and-“ She drops her head in her hands. “Right. I will stop talking, and just leave, because clearly I am just making things - worse.”

Mira catches her. “Yeah, you’re not getting away that easily. Come on.” Her arm is cold, though it’s probably just the rain. It’s only September, it should be 80 degrees, and instead it’s 50 and wet, she grumbles to herself. “You said you didn’t have anywhere to go, right? I’m extending an invitation - of an invitation, but she did say there’s always extra-“

“I don’t understand,” she says uncertainly.

“Sam - I’m going to call you Sam, unless that’s not alright…” She waits, but the other girl doesn’t give her a response. Probably alright then, she thinks. “I’m heading to food with some not-yet-friends, and you are joining me.” It’s not quite a request, but Sam doesn’t object, and so the two of them arrive at the Melpomene rooms without a problem. Without a conversation, either, because Sam seems happier to stay quiet.

It’s only when she gets there she realizes she has no idea which of the rooms in the imposing - smaller than the others, but no building in Evenfall looks truly modest - structure is home to Kal and her roommates, nor is there an easy way to find out. “You wouldn’t happen to know their address?” she says, looking around the front room to see if there are mailboxes, labelled with name and room number.

“What did you say her name was?”

“Kal - Kalavathi Nayri. Why? Do you know her?” she asks, frowning. No. She can’t, because she said Mira was the only one she knew. “Which dorm are you in, anyways?”

“Nayri,” she says to herself, turning the name over. “Nayri. Creation magic. Creation magic is…” [Sam’s] feet take her, almost of their own accord, into the center of the room. “This level. Somewhere around to the left, I think. Depends where the corridors will take us.”

Mira follows her gaze, but can’t see anything. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You can’t see it? It’s a…green glow, that of creation - only one in this whole dormitory. Perhaps only those gifted with Third Circle, mind or soul…those who see the spirits of magic that inhabit Evenfall. Everyone has one…” She blinks. “It doesn’t matter. Where can we find the suite?”

She laughs. She can’t help it. “You can see people’s fuckin’ spirits, but not the doors? Over there,” she says, pointing. “It’s labelled. Suite number one, and there’s only two. Don’t think we’ll have to worry about corridors.” She knocks, feeling that there should be something a little bit more to it. “If we’ve got the wrong people, though-“

Her warning doesn’t get finished - she doesn’t know how to finish it, either - because it’s Kal who opens the door. “Oh! Hi, Mira! Welcome to the tragedy dorm, but don’t worry! As far as we know, nobody has died here!”

“Yet,” she says, glancing inside. It looks almost identical to hers, though already starting to bear the touches that will make it a space to live in - a stack of notebooks tilting dangerously on the table and pencils already scattered on flat surfaces. “The ‘tragedy dorm’?”

“They’re named after the Muses,” she answers. “Ours is Melpomene, who deals with tragedy. I think they all are, which makes sense, the Fifth Circle at least is supposed to be artistic,” she says. “And…I don’t know your name,” she continues, pointing at Sam. “Or who you are.”

She leaves the statement open, the implicit question that Sam doesn’t pick up on. “Um…alright…?”

“Introduce yourself,” she says, poking her in the shoulder. 

“Samantha Venera, Third Circle,” she says automatically. “And you’re Kalavathi Nayri, Second Circle, creation. Who are the other two people - there is…violet? Indigo? Fifth Circle, time, and a bright orange - voice, I think.” She frowns. “Creation, time, and voice, an interesting combination.”

Both Mira and Kal give her a strange look. “How - yes, but-“ Kal starts.

Sam smiles. “You’re at a magical university, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be expecting the unexpected? You have a witch in there who can meddle with time itself, perhaps you should broaden your horizons.” An uncomfortable moment of silence follows, her gaze flicking between the two of them. “I’m sorry. Perhaps - never mind.”

“Right then.” Kal doesn’t let it bother her for long. “We have food inside, and I’m sure you’ll be interested to meet my friends. And I’m, um, sure they’ll love to meet you - maybe don’t tell them about their, auras or whatever you’re looking at…”

She doesn’t. “Ardis Akiya-Blair-“ The tall, almost stretched-looking boy at the end of the table gives a wave- “Juli Cárdenas Rivera Silva Vicente-“ Next to him is a girl, slightly shorter (‘shorter’ in this case still towering over Kal, Mira, and Sam), in a mishmash of bright colors that somehow works - even if she can’t look at it directly for more than ten seconds. “This is Mira Niemczyk, from the Second Circle class-“

“Two things: Juli is overrated, call me Jules, and two, aren’t you the one from-“ Jules starts.

“Yes. Problem?” she asks with a pointed glare.

“I was just - well, anyway. Pasta is done, and it’s - not getting any warmer, so let’s eat first?” She’s deflecting, but she doesn’t care because a) she doesn’t want to be known as ‘that one person from orientation’, and b) it does look like good food. Mira takes her bowl with a mutter of “thanks”, the others around the table following as they get theirs.

It doesn’t last long. “So you really don’t believe in magic?” Ardis asks around a mouthful of pasta. “Even now that you’ve had your first classes and all?”

“Am I supposed to?” she replies acidly. “Why should I believe in it? It’s not made our lives better, it’s not being used to - stop wars, or end poverty, or do any of the things magic is supposed to be able to. It’s just for people here in the backwoods to fuck around with, yeah? And I’m not saying society got almost infinitely better when people, as a whole, stopped believing in magic, but…it did.”

“…but none of that denies that it’s real, does it?” He shakes his head, shooting an odd glance at Sam. “Like…being hungry is inconvenient, and if we were able to stop it’d be better for everyone, but - I mean, if we didn’t believe that we were hungry when we were we’d all be dead.”

“And yet magic isn’t essential for life, so…”

Juli clears her throat. “Ignoring the socioeconomic implications of magic - there is a more interesting question: Mira, we’re going to the forest probably tomorrow-“

“Are we?” Ardis asks, at the same time Kal says “Don’t tell her that!”

“What? It’s not like she’s going to report us - are you?” she asks, expression changing in a heartbeat. “You’d better not, and you-“ She jabs a finger at Sam- “um - I don’t know you, but Mira says you’re alright, so don’t.”

“You can trust me,” Sam answers, with another slightly-unnerving grin. “And I don’t know what you are expecting me to report - it’s not against the rules-”

“So you’re going to the forest?” Mira says. “What does that have to do with me?”

Juli looks guilty now, tapping out a rhythm on the tabletop. “So, obviously, we’re warned against going in the forest because of any dangerous magical creatures there. They’re, um, apparently a little more dangerous than the regular types of creatures, although that wasn’t going to stop us-“

“And me?”

“Well - do you believe these ‘magical creatures’-“ she makes the air quotes- “exist?”

“No.” Her pride, at least, won’t let her say otherwise.

“Exactly! There are some, uh, theories floating around that say they’ll avoid you if you don’t believe in them - it’s why no one from outside Evenfall gets killed - probably. So we’re inviting you with us to try and not die to them-“ 

Kal leans over, tapping her on the shoulder. “We are?” she whispers, not quietly enough.

“Yes! We are now!” she whispers back. For a supposedly dangerous expedition, if the forests of Evenfall are so dangerous, not a lot of planning seems to have gone into it. Not that college students would necessarily plan ahead for anything, regardless of its danger. “So - you in?”

Mira sighs. “Sure-“

“I’m joining you,” Sam says.

“What - I mean, we weren’t planning-“

“Too bad,” she says with a smirk. “You invited Mira to help protect you - there are things in the forest, things of spirits and spectres that I don’t think she’ll protect you from. I can help you - and I will, find what you want to find and avoid what you should.” She shrugs. “And though there’s no official rule against it, I doubt the professors or the TA here would be especially pleased if I were to report you.”

Ardis looks the least convinced. “I suppose there isn’t any way out of this.”

“Sorry. No.”

“Right, then.” He sighs. “Forest tomorrow it is.”

Tag list: @lady-redshield-writes, @no-url-ideas-tho, @ratracechronicler, @ken-kenwrites, @ravenpuffwriter, @cirianne, @lonelylibrary @maxbeewriting, @endlesshourglass, @thebloodstainedquill,  @anip-ocs, @note-katha @dreamwishing, @incandescent-creativity, @fatal-blow, @danafaithwriting, @wri-tten, @writingwhithotchocolate, @katekyo-bitch-reborn, @klywrites and @dogwrites!

[hymn2000]

Freeze - MCU AU Fanfic - C16

(Title subject to change)

Previous chapter(s): 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Story synopsis:- When a burst gas main destroys everything and leaves Peter with nothing, the Stark’s take him in. Thrown together by necessity, they then need to try to keep it together and build a new life. Devastated by loss, Peter doesn’t make things easy for them, and Loki and Tony struggle with their own grief and the responsibility of having someone completely dependant on them.

