#you know how kids are. even the calm collected seemingly mature ones

[briwates]

Writing a fic where Ms Ji walks Gaon through an old photo album of Isaac and Yohan, and I can't decide if I want them to be a pair of very calm kids who she almost never needed to worry about in terms of mischief....or if they were half calm, half putting themselves in situations where Yohan was swinging from tree branches upside down from his ankles and his brother was acting as a scrawny safety net ("an experiment" yohan said)

[gauntlets-shot]

[ FIVE KISSES ]  send for five times our muses almost kissed and the one time they do. \\ for jinx and cait 👀

A collection of 'five times' drabble prompts | accepting

Mun note: Under a read more just bc it's a bit of writing lmao

The first time it was a play for power, an intimidation tactic. The conversation was getting heated and an agreement was something to be seen in the far, far future. Jinx had stood up from her side of the table and began stalking towards the sheriff, a sort of fury in her eyes. Both parties couldn't agree on a single thing and even though Caitlyn didn't want to cause a scene, she still stood from her seat. She was going to try to talk Jinx down but soon enough, the young woman was way in her space and their faces were dangerously close. Caitlyn had fled away after a moment but it was out of fear. She was meaner than all the warnings. This was only their third meeting.

By the second time, they had finally started to come to some sort of agreement. The meetings were getting more frequent to hash out every last detail but Caitlyn was starting to get more comfortable around the Zaunite after a month of all of this. Well, comfortable in the fact that Jinx didn't scare her as badly as before. She could see something in her, something past that brute with an iron fist, though she seemed completely off according to Vi. It's not like the sisters were on talking terms. Jinx had tried that same tactic as the first time, getting in her face to scare her but Caitlyn just quirked a brow at her. This time Jinx retreated but it was out of annoyance. Caitlyn, however, had felt butterflies as Jinx sauntered away.

The meetings had started to devoid from their original point of striking some sort of compromise and more as check-ins by the third time. Caitlyn would lie and say she and Jinx were having more private meetings to become better allies but in some ways, she was right. The sheriff was secretly worried about the young woman, they were both running themselves into the ground but Jinx wasn't as old or mature as her. Her youth was fleeting away much faster than hers. She didn't deserve it. "Do you ever think of taking a break?" Caitlyn had asked and of course the Zaunite said no. She didn't know what came over her but the sheriff had reached out to cautiously cup Jinx's cheek. "You should. You deserve it."

Caitlyn wanted to forget the fourth time. She wasn't seeing Jinx for dinner, but rather a snack. That's how Jinx worded it anyways. When Caitlyn arrived, there was a toy on the table and the monkey beat it's cymbals together, activating a nearby firecracker that exploded in a celebratory fashion. It then spit out a piece of paper that had "Happy Birthday Sheriff" written on with a sloppy paint job. Caitlyn playfully scoffed. "So where's my snack?" She had asked. "Right here," Jinx had said and pointed to her lips and Caitlyn (nervously) was about to take her up on the offer but Jinx suddenly stepped back. She was just kidding. Caitlyn had left with her cupcake that night, embarrassed.

The fifth time was intense. Talks about a compromise were completely out of the window now. All they talked about was themselves, their jobs, what they lacked in each other. They trusted each other or at least Caitlyn trusted Jinx. She trusted her with more than just her word but those feelings for intimacy were horribly shoved down in order to get a job done. She had almost thrown it all away as they somehow ended up on top of each other on a couch and Caitlyn had to pry herself off of the other to calm her trembling and her tears. Three months of consistent visits and that was the last that the sheriff would see Jinx for a while, but not by choice.

Caitlyn was nervous as she made her way back into the meeting room. Jinx was seated at the end of the table, seemingly reeling and she had instantly shooed her out but she hadn't looked up to see who it was. "Jinx, I'm sorry, I got sick. I'm so sorry," Caitlyn had quietly apologized and that seemed to flip a switch in the young woman. The sheriff had stayed by the other end of the table, not sure if their months of talking was suddenly washed away because she had fallen ill and was unable to visit. The silence was the loudest noise Caitlyn had ever heard in her life but just when she thought all hope was lost, Jinx was pushing her chair back and standing up. A second after that, Caitlyn was being yanked by her collar, a desperate but yearning kiss concealing her lips. The hold on her collar was tight but shaky, almost as if she would disappear if Jinx let her go but Caitlyn placed her hands on the young woman's cheeks to reassure her. She was here. They were here.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Flatmates - Harry Styles

i listened to kiwi while writing it so i strongly advise to listen to is while reading as well. without any further ado, i present you this flatmate!harry fic with some steamy smut!