Chapter description:- Peter accepts his place at St Hendricks, but as the first day approaches, he feels like he’s made a horrible mistake

Story warnings/themes: character death, hurt/comfort, trauma, grief, depression/mental health issues, bullying, corporal punishment

Relationships: Frostiron (Loki x Tony) (romantic), Tony and Peter (platonic), Loki and Peter (platonic)

From the same AU as Called To Be A Rock

Chapter 16 - It’s Complicated But Understand Me

-

Tony let Peter think. He was busy thinking too, but more about his absent husband and less about the school. To him, the school was easy. It was a great school and they wanted Peter. Giving the kid a choice was a bit of a trust exercise: he knew that if he had any sense, he'd accept the place. 

Loki was far more tricky. He'd sent a few postcards, all with impersonal messages, and from locations with little to no correlation. At first it had seemed like a redo of the honeymoon, but soon the postcards came from other places. He never wrote more than a sentence, and he never gave a return address.

Tony didn't know where to start. Loki had, on occasion, disappeared for a day or two. But when he did this, he always took his phone, kept in touch, and told Tony exactly where he was. He never went out of the country without prior notice, and he had never done anything like this before. Tony couldn't guess where he was going to go next. Truthfully, he wanted to leave him to it, let him sort himself out. But, he also wanted more than one line scribbled in a different language on a postcard. He wanted to know he was ok. He wanted to know that he was definitely coming back soon. He'd promised in his initial letter, but that didn't mean anything. Even if he kept to his promise, he might not be back for years. That was something Tony had to face up to. His husband had walked out on him, and he didn't know if he was going to come back. And if he did come back, he didn't know whether he'd be back for good. 

- 

Peter spent most of Saturday and Sunday at the library. One benefit of not being at school was that he could go there. Tony never had a problem with it, provided that he was back at a reasonable time. Peter had grown fond of Abby, the librarian, and was happy spending his days talking to her, and sitting in the armchair reading and forgetting the world.

- 

On Sunday evening, Tony sat down in the kitchen with Peter. 

"Have you made a decision about St Hendricks yet?" 

Peter shrugged. He'd been trying not to think about it. 

"You know we have to let them know tomorrow. You need to decide. It's high time you were back at school anyway. You've been sitting around the house for long enough" 

"I haven't been sitting around the house: I've been at the library" Peter pointed out. 

"Don't be pedantic. Now, please, have another think about St Hendricks" he checked his watch. "It's six o' clock now. I want an answer by no later than eight. Ok?" 

Peter nodded. 

"Ok. Off you go, then" 

Peter went off to his room and flopped down on the bed. He thought about St Hendricks. He thought about the head teacher and the boarding master and the legality of corporal punishment and the uniforms and the social class. He thought about the science lab and the drama studio and the swimming pool and the locker room. He thought about the old wooden doors and the stone walls and the sports fields. 

And he thought about Tony. He might be pretending everything was ok, but Peter still heard him crying at night. He knew Tony was heartbroken. And he also knew he was doing his best despite that. He thought about the look on his face while they were looking round St Hendricks. He thought about how impressed and hopeful he had seemed. 

Part of Peter wanted to reject the school. He didn't want to be lumped in with a load of rich kids and strict teachers. He didn't want to sit in a classroom day after day pretending he cared about schoolwork and trying to keep up appearances. It would save Tony money too. Peter had seen the list of school fees they'd been given, and he'd been surprised and a little bit horrified to find just how much they were. He knew Tony was rich, unbelievably so, but he still didn't understand how he could be happy shelling out thousands of dollars a term for his education. Maybe he was mad. 

- 

Peter stayed quiet all through dinner. He stayed quiet while he washed up and helped tidy the kitchen. He stayed quiet when they went to the living room and put the telly on while Tony started looking at spreadsheets on his laptop. He kept an eye on the time. 

At eight o' clock, Tony closed his laptop and turned to the boy. 

"It's eight o' clock, sweetheart" 

Peter looked at him. He really, really didn't want to go. He swallowed hard, and opened his mouth to say so. 

"Ok" 

He surprised himself, and Tony looked at him. 

"Ok? Is that a yes?" 

Peter paused. He wanted so badly to shake his head. But he looked at Tony, and he knew just how disappointed he'd be if he did. So he nodded. 

"Yes. I-I'll accept the place" 

Tony moved his laptop aside and hugged the boy close. "We'll get you kitted out this week then, son" 

Peter rested his chin on Tony's shoulder and closed his eyes. This was a mistake, he just knew it. It would be just like the last school. 

- 

Peter did hope that Tony might change his mind. He woke up late on Monday morning, and went through to the kitchen, still half asleep. 

"It's all sorted" Tony said, smiling at him. "You're starting next Monday" 

"What?!" Peter exclaimed, suddenly wide awake. "But I'm not ready! It's too soon!" 

"Peter, darling. You've had time. Your bruises are mostly gone. We'll get your uniform and everything else this week, and we'll be fully prepared and ready for you to start"

"But-" 

"Ah, now don't argue with me. You have to start some time, and I rather think sooner is better than later" 

Peter tried to think of an excuse. "But what about Loki?" 

This comment stopped Tony in his tracks. He was quiet for a moment, but then swallowed very hard and looked at him properly. 

"We don't know when he's coming back, if at all" Tony said. "We can't wait around just so he can send you off in the morning. No, you'll start on Monday"

"No! I don't want to!" 

"Peter, you will start at St Hendricks on Monday morning and that's final!" 

He said it so firmly that Peter dare not argue. 

"I'll drive you, of course. It's a little far to walk, so it'll be lifts every day" Tony said. "They'll need to go through some stuff with you on Monday morning so we'll aim to get there early. Hey, I'm up to date with my work, so maybe we should go out now and get a few bits" 

"Oh. Um, well, I was gonna go the the library" 

"Ok, ok. Tomorrow then?" 

Peter nodded. He supposed they'd have to go sooner or later. 

- 

The next few days were an uncomfortable mad rush. Tony had a great time - Peter did not. He was pushed from shop to shop and grew more and more stressed by the minute. He got stroppy with Tony, but Tony didn't let it put him off. He stayed calm and fairly happy for three days of shopping, excited by the prospect of Peter starting at a school like St Hendricks. 

On Thursday night, Peter sat on the bed and looked at all of his new things. He felt that, by rights, he should be excited. But he wasn't. He looked at his new shoes and satchel and pencil case and stationary set. He looked at his new notebook and water bottle and trainers and football boots. He looked at his tennis and badminton rackets, at his lacrosse and hockey sticks and his various PE uniforms. He looked at his actual uniform, hung up on the wardrobe, with its painfully smart shirt and trousers, it's burgundy and navy striped blazer, and its tie. There was no mistaking that it was anything other than a private school uniform. He was adamant that he'd never wear the hat. 

He looked at all the extras, the new socks and underwear and an expensive wrist watch. He looked at the towel and PE kit bag and the hand sanitiser and box of plasters and gloves and boiled sweets. He looked at his new wallet and tin of shoe polish. 

And he hated all of it. 

- 

With all the shopping done, Peter escaped and went to the library on Friday. Abby quickly realised he was upset. 

"What's the matter, chicken?" 

"I'm starting school on Monday. Dad's gone and got me a whole load of new stuff. I know I should be grateful, and I kinda am, but I just, I'm just..."  

"Scared?" 

Peter nodded. "What if it all goes wrong?" 

"What if it doesn't?"

Peter blinked. "I really don't want to go" 

"I know, chicken. But you don't have a choice. You need your education" 

"I know. But I don't think I can. Everything is still so difficult" 

"You need to let yourself heal" she gave him a hug. "When my Martha died, God rest her soul, I spent a long time refusing to recover. Once you make the decision to move on, it'll get easier. It will still hurt, and you'll still miss her, of course you will. But it will move to the back of your mind. Maybe having something to occupy yourself will help" 

"I hope you're right...”

“But you don’t think I am, do you?”

Peter shrugged slightly. “It’s all so hard. I didn’t realise I was so weak until it happened”

“I don’t think you’re weak. You’re allowed to struggle, and you’re allowed to grieve”

Peter sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to go. I’m just fed up”

“Of course you are. Is that why you come here? To escape from it all?”

“Kind of. Being here, that first time, it was the happiest I’d felt since the accident. It’s kinda comforting... It is an escape though. I don’t like home much right now. I’ve got to go to the doctors this afternoon too. I don’t want to do that either”

“We all have to do things we don’t want to do. Sometimes those things we don’t want to do turn out to be for the best. You just have to stick at it. Things do get better, you know”

-

Tony picked Peter up from the library in time to take him to the doctors for his jabs. In the car on the way home, he brought up one of Peter’s most hated subjects.

“The school has registered you with their on-site therapist”

“What?! But dad, I said I don’t want to talk to anyone!”

“Yes, and that’s exactly why I think you should. It really does help. You’ll have two sessions a week, and then it’ll go down depending on your progress”

Peter stared at him. “Please don’t do this! Call them up and say you’ve changed your mind”

“No. Now stop arguing. It’s about time you learnt how to do as you’re told”

Peter folded his arms over his chest and turned away from him. Tony sighed.

“Look, sometimes when I make you do things you don’t want to do, it really is for the best. We need to be proactive about your recovery” 

Peter didn’t say anything.

“Look, kid, I care about you. I’m only trying to do what’s best”

“Have you had any more postcards?”

Tony sighed heavily. “The postman hadn’t been when I left”

-

The postman had been when they returned to the house. There was a padded envelope on the doorstep. Tony opened it, and found another smaller padded envelope, addressed to Peter. 

“Here, this is yours” he handed it to the boy, taking the postcard out of the big envelope.

It wasn’t quite a postcard, although the back was set out like one. It was a photograph of Pooley Bridge. There was no real message this time, just ‘Loki xxx’ written on the back.

“What does it say?” Peter asked.

Tony showed him. “What’s in yours?”

“Oh. Um”

Peter opened the envelope, and found a big bag of flying saucer sweets. A note on scrap paper was taped to it, which read ‘sorry’ in Loki’s familiar writing. Peter read that one word over and over.

“He hasn’t forgotten” Peter said eventually. 

“No” Tony said, looking back at the photograph in his hand. “He hasn’t”

-

Peter lost it on Sunday night. Absolutely, flat-out, lost it. 

“Hey hey hey, come on now, what’s all that noise about?” Tony hugged him tight, rubbing his back. “Come on now. Have you hurt yourself?”

“I don’ wanna go to school!”

“That’s what this is about?” Tony took a very deep breath. “Darling, come on, quiet now. It’s gonna be fine. There won’t be another Ryan”

“How do you know?!”

“I just do”

He didn’t, of course: he just hoped. He needed Peter to settle. He was willing to look after him, but all of the disturbed nights from Peter’s nightmares were beginning to take their toll.

“Listen to me, Peter. If you keep convincing yourself that it’s going to be horrible and that you’ll hate it, then it will be, and you will. So you need to go in with an open mind. It could be fun?” he tried.

“How could it possibly be fun?” Peter cried. “I don’ wanna go to some jolly-hockey-sticks posh-nob school”

“You’ve already accepted the place. You’re going. I know you’re scared, and I know you’re hurting, but you haven’t got a choice. Come on, stop crying now. You need to have a bath and an early night”

“What’s the point?”

“Peter, don’t be difficult” 

“I’m not being difficult!”

“Yes, you are” Tony said, holding him at arms length. “Stop”

Peter sniffed, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve. He kept his hand up by his mouth, trying to calm down. 

“Breathe” Tony went over to the sink, filling him a glass of water. “Here”

Peter took the glass and took a gulp.

“Ah, you’ll give yourself hiccups. Just sip it. Slowly”

Peter did as he was told. He was tired out.

“Good. Right. Sit down”

Peter did. Tony sat next to him, stroking his hair back over his sweaty forehead.

“You’re so thin now, son” he said sadly. “What happened to my sparky little lad who could quite easily eat me out of house and home?”

“A building fell on his head”

Tony flinched slightly. “Peter. It’s nearly April now”

Peter knew what he was getting at. The accident had happened nearly three months ago. Sometimes it felt like much longer. Sometimes it felt like it had only happened last week.

“The therapy sessions will help” Tony said. “You’ll get better. I just think you need some help”

“What if I never get better?”

“You will. I did. And... Loki did... You’re allowed to move on, you know”

“I thought I was dead”

Tony drew his hand back. “What?”

“When I woke up. And it was all cloudy and foggy and dusty and there were flashing lights and unrecognisable voices and everything felt heavy”

Tony squeezed his shoulder.

“I texted Ned today” Peter said. “I don’t know why. I hadn’t replied for ages”

“What did you say?”

Peter took his phone out, opening the right message and showing it to him. 

[Ned] Flash asked after you today! D: o: 

[Peter] Hey Ned. Sorry I haven’t been replying. I’m not trying to cut you off. I’m just having a hard time. I’m not coming back to Midtown. I went to another school for a while but it didn’t work out. I’m starting another one on Monday. Hope everything is ok with you

[Ned] It’s good to hear from you! Good luck on Monday! Maybe we can meet up soon? 

“You haven’t replied to this last one”

“I couldn’t think of what to say. I never can” 

Tony handed him the phone back. “Go and have your bath”

-

Peter would let Tony say goodnight. He slammed his bedroom door and insisted on being left alone. As he attempted to settle down and sleep, his mind was filled with the book he’d just finished. He’d found it on Loki’s shelves in the reading nook, a childs book about two girls who move to a boarding school with their parents. He’d started it because of the school, but got more than he bargained for. The final twist saw the death of one of the sisters as she plummeted from the school tower, and this swamped Peter’s mind. He’d cried reading the final chapter, and he screwed his face up now, trying to block out the feeling of falling. 

He fell asleep, but the story invaded his subconscious. Looking back, he wasn’t sure if, in the dream, he was experiencing it, or if he was the girl from the book. He was tangled in hot and cold, balancing precariously, the evening wind blowing in his face as the window disappeared. He heard the screams, saw the bright flashes from fireworks filling the sky. The crowd shrieked, and he shouted to let them know it was only him, tugging the shawl from his head, tugging too hard - wobbling, slipping, falling. All in a second, he watched the tower window get further away, watched the ground get closer, seeing his death, terrified, screaming - 

Peter woke up, tangled in his bedding, still screaming in the pitch black, trapped between dream and reality, unable to see, unable to breathe, unable to see what was real and what was not.

In an instant strange light flooded the room, hands untangled him from the quilt and pulled him close. 

“Hey, ok, ok darling, I’ve got you, you’re ok”

“No! No! Help, please help, don’t let me fall! I’m sorry, Pearl! Help!!” Peter screamed.

Tony held him tight, stroking his hair firmly. “It was just a dream. It was only a dream. I’ve got you. You’re safe, Peter. You’re safe with me”

Peter stopped screaming, coming back to reality, and starting to sob instead. Tony rocked him, trying to calm here.

“There now, sweetheart. Shh. It was just a dream”

He couldn’t help thinking that something had to be done about these nightmares. He knew Peter would refuse a doctors appointment, but maybe he’d have to force him, just this once. It wasn’t that he was fed up comforting and looking after the boy; it was just that the disturbed nights were wearing him out. 

-

Once Peter had stopped crying, Tony gently pushed him off his lap so they could talk face-to-face. 

“There now. Are you alright?”

Peter wiped his face with his sleeve and said nothing. 

“Sweetheart. Talk to me”

“I’m so scared... I can’t go to this school, I just can’t”

“What happened in your nightmare?” 

Peter turned his head away. He didn’t want to talk about it, and Tony realised this.

“Ok. Whatever it was, it was just a dream. Nothing more” he checked his watch. “It’s late, and you’ve got to be up in the morning. Let’s get you a drink and then see if you can get back to sleep”

-

Peter had his drink and sat quietly with the empty glass in his hands. Tony gave him a quick hug.

"Ok, back to sleep now” he said, standing up and taking the glass from him. “You need the rest” 

Peter swallowed hard. “I can’t do this” 

Tony sighed. “You’ve gotta go to school, kiddo. Look, it was just a dream. You’re fine. Go back to sleep”

“I can’t stop thinking about it”

“The nightmare?”

“The book”

“Which book?”

Peter picked a book up from the floor, handing it to him. Tony vaguely recognised it. Loki had read it before, he was sure. He flicked through the pages, catching a few words about boarding schools and attic rooms. He flicked to the back, reading the final event and skim-reading the aftermath. He sighed heavily.

“This is a kids book, an absolute work of fiction, and you’re letting it dictate your feelings towards St Hendricks. Please, just be reasonable. Reading drama books and making silly stereotype-based assumptions is so counterproductive. You’re just working yourself up into a silly state over nothing”

“It might be a drama but it’s not fantasy! It could happen, you know it could!”

“No it couldn’t. Now stop being so silly. You’ve been offered a place at a prestigious private school - which you accepted - which will set you up for life. It’s an incredible opportunity and you need to understand how lucky you are to be presented with it”

“That’s what they said in the book” Peter mumbled.