word count: ~9k

warning: smut

masterlist

You were desperate to find a place to live, to say the least. You’ve always had trouble remembering deadlines and important dates, and thanks to this charming trait of yours, you successfully missed the deadline of the college dormitory applications. After a day of solid panic you started looking for cheap apartments, but living off campus seemed to be something only rich people could afford. Rents were ridiculously high and you were certain you couldn’t afford to spend thousands of dollars for a room smaller than your pantry back at home. You watched ad after ad, making calls all day for a week straight, but at the end, you always went to bed with the thought that you’ll have to live under a bridge through the first semester of your freshman year.

It was until a friend of yours, Rita, who was mature enough to apply to the dormitory in time called you with the best news you could receive.

“This friend of my future roomie is looking for a flat mate. You gave me his number, maybe you could give him a call and see if the room is still available. Just tell him Kimberly gave you his number, I’m sure he’ll offer you the room on a nicer price.”

“Oh my God, you just saved my life!” you gasped, almost feeling like crying. “I owe you big time, Rita!”

You called right away, not wanting to waste any time and maybe have the room already rented by then. A deep, male voice answered the call in a soothing British accent.

“Harry Styles,” he said in a calm tone.

“Hey! My name is Y/N and I got your number from Kimberly. I’m looking for a place to live from September and I was told you have a room to rent?”

Harry sounded a little hesitant at first, asked a few questions about you to have a better picture of you, but eventually offered the room. You quickly agreed that you’d be able to move in at the end of August. You were thankful you had one less worry about school finally.

August rolled around the corner faster than you expected and in no time, half your life was packed up into boxes and suitcases as you and your dad drove two hours on a Saturday to get you all settled in your new home. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen Harry just yet. Though you did search up his name, but he was the kind to never post about himself, but mostly about guitars, landscapes and animals. His Instagram was dry, no trait of what he looked like or even the slightest hint about himself. There was only one photo that featured the outline of a guy, which makes it clear that the person was fully naked, no trace of any clothes hanging on his body, but it was completely dark, so nothing could be really seen. However the tag on the figure made you think it wasn’t him, so it didn’t matter. His Facebook seemed even sadder, barely any posts, not even a decent profile picture. You were surprised to see there are people who don’t really use social media, but you didn’t take it as a bad sign. Harry must be a private person and you had nothing against that.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to move in with a guy you’ve never met before?” your dad asks as the two of you are unloading the car in front of the apartment complex. Glancing up you shrug your shoulders with a little excitement, knowing that you are only minutes away from finally seeing the person you are gonna spend your next months living with.

“He sounded like a decent person, and I really don’t have any other choice, dad. Or do you want me to sleep in a park or something?”

“God, no. You really should be more careful about those deadlines next time,” he sighs kissing the top of your head before shutting the back of the car once everything is set on the ground.

“Don’t worry, I already bought a calendar so I can keep better track of everything.”

When you first told your parents that you’d be living with Harry, they didn’t seem to be a fan of the idea, but they realized you weren’t really swimming in options at the moment so they eventually come to peace that their daughter is going to be living with a guy. They didn’t make a big deal out of it, knowing well you were an adult now practically who can make choices for herself.

The two of you manage to bring everything up to the third floor and you ring the doorbell since you don’t have your keys yet. You immediately recognize Harry’s British accent as he calls out a “coming!” from the other side of the door and a few seconds later it opens, revealing him.

Your first thought is that he is tall. Very tall and oh my! How handsome! His green eyes find your gaze and his dimples come out as he smiles at you happily. This man is surely a nice sight, you think to yourself, but you quickly bring yourself back to reality as he takes a look at all the stuff surrounding you.

“Y/N, why didn’t you call me that you were here? I could have helped you!” Taking a step outside he stretches his hand out for your dad. “Nice to meet ya, you must be Mr. Y/L/N. I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you,” your dad nods at him shaking his head before Harry grabs a box from the floor himself, holding the door open for you.

“Come on in!”

The three of you quickly bring everything inside from the hallway and you finally have a moment to look around. It’s not a big apartment, but seemingly perfect for two people. Walking in you have a small kitchen on the left and a little dining area on the right with a simple table and four chairs around it. Further inside is the living room, it’s nicely furnished very bright thanks to the large windows across the front door. On the left there’s a door that leads to the bathroom and on the right there’s a small hallway, two doors on each side. The two rooms are exactly the same size, so there was no need to have a discussion about who is getting which room. Not that you were gonna go against Harry when he literally saved your life with letting you stay with him.