“Will you just forget the silly book, please?” he turned the book over in his hands, glancing at the blurb. “Next time you want to read something, bring it to me first so I can decide whether or not it’s suitable. I don’t care if it’s kids books; if they’re giving you nightmares, I’m not letting you read them”

“The thought of school is what’s giving me nightmares”

“The sooner you start your lessons and counselling sessions, the better. Settle down. I’m going back to bed soon” 

“I don’ wanna be alone...” Peter whimpered, knuckling his eyes.

Tony sighed. “Ok, alright, alright. I’ll stay with you”

He made Peter lie down and climbed into bed beside him, tucking him in and holding him close. 

“Now go to sleep”

-

Peter felt sick when he woke up. Truly, dreadfully sick. His head was banging, his throat was sore, his mouth was dry, and he felt weird and shaky.

“Let’s get your breakfasted” Tony said. “Before you get dressed. I don’t want you spilling stuff all down your new uniform”

Peter looked at his uniform, set out waiting for him. It made him feel even worse.

“I don’t feel well...” he croaked.

“You’re just nervous. You’ll feel better with a full stomach, trust me. Come on, get up! Big day today!”

Peter stayed where he was, shivering. Tony felt his forehead.

“You’re fine. We’ll have breakfast, and then you can have a quick wash and get dressed. We’ve got plenty of time yet”

-

Peter felt a lot less ill after having breakfast and a wash, but he still felt sick with nerves. He was scared, and he didn’t know how to deal with it, so he kicked off. 

“Peter, how many times? You’re going whether you like it or not”

“Well I don’t like it! I don’t wanna go to school with a bunch of toffee-nosed twats!”

“Peter! How many times do I have to tell you not to swear? I should wash your mouth out with soap” he shook his head. “Now go and get into your uniform”

“No! I don’t want to do this! It’s not fair!” 

Tony looked at him, feeling fed up. He knew he was playing up because he was upset and scared. The tears in his eyes were proof enough of that. Still, it wasn’t the best time for him to kick off. Tony grabbed him and dragged him to his room.

“Ow! Hey, what are you doing?”

“Well, if you won’t get into your uniform yourself, then I’ll do it for you”

-

Within a couple of minutes, Tony had managed to quench Peter’s anger. With the boy calm (but still crying delicately), Tony managed to coax him into his school clothes. Peter stood awkwardly, shuffling inside his new uniform. 

“I don’t like it. Why does it have to be so tight?”

“It’s not tight, Peter: it’s fitted. You look good, like a proper little gent. Hey, do your top button back up! Stand up straight, lets get a proper look at you” he twitched Peter’s uniform, tweaking his collar and straightening his tie and blazer. “There. Put your hat and shoes on”

“I’m not wearing the hat”

“Oh, go on; it’ll be dead cute”

“I’m not wearing the hat”

“Fine, fine. Get your shoes on then” 

He picked up Peter’s new satchel, checking the contents and nodding approvingly. 

“Why did we have to get a satchel?” Peter asked, wrinkling his nose as Tony did the straps back up. “I’m used to backpacks”

“It’s a backpack satchel” Tony pointed out. “You can wear it just the same. It’s just loads nicer”

Peter looked at the thin straps and buckle closings on the brown leather. Tony saw his face.

“It’s a lovely bag! Don’t you like it? It's a proper bag, not one of your chainstore rubbish ones that only lasts five minutes”

Peter knew. He’d been there when they’d bought it. Tony hadn’t blinked handing over $250 for the simple bag (“It’s real leather, a proper Cambridge Satchel Company bag”). Peter had objected, saying the $10 ones he always had were more than good enough, but Tony had said that if he was going to a proper posh school, he should have the bag to match. He hadn’t given him much say in any of his school supplies. Peter tried hard not to be ungrateful, but he didn’t like the satchel, or a lot of the other stuff. He still found it hard to understand how Tony could spend so much money on a single item without blinking. 

- 

"It's freezing out there today. Where did you put your new coat?" 

Peter whined quietly. The duffel coat Tony had bought him was another hated item. He'd shoved it in the back of the shoe cupboard, hoping Tony wouldn't remember it. 

"Can't I just wear a hoodie?" 

"Certainly not! I don't think hoodies are St Hendricks approved. Your new coat is lovely. Where is it?" 

"In the shoe cupboard" 

"Go and get it, then!" 

Peter didn't have a choice. He retrieved the coat, holding it over his arm. 

"Put it on then" Tony said. 

"Do I have to?" 

"Yes. Come on, you can't go out without a coat, not on a day like today" 

Peter reluctantly pulled the coat on. Tony did the buttons and toggles up for him.

"It looks good!" 

Peter wasn't convinced. "I look like Oliver Tate" 

Tony laughed. Peter undid the buttons and toggles, adjusting the coat edges. He looked at himself in the mirror. It was certainly better undone. He kept looking at himself, in his smart shoes and uniform and posh coat. He didn't look like himself at all. 

"Hey, don't cry!" Tony pulled him close. "I know, you're nervous" 

"I don't want to go! It doesn't feel right!" he went to wipe his eyes with his sleeve, but Tony stopped him quickly. 

"Not on your sleeve! Here" he felt in Peter's front blazer pocket, pulling out the handkerchief Loki had given him, and dabbing at the boys face. "You don't want soggy cuffs on your new uniform" 

"I can't use that in school!" 

"Of course you can! All the other kids will. Come on now, stop crying. You don't want to turn up with red eyes now, do you?" 

Peter focused on his breathing, and after a few minutes he was quiet. Mostly. Tony kissed his nose. 

"Right, I think we'd better be going soon" Tony said. "Did you brush your hair this morning?" 

"Um.." 

Tony grabbed a comb and dragged it through Peter's hair. 

"Oooowww! You're pulling my head off!" 

"Don't be such a drama queen. It's all knotted. Honestly Peter, have the gorilla's been at it in the night?" 

"I don't know, have you?" 

"Oi! Cheeky! Hold still, will you? It'll take longer if you keep wiggling" 

Peter whined and stopped struggling. It felt like Tony was carving grooves into his skull with the comb, and he was relieved when he stopped. 

"There" Tony said. "Much better" 

"Is it?" 

"Yes. Now" he picked up Peter's satchel and handed it to him. "Let's get you to school" 

- 

Peter sat in the car with the posh satchel on his lap, looking down at his highly polished shoes. Everything about it felt so wrong. 

When they parked up in front of the school he felt like he really might throw up. It was eight thirty. Tony had said they'd been told to get there early. They had things to sort out, he said. 

"Good morning Peter, Mr Stark" Mr Pipe-Fowler greeted them at reception. 

He had another student with him, a pretty girl in the top year with long blonde hair and a big smile. Her short skirt showed off a lot of long, thin leg. Peter looked up at Mr Pipe-Fowler instead. 

"My, my, you really are nervous!" he said, looking at the trembling boy before him. "Now, I've got something for you" 

He handed Peter an A4 size whiteboard, thick with wooden edges, and a four-pack of dry erase markers; black, blue, red, and green. Peter took it, struggling to keep hold of it he was shaking so much. He looked at Tony for answers. 

"We understand you're non-verbal" Mr Pipe-Fowler continued. "So you can use the whiteboard to communicate with us. Now, these are also for you" he handed him a ring bound school planner, and a timetable. "We do things by week here. You'll notice that your timetable is split into week one and week two. It's always advertised in reception which week it is, so you shouldn't get stuck. This week is week one, so you'll be looking at the top timetable. Please take care of your planner. All of your homework slips and important notices will need to go in there. Now, I believe you've been told about seeing Miss Marns?" 

Peter looked at Tony again, but Mr Pipe-Fowler answered. 

"She's our on-site therapist" he said. "We've put you down for two sessions a week right now. Mondays and Thursdays. You'll be delivered a note telling you where to go for it" 

Peter looked at his feet. He felt embarrassed having it talked about to openly, especially in front of the girl, who was still by the headmasters side. 

"Now, Peter, I'd like you to meet Alison. She's going to be your Big Sister" 

Peter looked up, and Alison grinned at him. 

"Hey, Little Brother!" 

Even Tony seemed confused now. "Big Sister?" he questioned. 

"It's something of a scheme we use when people join us mid-term. At the start of a term, the children tend to learn their way around together with the maps, (there's one on the back of your timetable), but of course this doesn't happen with single children joining. Alison here will show Peter around, taking him to and from lessons, letting him get to know the layout for the first three days. On the last two days of the week, she will see him in the morning and afternoon, and after that, twice a week to see how he's getting on. She'll look after him" 

"Oh, I see" Tony said. "Well, that sounds like a good idea to me" 

"You'll be in form H3, Peter" he said. "Alison here will guide you" he checked his watch. "It's nearly time for registration. Say goodbye to your father now"

A big part of Peter wanted to scream and shout and cling to Tony and refuse to let go. But he was shaking so much he could hardly move, and his eyes were so filled with tears that he could hardly see. Peter looked at Tony. Behind them, he saw a girl about his own age hugging her father goodbye. No one made fun of her or started shouting things. Peter swallowed very hard and hugged Tony as tight as he could with full hands. He started crying properly, burying his face in his chest.

“I’ll pick you up again after school” he held him at arms length. “No tears, please”

Peter couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to be left here, not on his own. He wanted to go back to the house. 

“Right, be good” Tony kissed Peter’s forehead. “I’ll see you after school”

He chucked him under the chin, bid farewell to Mr Pipe-Fowler, smiled at Alison, and left Peter in their capable hands.

-

Mr Pipe-Fowler wished Peter luck, told him to smile, and left him with Alison. Alison put an arm round his shoulders and hugged him.

“First days are tough” she said. “I joined mid-term, just like you, in the first year. The thought of starting is always worse than the reality”

Peter didn’t say anything. He went to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, thought better of it, and used his handkerchief instead. 

“So, you’re in H3″ she said, walking along with her arm still round him. “Your form tutor is Mrs Hathersage. She’s lovely. She teaches English, and she covers Performing Arts sometimes too. I don’t think she teaches your form though” 

Peter looked at his new white board and pens. He supposed it was a good idea. He thought he should probably write a message to Alison, but he didn’t feel like saying anything at all. He was too scared. Alison didn’t seem to mind. She chatted away to him as she guided him to the H3 form room. 

She didn’t knock, just pushed the door open. The lady stood behind the desk smiled at them.

Alison grinned. “I’ve got your newest form member!” 

“Oh yes, Peter Parker, isn’t it?” She smiled, holding a hand out to Peter. “I’m Mrs Hathersage. I’ll be your form tutor”

Peter shook hands even though he didn’t really want to. He felt ok under Alison’s arm, but meeting new people still felt like a dreadful thing. He glanced round the room. It was surprisingly empty, with less than half of the seats taken. No one was really looking, too absorbed in their own conversations. 

“We’re a bit thin on the ground right now, as you can see” Mrs Hathersage said. “Half the class are away on the Spanish trip. They’ll be back for lessons next week”

Alison gave Peter a quick squeeze. “I’ve got to go and register in my own form, but I’ll be back to take you to your first lesson”

Mrs Hathersage smiled at her. “Thank you, Ali. I’ll see you soon”

Alison gave Peter one final squeeze and skipped off, waving as she went. Peter looked at the space where she’d been, and slowly back to Mrs Hathersage. He could feel everyone looking at him now. It was only a matter of time before things went wrong. He stood there not knowing what to do, shaking like a leaf, tears still in his eyes.

He felt so alone.

*

[accio-ambition]

I remember having a really tough time trying to connect this chapter to the sentiment I wanted to give off, but it came out great. Some of my favorite (and oldest) parts of writing are in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. As always, thanks to @sotheylived, @shipsxahoy, @queen-icicle-fandom, and the crew over at @captainswanbigbang, who I will never be able to thank enough. But, most importantly, thanks to YOU. My mother would be appalled: you guys are all leaving wonderful comments and kudos and reblogging and whatever else and it's taken me eight chapters to thank you. My deepest apologies, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset

Chapter Eight

It’s way past her bedtime, especially knowing that Jones told her the Roger is leaving tomorrow at 5 a.m., which means she needs to be up by no later than four. But Emma’s let the laundry sit for too long as it is and now that it’s on her mind, she’s not going to sleep until it’s at least folded.

 As she’s setting the last of Henry’s shirts on top of the dryer, all of the clean clothes ready to be put away, she hears hurried footsteps above her. Henry has been asleep for hours, so that either means that someone’s broken in - doubtful, but one can never be too sure - or something’s wrong with Henry.

 Trying her best not to panic, Emma jogs upstairs to find the light beneath the bathroom door illuminated. She knocks cautiously. “Henry?” she murmurs. “Are you okay in there?”

 Though there’s no verbal response, the knob does turn and click open a crack. Emma pushes in, unsure of what she’ll find.

 Settling back into his position curled against the toilet, far too pale for her 10-year-old son in the middle of summer, Henry moans. Sweat beads on his brow and his eyes look hazy.

 Without a second thought, Emma kneels down beside him, brushing matted hair away from his face. He’s burning up. Emma reaches beneath the sink and wets a washcloth, patting it to the cheek that doesn’t rest against the toilet seat.

 “Mom,” Henry mumbles. “I don’t feel good.”

 “I figured, kid.” She busies herself with running the cloth over his hair and down his arms. “Do you still feel like you’re going to throw up?”

 Henry nods weakly before alarm widens his eyes. The simple movement must set off something, and he’s leaning over and into the toilet in the next blink. All Emma can do is run her hand up and down his back and wipe away the tears that follow in an effort to calm him down.

 “It’s okay, kid, it’s gonna be alright.”

 Sniffing, Henry swipes at his mouth. “I hate being sick,” he grumbles.

 Emma chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I know.” She shifts her body so she can hold him a bit easier, comb her fingers through his hair.

 Luckily for them both, Henry doesn’t get sick that often, but when he does, it’s an ordeal. One time, when he was about six, Henry contracted pneumonia and it nearly killed her. She had to take two weeks off to take care of him, and while she loved every minute she spent with her son and not with the random annoying crew she was with that month, the bills did not.

 Eventually, Emma manages to maneuver Henry back into his room, a bucket at his bedside and a cup of ice on his table. He sleeps in fits and starts, his fever not yet broken.

 She knows he’ll be okay - the doctors tell her he’s healthy at every check up - but it still worries her. Nobody was around when she was his age or younger to comfort her, offer her advice to settle her stomach, or spend the night making sure her fever wasn’t getting any worse. The only person she had as company was herself.

 So Emma spends the night in his bed, Henry sinking into her side comfortably when he does manage to sleep. If she gets more than an hour of sleep tonight, she’ll consider it a win.

 When her alarm goes off at four, Emma gets up silently and prepares for the day like a zombie. She almost takes her phone into the shower, the heat of the water shocking her system with one foot in and her fingers tapping away at a text asking Ruby to come over and watch Henry. She responds quickly, already up to help Granny make breakfast.

 I’ll have to help Granny in a min. H might have to hang here during my shift.

 That’s fine  , Emma replies.  As long as he’s quarantined. Don’t think Granny wants to infect her customers.

 By the time she somehow stumbles down to the dock, Emma’s awake enough to pass as slightly hungover. Thank god the water is calm or else today would’ve been a total waste in filming.

 (She feels like a total waste. How she managed to return to the harbor unscathed and without falling overboard is a miracle.)

 After a far-too-late night and an early morning of filming, Emma goes to Granny’s for a quick pick-me-up. The coffee there isn’t anything close to Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts or whatever big name chain she relied on in the city, but there’s a hint of something more pleasureable in the old woman’s drink that makes Emma think it tastes better. It’s, like, love or something silly like that.

 “Hey there, sunshine,” Ruby greets her from behind the register.

 “You know what I like,” Emma says on a sigh.

 “I do indeed.” Requesting the required funds with an open hand, Ruby rings her up and shouts her order back to the kitchen. After they both hear Granny’s grumbled response, Ruby look back to Emma. “I’m assuming you’ll want to see your son as well.”

 “That would be appreciated.”

 With a crinkle of her nose, Ruby moves from behind the counter and heads through the door that connects to Granny’s inn. Emma knows that, on the days where Ruby’s in charge, Henry likes to spend his time in a bay window on the second floor of the bed and breakfast. It’s secluded, as she suggested, and it looks right over the harbor, something that she’s sure he finds comforting.

 (Her son’s watching over her, or that’s what he’d try to tell her.)

 Emma busies herself by looking over today’s specials - meatloaf and lasagna, hopefully not on the same plate - when the diner door opens and the bell above it rings merrily.

 “Of all the gin joints.”

 She’d know that voice anywhere. It makes her roll her eyes abnormally hard, actually spinning her vision around. She’s spent enough time with him in close quarters today as it is.

 His voice must be boisterous enough to make it through the kitchen door to Granny, who yells back, “We don’t have gin here, boy.”

 Despite her best efforts, Emma chuckles along with Jones. “Yes, Granny, I’m aware, it’s merely a saying,  ”  he amends.

After stifling the rest of her laughter, Emma faces him and gives him the stink-eye. “You say that like there’s another place I could grab coffee at this hour of the day.”

“There is.” Of course there is, she thinks. And of course he’s not there while she’s here. Of course. “The Busy Bee isn’t too far from here.”

Emma sighs dramatically, turning her attention back to the wall behind the counter she leans on. “Well, then I know where I’m going for all my coffee runs now.”