The place seems tidy and neat, it’s clear that Harry takes good care of his home and that is for sure a relief.

Your room has a double bed, a desk with a chair, a dresser and a built in little closet. Everything is white or a light beige color, nothing extreme and you already have plans about how you want to decorate it to make it cozier.

“I left two shelves free for you out of the three. I have a few hair products, but I figured you’d need more space,” Harry tells you when you put a smaller box into the bathroom that has all your toiletries.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

Your dad sticks around a little longer helping you unpack some of the bigger boxes, then you walk him down to his car before he leaves.

“Please call your mother often. You know how much she worries about you,” he asks as he pulls you into a quick hug.

“Will do.”

“And call us anytime you need help. Two hours is not that far away, I can always come and get you.”

“I’ll be alright, dad, but thank you.”

You watch him climb into the car and he rolls down the windows waving in your way as he leaves from the parking lot. You stand there until he disappears on the corner and then go back up to your apartment.

Harry is sitting in the living room when you get back, some quiet music playing from the Bluetooth speaker as he reads a book. He glances up at you and you flash him a smile closing the door behind you.

“Your dad seemed quite okay with you living with a guy.”

“He had time to get used to it. They’re not that strict though.”

“That’s cool. I was thinking, maybe we could order some food when you’re done unpacking and just get to know each other a little more.”

“That sounds great!” you smile, but can’t ignore how fast your heart is beating in your chest. Harry surely has an effect on you that you’ll need to gain control over if you don’t want to make living together hard for yourself.

It takes quite some time to unpack everything and find the right place for your stuff, you don’t even finish by the time the food arrives so you decide to leave the rest for tomorrow.

The Chinese food is all set on the table when you walk out and Harry is getting two plates for the two of you.

“Settled in?” he asks as you take one of the chairs and he sits across you.

“Not fully, but I’m getting there,” you chuckle as he hands you your order. “Thank you.”

You talk over the food, just getting to know each other and you finally get a better picture of Harry. It’s his third year of college, he is studying music and pedagogy, intending to one day use music as a helping tool for kids who have learning difficulties. He is a big fan of collecting vinyls and quite passionate about trashy rom coms.

“Really?” you chuckle when he mentions how his Netflix queue is filled with romantic movies.

“Guilty pleasure,” he nods smirking.

You tell a little about yourself too and he seems genuinely interested, which feels nice. You would have hated if he found your interests boring and negligible, but that’s not the case.

“How come you couldn’t find a roommate for so long?” you ask the question that’s been in the back of your mind for quite a while now. Both of you are done eating and you’re cleaning up the table.

Nothing really stood out about Harry just yet, it’s quite a mystery for you why he couldn’t find someone to live with him.

“Well, you could say I’m a little picky in this field. Lived with my best mate first year, and though I absolutely love him, he was horrible to live with. Felt like his personal maid the whole time. When Niall moved in with his girlfriend and I had to move on my own I promised myself I would choose carefully. Lived with a PhD student last year, he was pretty great, but he moved out when he graduated, and I couldn’t really find someone I liked since then.”

“Glad I passed then,” you chuckle as you take the dishes and start washing them while Harry stands next to you, leaning against the edge of the counter.

“You seemed like a decent person to live with, I hope I won’t be wrong about that,” he chuckles, but you can tell he is still a little scared you might turn out to be a total asshole.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be too much trouble. I’m quiet like a mouse and clean up after myself.”

“That’s all that matters,” he smiles. “Alright, I have some things to finish, I’ll be in my room if you need help with anything.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

He waves in your way before disappearing in his bedroom.

You spend most of your Sunday unpacking what was left and running errands, buying groceries so you don’t have to go to the store every other day during the week. You occasionally meet Harry in the kitchen or the living room, but you both just do your own thing and it’s totally fine by you.

School starts quiet smoothly, Harry was kind enough to give you a rundown of where you’ll find your lecture halls so you don’t really get lost around campus, easily finding your way.

Friday afternoon you and Rita are sitting at a café near campus to discuss the first week of school. You don’t have any classes together, so only grabbed lunch two times all week, but didn’t have more than twenty minutes together before one of you had to run to a class. Now you are both comfortably sat in a booth with two cappuccinos and plenty of time to talk.

“So, how is living with Harry?” she curiously asks.

“He is great! Though we don’t meet that much. He has a band so he has practice three times a week, spends the rest of his time at home reading or watching TV.”