 “Now, don’t be a spoilsport, Swan,” Jones tsks.   “  Look, if you want to be alone, I’ll let you be.”

Thankfully, Ruby returns at this point with her to-go cup in hand and a styrofoam box in the other. “Here’s your coffee to go and your waffles,” Ruby says.

 “I didn’t order waffles,” Emma corrects her.

“Henry did,” Ruby clarifies. “He’s just finishing up his chapter, so he’ll be down in a jiff.” She hands the coffee and container to Emma before twirling around and heading back to the kitchen.

Jones clicks his tongue behind her, causing Emma to roll her eyes again. “Ah, so it’s not just the coffee you’re here for,” he says. And then, sort of out of left field, he asks, “When will I get to meet the lad?”

 Her internal monologue says never, but her mouth forms the words, “Not before he’s healthy enough to go back to camp.” At his perturbed look, she explains, “He’s sick. He had a fever and was throwing up last night.”

 That seems to catch him off-guard. Jones’ eyes go wide and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Why did you come today?” he inquires.

“Because it’s my job?” It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s the breadwinner - the only one - in her house, which she still has to pay off, along with groceries and bills and rollback deals from Henry’s birthday presents. Money doesn’t come from trees.

 He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he shakes his head. “We could’ve held out and gone tomorrow or promised not to do anything interesting today,” he tells her.

 “No, that goes against the whole concept of reality TV.”

Jones scoffs and rolls his eyes, making Emma’s brow raise. “Come now, Swan, you and I both know you guys are going to edit the shit out of whatever you film. We’ve already got a pool on who’s going to be the prick of the show. My money’s on Victor.”

 They’ve come to a lull in the conversation, Emma unsure of how to continue. He’s got a point: when all is said in done, not much reality goes into the reality show.

 (And Jefferson was leaning toward making Whale the douchebag. He just lent himself to it so well.)

 The moment comes to a close when Jones starts scrambling, his hands patting at all his pockets. He leans over the counter to grab one of the pens and pieces of paper by the register. Swiftly, he scribbles something across the paper and slips it into her hand.

Emma glances down at it, a line of numbers across the page. “What’s this?”

“The next time you need to be mother,” Jones says, pointing emphatically at the paper, “call me and we’ll figure out a plan of action for the day that works for both of us.” His expression softens to something Emma’s never seen before. “Your lad needs you, love. He was in your life before me and my crew came along and he’ll be in it long after we’ve parted ways. Never feel the need to put this job above your son.”

She can’t help the grin that crosses her lips at his words. “Thank you, Jones. Truly.” Folding the paper in half, Emma slips it into her pocket. She picks up her coffee and Henry’s waffles and takes a step toward the door. “And I’m just going to gloss over your move.”

 “Move? What move?” Jones asks, one brow cocking up sharply.

 “Using the opportunity to let me stay at home with my kid to give me your number.” Emma grins wider, her teeth peeking out to bite at her bottom lip. “Don’t think I’ll forget it.”

Mimicking her smile, she catches Jones’ tongue skim across his teeth. “Trust me, Swan. I don’t want you to.”

 She rolls her eyes as her back runs into the diner door. “Goodbye, Jones.”

 Just as she knew he would, Henry’s patiently waiting for her on the sidewalk outside the inn. He’s leaning against the fence, still entranced by whatever book he’s reading this time.

 (She really is lucky that her son has taken to books and not technology when boredom hits. Sure, he loves his video games, but that’s something she can control. If Henry had a smartphone, Emma isn’t sure she would ever talk to him in person again.)

 As she approaches, Henry shuts his book and smiles up at her. Silently, she hands her son his box of food. He opens it to make sure it’s what he wants, then takes a delighted whiff.

 “Sorry, I got caught up talking to someone,” she explains.

 “Who were you talking to?” Henry asks, turning toward home.

 “A guy from work,” Emma says. At his raised brow, she rolls her eyes and wets her lips. “It’s the captain of the ship I work on.”

 “Really?” His voice goes up an octave, he’s so thrilled. “Can I meet him?”

 Emma shakes her head and ruffles his hair. “Maybe.”

 “I’ll behave, I promise,” he pleads.

 She chuckles. “It’s not you I’m worried about misbehaving.” Taking a sip of her coffee, Emma thinks on the idea. “Besides, you kind of met him. We were on his brother’s boat on the Fourth of July.”

 “But I didn’t talk to him.” Of course he didn’t. Because she didn’t introduce her son to either of the Jones brothers and Henry knows better than to talk to strangers. “C’mon, Mom.”

 “We’ll see,” Emma sighs. And then, as mothers do when they tire of trying to explain adult dynamics to their children, she changes the subject. “How are you feeling? Better?”

 “Mom.” He holds up the takeaway box. “Waffles cure anything.”

 She laughs outright, and pulls Henry’s shoulders into her chest. “How could I be so silly?” She kisses the top of his head and pushes open the gate to their house.

[esdeem]

Anchors, an Overwatch Fanfic

Okay, I’m going to preface this by saying I’ve not done much revision work at all on this, so I apologize for any egregious errors in grammar, characterization, lore or quantum mechanics. I felt really inspired so I just let it flow. I might pick at it a bit and post it a few other places.

It’s inspired by this amazing artwork here and I hope this little fic tribute does it justice. Also there’s not nearly enough Lena/Emily stuff out there and I’m hoping we get to see more of their relationship in the future, as I think it’s really cute. (And yes, I really do think the two of them would be big Disney nerds.)

Author rambling out of the way, here’s the story. I hope you like it!

-----

Winston stopped marking the passage of time in hours, day or weeks. Instead, he counted how many jars of peanut butter lay strewn across his desk, and how many white boards he'd filled with calculations. Presently, those numbers stood at fourteen and six. Soon, he'd have to start raiding other offices to keep up with the workload.

“You are working yourself toward an eventual sugar crash,” a voice called out from the computer speakers.

“I'll deal with that later, Athena.” Winston mumbled, chewing on the cap of the erasable marker in his hand. “I don't imagine anyone's come up with any major breakthroughs in the unified theory in the last few days, have they?”

“There are currently no new academic papers to that effect,” Athena replied. “There is a man in Wisconsin with some new ideas, but in my opinion they rely too heavily upon Doctor Who and the Terminator franchise.”

“Which ones?”

“Genisys.”

“Ugh.” He scribbled a few more calculations, though perhaps Athena had a point. The details of quantum chemistry had grown fuzzy, and he noticed with embarrassment that he'd assumed a superfluid in the current design behaved as a Bose-Einstein condensation, which of course was foolish. He erased the details with his forearm and grumbled. Literally back to the drawing board--

“Winston,” Athena interrupted. “You asked to be informed when Ms. Oxton reappeared--”

She didn't even finish, as Winston dropped the marker and bounded out the door, and down to the main lab floor.

* * *

The gorilla rested his hand on one fist, a brow arched high. “Really.”

“Cross my heart, love. Saw him pull it out of the stone and everything.”

“And they couldn't see you?”

“Think they were all a little distracted, what with the whole next King of England being chosen. Funny way to pick a king that, don't you think?”

“Lena, you know the whole King Arthur story was a myth, right?” Winston smirked. “And if he really existed, he wouldn't have been anything like the old stories.”

“Okay, fine, you got me. It was just a field again, nothing really happened.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Y'know, a real friend would nod and smile.”

“I know, it's just... I keep hoping if I know when you're going, it would help me figure out a solution.”

“You don't want to hear it big guy, but maybe there's just... not a solution?”

“It's funny,” Winston said, ambling over closer to the containment field. “I seem to remember a member of Overwatch who believed in taking in a refugee from the moon and protected him from other people who claimed he was just a company asset. Someone who believed in his value, no matter what anyone else said.” He pushed his glasses back up and smiled. “You never gave up on me, Lena. I won't give up on you either.”

“Awww, you big lug. You're gonna make me cry.” She giggled, but then stood up and looked at a small table the others set up for her, where a simple picture frame sat. She remembered the day they took the photo, their first day in any of the six parks. The silver, geodesic  sphere behind them glowed in the Florida sun, but paled in comparison to the smile on the red haired woman's face. She'd dreamed of that vacation most of her life, and Lena hadn't told her until the day they boarded a plane for the United States. The trip had been almost perfect, save for the hurricane scare at the end. They'd not had a chance to see the Magic Kingdom itself, and to see the reveal of the majestic castle at its center. She promised to take them back one day....

She could close her eyes and see that smile, smell that perfume she always teased her about but secretly loved. If she tried, she could even remember the softness of her fingertips pressing against hers and the warmth of her embrace on a cold winter's day.

“You still don't want us to contact her?”

She reached for the frame, but her fingers passed through it. With a sigh, she reached into the pocket of her flight jacket, and her fingers closed across a small box, one of the few things she could still touch.

“She's better off not knowing about this, Winston. I'd rather she move on with her life, rather than keep holding out for a cure that might not happen.”

* * *

“It's safe?”

“Well, there's not really any guarantees, that's why they call the job test pilot, silly. But you know I've done a bunch of these already, right?”

“That,” Emily said, a crooked smile on her face, “Is a glorious attempt at sugar coating things.”

“I happen to know that someone likes their coffee with sugar and cream, so I tell her things the same way.”

Emily gave Lena's shoulder a playful shove. “You're terrible.”

“Guilty, but what does that say for you, then?”

“That I'm more attracted to your looks that your moral character?”

“How salacious!” Lena smirked, but then took hold of Emily's hands. “You know you're technically not supposed to know this, but if this works then we're going to save the lives of hundreds of pilots. And not just fighter pilots! Imagine if you put that in a commercial plane. They start to have engine trouble, they can just teleport it back to an airport for a safe landing.”

“Well then, Ms. Oxton,” Emily said, and squeezed her hands gently, “I shouldn't keep you from your mission to save the world.”

“Someone has to, right?” Lena reluctantly let go of her hands.“Oh, by the way? You might want to get dressed up while I'm off doing this. Someone might have scored reservations at Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester.”

Emily's eyes grew large. “You must really be expecting this test flight to go well.”

“Just a hunch, love.”

“I'll be ready,” she said, and let out a soft laugh. “I'm glad you told me, though. Usually you love springing things like that as a surprise.”

“Oh, maybe I'm turning over a new leaf.” Lena said, and pushed one hand into her pocket, and let her hand close around a small box inside. Silly Emily, to think she didn't have another surprise up her sleeve.

Emily had almost finished getting ready when Jack Morrison called with the news that the Slipstream vanished without a trace. And as the light swallowed the plane and its pilot, Lena Oxton's fingers closed around that same box as she apologized to Emily for missing their date.

* * *

“It's Higgs,” Winston announced. “Or more precisely, the Higgs Field. Whatever happens to Tracer during the accident, it prevents the bosons in her body from interacting with the Higgs Field. It's amazing, actually, because we had no idea that mass affected how we interact with time, and that does lead to some interesting implications for future research--”

“Winston? Focus.”

“Ahem, right. Sorry. We know how it happens, now we just have to figure out how to fix it.”

Angela Ziegler pressed a finger to her lips as she looked over the notes. Winston had done his best to simplify things, but the baffling world of quantum mechanics still provided a powerful obstacle. Lena Oxton's condition stood at a complex intersection of advanced biology and theoretical physics, and thus far attempts to combine the two fields proved frutiless.

To say nothing of the more practical concerns, which McCree once less than eloquently summed up as the pair discussed it with him in the room.

“Hard to give a shot to a ghost, ain't it?”

Dr. Ziegler still wasn't even sure how Lena had survived, since she'd not eaten anything in months. Perhaps the phenomenon that unmoored her from time halted the biological processes of her body. It made little sense, but to be fair nothing about this situation made any sense at all. She'd run a variety of simulations, but none of them came close to duplicating Lena's results.

And just like a shot, it wasn't as though she could take a sample of Lena's blood to study, either.

“If we could just bring her back in sync with our world, even for a moment...” she said aloud.

“I've tried a few different things,” Winston admitted. “But we never even know how long of an experimental window we have. She's vanished in mid conversation more often that not.” He jotted another formula on the board, stared at it a moment then marked it out hastily, growling.

“We have to be patient, Winston. If we give it enough time--”

With a roar, Winston punched the white board, sending it flying across the room. His skin started to turn red, electricity flaring around his eyes. “You know the numbers as well as I do! It's not predictable, but the mean amount of time she spends in our world is decreasing. If we don't hurry, she'll... she'll...”

Dr. Ziegler put an arm on his shoulder. “I know, Winston. And I know what she means to you. But your anger won't help her. Just... please calm down. We can't do this without you.”

Winston slowed his breathing, and slowly his skin started to return to normal. “I... I'm sorry. But we can't... I can't lose her.”

“I know. That's why you need to control yourself.”

The gorilla walked over to the white board and picked it up again. “I only wish Lena could control this, like the others can control their abilities.”

“Have you asked her to try?”

“Of course, but it doesn't work, at least not consistently. She's been able to phase in enough to move things just a little, but it never lasts.” Winston sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if McCree's right, and we shouldn't just call in a ghost researcher.”

“I don't know what's scarier, that you're considering ghost researchers legitimate scientists, or the fact the words 'McCree's right' just came out of your mouth.”

“It's not like we're having any better luck with our science.” Winston stared at the board again. “Of course, they'd say she was haunting this facility, or was even some kind of haunted thing.”

“There are haunted things?”

“Oh, all kinds of haunted items. Usually really old, and associated with some kind of tragedy in the past. Usually it's stuff like paintings or dresses. Oh, and dolls. Lots and lots of dolls.”

Dr. Ziegler said nothing, and Winston finally looked up to see the incredulous look she was giving him.

“Look, it gets really boring some nights here, and they play a lot of those shows at night,” he said. “But it's not like Lena's haunting us. She's very much alive, and it's not like she...”

Winston stopped speaking, the marker leaving a long streak on the white board. “That's it.”

Dr. Ziegler waited a moment to respond. “You need sleep, doctor's orders.”

“No no, I don't mean we call in the ghost people. But maybe that's what we've been missing.”

“What's that?”

“We've been focusing on curing Lena, and maybe she's right. Maybe that can't be done.” Winston wiped away the calculations and, instead of writing more, he started to sketch out a design. “But what if we didn't have to? What if, like a haunted object, there was something that kept Lena here? Like... a device that served as an anchor, pulling the Higgs field back toward her?”

“Then we could try to figure out a permanent cure.”

“There's just one problem,” he said. “I might be able to extend the field once it activated, but... she'd need to be wearing it first.”

“Which would require a greater control over her state than she currently possesses. I don't imagine you have any ideas on how to help her do that?”

Winston stared at the sketch and tapped the marker against the board. He turned to the side, lost in thought. As fate would have it, he found himself looking at a picture he and Lena had taken together, one that always stood next to his work station. Slowly, a smile passed over his face.

“You know why all those silly shows about ghosts said that some people stayed behind to haunt things?”

“I can't believe we're having this conversation, but why?”

“Because they had a reason to stay.”

It took her a moment, but once Dr. Ziegler understood, she smiled as well. They had a second, more important anchor after all.

* * *

When she was eight years old, Lena broke her left leg and right foot leaping from the top of a playground slide pretending she was a super hero. It happened only a day after the end of her summer term, and she spent her entire summer holiday between her bed and the sofa in the living room while she could hear the laughter and excitement from her friends outside. She longed to escape the house and rejoin them, but her parents said in no uncertain terms that super hero games would be off limits when she did.

Well, they said no playing but they never said no dreaming. Armed with notebook, pencil and pen she started to document her adventures as a super hero that could do a whole lot more than jump off playground equipment. In her version of things, Lena could copy the powers of other heroes by touching them. Really, it just gave her an excuse to use whatever power struck her fancy in the moment. She never gave the hero a name, until a friend visited and saw a drawing she copied from one of the books.

“That's not really yours,” they teased. “You just traced it.”

“What's wrong with being a tracer?”

The name stuck, and Tracer even became her call sign as a test pilot.

Those memories came back to Lena often since the accident, since both times she found herself unable to do much. Sometimes she'd reappear in the dead of night and beg Athena not to wake anyone, since she might vanish. She rarely found herself anywhere interesting during her time jumps, and never stayed there long enough to even see much, let alone start a decent conversation. Maybe she didn't have a notebook to record it all, but she could still dream.

Of course, a lot of her dreams dealt with food. Instead of rushing into a burning building to save the day, Lena imagined dropping off by the pub for a quick drink or a favorite spot for a bite to eat. Today, she went back to an old favorite. She used to stop by her favorite chippy at least once a week, where they always fried the fish while you waited. Little spots of oil singed your fingertips even through the paper. Then we went to the condiment stand, where she added the right amount of malt vinegar... or as her friends put it, “nearly drowned everything in it”. The aroma of the beer batter mingled with the tang of the vinegar.. it made Lena's mouth water just thinking about it.

She'd been just about to bite into the imaginary plank of fish when footsteps echoed from behind her. With a soft sigh, she stood up. “Can't a girl have just a few minutes to dream before you start running more tests?”

“...Lena?”

She froze.

“Lena, is that really you?”

Her fists balled up, and she drew in a halting breath. For the first time since the accident she felt afraid, and it kept her from turning around or even looking over her shoulder. The uncertain future, the increasing doubts of Winston and Dr. Ziegler, even the days when hope all but faded away, she could handle that. But seeing a look of pain on her face, knowing something she'd done brought tears to that beautiful face...