You ate dinner together twice this week, but you haven’t really had the courage to join him in the living room when he was watching TV. It sounds stupid but you figured maybe it would bother him if you were out there with him. And since he didn’t invite you either, you just stayed in your room mostly.

“Kimberly told me he is hot, is that true?” she asks with a smirk as she takes a sip from her hot drink. You immediately feel your cheeks heating up.

“Well, he surely is a good looking guy,” you breathe out.

“Lucky you! There’s not much of those in an all girls dorm,” she pouts and you chuckle. “So are you gonna make a move on him?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” you shake your head laughing.

“Why not?”

“Because we live together and if he rejects me that would be so awkward for the rest of our time living together.”

“But you can’t know for sure if he would reject,” she points out, but she can’t bring up one thing that would change your mind.

“It’s better not to take the odds. I don’t want to end up on the street.”

 As the days go by, things start to get busier in your everydays. Assignments and papers start to pile up so you have to start working on them if you don’t want to leave everything to the last moment. You become a regular in the library, the atmosphere is great for you to get into the flow and get a lot of work done.

It seems like Harry is in the same shoe, he is often in and out of the apartment, sometimes only spends home just a couple of minutes before he leaves again. However they slowly get accustomed to each other, learn the ways the other likes things and work up a schedule for things. Harry learns that Y/N likes to take a shower twice a day and washes her hair usually on Wednesdays and Sundays, so he doesn’t try to take too much time in the bathroom on those days. He also notices how she doesn’t have time to wash the dishes after herself on Thursdays when she just runs home to have a quick bite before she has to leave for another lecture, so they came to a silent agreement where Harry cleans up after her on Thursdays while she takes up on the dishes on Saturday when Harry leaves to band practice at eight.

They work well together and soon enough all of Harry’s doubts about Y/N fade into nothing and he realizes he has made the right choice with her.

Usually she stays at the library until seven on Mondays, but this week they are closing early because they are rearranging a whole department, so Y/N leaves a little after five. She pays a quick trip to the grocery store before she heads home. Opening up the door she immediately hears the music playing, one of Harry’s vinyls is twirling around in the record player and she hears the water running in the bathroom. Setting her bags on the counter she starts unpacking the groceries.

The music and the running water pushed the sound of her arriving down, Harry didn't realize that you were home early when he opens the bathroom door, singing to himself wearing absolutely nothing as he wants to go and grab a pair of clean underwear, but he is shocked to see you standing in the kitchen.

“Shit!” he snaps, hands immediately flying to cover himself as he sprints back to the bathroom quickly grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist.

Your cheeks are heating up immediately even though you didn’t see anything you weren’t supposed to, the counter top covered him just right above the critical line, but it’s the first time you’ve seen his upper body completely naked.

Even though it was just a spit second, the sight of his many tattoos and the defined V-line leading down to his crotch burned straight into your mind, leaving you flustered and shy all of a sudden.

“Sorry! I should have let you know I was coming home early!” you call out turning around, as if he was about to walk out naked again. Harry chuckles lightly as he returns, this time a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Don’t be silly, you don’t have to check in when you come home. It was my fault, I shouldn’t just walk around naked assuming you wouldn’t be home.”

You should, you think to yourself gulping as you turn around and dare to look at him again. You don’t see less than just a few seconds ago, his chest is glistening from the dampness, his curls are still wet and you are having a hard time not to stare at the tattoos on his lower stomach, so you busy yourself with the rest of your groceries as he walks into his room and returns in a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he asks disappearing in the bathroom, but he leaves the door open and you hear him shuffle around, probably fixing up his hair. He uses some kind of mousse that keeps his curls perfectly and also happens to smell like mango and some kind of citrus.

“Um, not really.”

“We’re playing at this bar with the band, wanna come and watch us?” Walking out of the bathroom he switches the light off before walking to the couch and opening up his Netflix account on the TV. His invitation surprises you, but it also feels nice he wants you there.

“Oh, sounds fun! Can I bring someone?”

“Of course! I can have a table reserved for you, if you’d like,” he smiles at you before turning his attention to the screen.

“That would be great, thanks.”

You feel like after your little encounter it’s probably not the best day to join him at the TV, especially because you can’t stop yourself from blushing every time you look at him. The sight of his naked torso pops up in your mind every time and there’s no way you can just casually sit on the couch with him without your body lighting up on fire.