“You can hear me, can't you?”

It still took her a minute to find her voice. “You're still wearing that awful perfume, aren't you?”

“The one you gave me a bottle of for Christmas last year? Of course.”

“Only because you like the stuff, and I was daft enough to support you.” The silence hung between them a moment. “I didn't want you to see me like this, Em.”

“Your doctor explained it to me,” Emily said. “I don't understand it completely, but... I'm here now.”

“Truth is, I really hoped you'd get on with your life. Forget about me, move forward, maybe even start dating again and find someone a bit more normal. I can handle this burden, but I... I wanted you to be happy.”

“Happy.” Emily's voice drew closer. “I thought I knew what that meant, but then I met you. Hearing you giggle at my silly jokes, or make fun of how my hair looked in the morning, or hugging me after a long day at the office. Lena, it's hard to move on with my life when you are my life.”

“Em...” She still couldn't bring herself to turn around.

“You remember how you always made me a cake from scratch for my birthday, and insisted on putting the candles on it? I hadn't done that since I was a little girl, but you always made me blow out the candles and make a wish before I could eat it? That's what you brought me. You made me realize how special, how magical life really is. I did it again this year, and I made a wish again. You know what I wished for?”

“You know if you tell me--”

“I know, but I'll give you a hint,” Emily said, her voice starting to waver. “You just need to turn around.”

Dammit. Lena looked to the ground and closed her eyes, then slowly turned to face her. With a deep breath to steel herself, she opened her eyes once more. To her surprise, Emily wore a beautiful emerald green dress, her red hair cascading around her shoulders. And while her cheeks shone with tears, there wasn't a hint of pain on her face. Instead, she rewarded Lena with that perfect smile, the one she dreamed about seeing so often.

“See? You just made it come true.”

“You look amazing.”

“You think so?” A flush of red splashed across her cheeks. “It's... what I was going to wear that night.”

“And suddenly, I'm even more upset about the accident.” She giggled, and even drew a small chuckle from Emily as well. “I've missed you.”

“It's really quiet without you around. Believe it or not, I'm starting to hate it.”

“You might regret saying that some day.”

“If I'm lucky.” Emily reached a hand out.

“You can't actually touch me, you know.”

“I know, but someone taught me that it's okay to just dream sometimes.”

Lena lifted her hand. Truth be told, she dreamed of this often as well. She missed the little things, like just walking down the street with their hands locked together. Like the rest of her, her fingers had taken on a blueish glow, translucent enough to just see Emily's fingers through her own. They drew closer together, as she tried to stop just enough to make certain Emily's hand didn't pass through hers, to provide a stark reminder of how desperate her situation truly was. Closer, closer...

They touched.

...they touched.

Emily's fingertips pressed gently against hers, and the glow faded. She trailed her fingers down Emily's, to her palm. Wrapping her hand around hers, she gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I'm back,” Lena whispered. “You brought me back.”

Somehow, Emily's smile grew even more radiant than before. “See? I told you I wasn't going to let go of you so easily.”

With one swift motion, Lena drew close and pulled Emily into a tight hug. Both women started to sob as they held the embrace, Lena's head resting on her shoulder as she cried. After a moment, Lena lifted her head up and whispered into her ear.

“There's something I need to tell you,” she said.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“This is hard to admit, but...” Lena bit her lip. “It was a box mix. Every year. I'm a lousy cook.”

Emily kissed her cheek. “I think I might be able to forgive you.”

* * *

“We can make adjustments as needed,” Winston said as Lena pulled at one of the straps that held the bulky contraption in place. “After it activates, the field generator will route the bosons in your body to the local portion of the Higgs field. I call it a chronal accelerator because--”

“Winston, love, I know you find all this really amazing,” she said. “But you lost me way back at 'It's simple physics'. Pretty much, I turn on the Matrix of Leadership here and I'm anchored back in the real world full time?”

“Yes, and there might be some interesting applications we can test down the line. More importantly, after it's been activated you won't have to wear it all the time. As long as you're in close proximity to the device and it still has power, you'll remain connected to our time.”

“Good thing, that. Would've made showers and changing clothes really awkward.”

“I did make it waterproof,” Winston said and pushed his glasses up with one finger. “I know how much it rains in London, after all.”

“Well, guess we'll give this thing a shot.”

“You'll probably want Emily in here with you,” Winston said, and glanced back to the lab's control room. “I should--”

“Stay here. You're as much a part of this as anyone.”

“She doesn't know about me yet, Lena. She'll think I'm like the others, and be afraid...”

“And then she'll get to know you, and love you like the rest of us do.”

“Like Reyes?”

“Difference is, Emily's not a raging asshole.”

“Point taken. I just, um, don't want to ruin the moment.”

“Okay, let me put it another way,” Lena said and jabbed a finger into Winston's chest. “If you so much as think about hiding in that control room, I will kick your butt.”

He sighed and took a few steps back. “Fine.” He pressed a button on his wrist comm. “Dr. Ziegler, we're ready to activate the accelerator. If you'd sent Emily in please.”

It took only a minute for Emily to make her way into the lab. She walked over to Lena, but stopped in her tracks when she saw the massive form of Winston standing across from them. She stared, and Winston could only manage a weak wave.

“Uh, hello. I'm Winston.”

Emily finally turned away from him, and to Lena. “Amazing. You weren't lying about the gorilla scientist.”

“Wait, you told her about me?”

“Before the accident even. Oops.”

“You are a walking security risk.”

“Guilty.” Inhaling sharply, she looked down at the chronal accelerator. “So, shall we turn this thing on?”

“If you're ready.”

She grabbed Emily's hands and gently squeezed them, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Now I'm ready.”

“You should take a few steps back, miss,” Winston warned.

Emily nodded and walked beside him. Lena pressed the buttons in the sequence Winston told her, and the center of the accelerator sparked to life with a faint blue glow. Seconds later, she felt a strange wave pulse through her body. At first, everything around her seemed to move it slow motion, then sped up even faster than normal. After a few more seconds, a pulse from the accelerator bathed the room in blue light. Lena looked at the device, then to Emily and Winston. The gorilla moved to a nearby terminal and started hitting buttons.

“Am I supposed to feel any different?”

“I don't know, but all the readouts seem good. Did you experience anything strange when you turned it on.”

“Like the real world acting like I hit rewind and fast forward on a movie?”

Winston grinned. “The blink and recall functions worked at start up! You're going to like those, but we can talk about them later. Now that you're stable, I'm sure Dr. Ziegler will want to run a few tests. You might have to follow her around, since your blood will be just as unstable as the rest of her, but it shouldn't take too long.”

“Fine, but first things first.” She threw her arms open. “Hug time!”

Emily ran over and fell into her arms. Winston turned away to give them privacy.

A second later, he heard Lena clear her throat. “Winston?”

He turned to see both Lena and Emily with their arms stretched out to him.

“Huh?”

“You're the one who brought her back,” Emily said. “So you're a part of this hug too.”

“But I--”

“You're my best friend, you big lug. So get over here before I drag you into it.”

With a smile, he walked over and gently wrapped his arms around the two. It would be the first of many he'd share with his new family.

* * *

She'd booked the trip only a week after the accelerator tests proved successful, though this time she let Emily in on their plans a little sooner.

“I decided maybe Ducasse wasn't really our speed,” she said as she showed Emily the plane tickets to Orlando.

“Not surprising me this time? You're losing your touch, Ms. Oxton.”

Silly Emily, underestimating her like that.

Getting her out of bed that morning proved the most daunting challenge, as Emily hit the snooze button at least five times before Lena finally gave up and pushed her off the side of the bed. A few beignets from the food court bought her forgiveness. Emily didn't even bat an eye as a private town car pulled up in front of their hotel and whisked them away to the park, long before the gates opened to the public.

“Commander Morrison knows some people,” Lena said, and Emily accepted it without question.

Save a few cast members, it was empty as they walked down through the gates and turned the corner. Lena didn't take her eyes off Emily's face as the castle revealed itself in the distance, framed by the shops of Main Street. Lena squeezed her hand softly.

“What do you think?”

“It's amazing!”

“We should get a picture, shouldn't we?” Lena said, and winked to the photographer behind her.

“Oh, of course!”

She never saw it coming, maybe because Lena just hugged her for the first two pictures. The photographer directed them for the next show, getting Emily in just the right position.

“And Ms. Oxton, I think you know your pose.”

She reached into her pocket, for the box she'd held onto since the day of the accident. She pulled it out just as she dropped to one knee and opened it to reveal the ring inside.

“Surprise,” she said with a sheepish grin.

The next picture was Emily answering that question with a kiss.