 Rita is excited when you tell her about the invitation, you don’t even have to convince her to go with you since she is dying to finally meet Harry. When he leaves in the early afternoon on Saturday he assures you that there’s gonna be a table reserved under your name, and off he goes to practice, leaving you alone for the rest of the day since he tells you he won’t be back before the concert tonight. Rita comes over around six and the two of you get ready together.

“You have to wear something spicy,” she wiggles her eyebrows at you while you sit at your desk applying mascara to your lashes.

“I don’t want to overdress, it’s just a bar.”

“Yeah, but Harry invited you. I bet he wants you to see him play.”

“Of course he wants, why else would he invite me?” you ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“You don’t get it,” she chuckles turning to you, hands on her hips. “He wants you to see him play because it feeds his ego. Maybe even turns him on.”

“Stop acting like there is anything between us. We are flatmates and that’s all.”

“I think he wants to be more, you’re just too pussy to make a move yourself,” she shrugs turning back to your closet.

“Stop calling me a pussy for not wanting to make it awkward for the two of us to live together. I’m pretty sure Harry doesn’t see me as anything more than just the person he lives with.”

“Then we have to change that. And I think this is the perfect dress for that.”

Rita pulls out a little black dress you bought about a year ago, but never really got around to wear it. It’s so tight, pushes your tits up way too much for your liking, you’re not even sure why you bought it in the first place.

“I’m not wearing that,” you shake your head.

“Are you afraid he might get a boner from you in it?”

“Rita!” you snap at her, but she just chuckles.

“Look, if you’re so sure he doesn’t want you like that, why does it matter what you wear?”

She has a point. It’s not like this dress will change anything and it would be nice to wear at least once in your life this stupid dress if you bought it.

Grabbing it from her hands you throw it to the bed and start undressing as she claps in victory.

You remembered right, the dress leaves close to nothing to the imagination when it comes to your figure. The fabric hugs your figure tightly, and you put on a lacy bralette that peeks out at the top of the dress, kind of covering some more from your skin, since the dress doesn’t do much in that field itself. Rita tries to convince you not to take a jacket, but you throw your denim jacket on, feeling the need to have something give you the slightest sense of being covered.

You arrive at the bar twenty minutes before the concert starts and it’s a good thing Harry reserved a table for you, because the place is packed. You’re not sure if it’s because of them or it’s just a regular Saturday evening.

The little stage is all set up, but you see no sign of Harry anywhere as the two of you settle at your table with a drink. Luckily, the bartender did not ask for an ID, he was too busy looking at your chest. At least there’s one good thing in this dress.

The drum set at the back has the name of the band on it and you smile reading it. The word ‘Stylish’ is printed on it with bold blue letters, referring to Harry’s last name, who is most likely the front man of the band.

The place is buzzing and the two of you enjoy being out at a bar concert. When the lights go down you finally spot him walking out of the back followed by a guy and two girls.

“Welcome, folks,” he greets the audience, his accent filling up the place over the chatters. A round of cheering answers him, making him smile. “Thank you for coming out tonight, we hope to entertain you in the next hour. Our name is Stylish and now let’s get down to business,” he smirks and just as he takes a step back from the mic, the band starts playing. Harry grabs a guitar himself before stepping back to the mic and then he starts singing.

They play a mixture of covers and original songs, the transition between them is so smooth you sometimes forget it’s a whole different song that’s playing. Harry is clearly enjoying the spotlight, his presence on the stage is so natural and capturing, you often catch yourself forgetting about the rest of the band.

One song follows the other and you don’t even realize how fast this hour passes by. Harry sometimes stops in-between songs, entertaining the audience with small jokes and just casually interacting with them.

“Our last song is up next, so let me take a moment to introduce the band,” Harry speaks into the mic while softly playing the guitar so it’s not completely quiet as he talks. “At the drums, the amazing and talented Sarah Jones!”

A round of applause fills the bar as Sara waves around smiling widely, before Harry moves on to the next member.

“Playing the piano, the wonderful Charlotte Clark!”

Charlotte plays a short melody on the keys matching up with what Harry has been playing, before she also waves at the audience.

“The guy who is a way better guitarist than me, Mitch Rowland.”

Harry’s comment makes the audience laugh and Mitch just nods shyly, a smile pulling on his lips under his mustache.

“And this handsome Brit who sometimes acts like a comedian,” Sarah starts leaning closer to her mic. “Harry Styles.”

It’s no surprise that Harry gets the biggest cheering and he smirks sweetly, his fingers still strumming on the guitar. The clapping and screaming slowly dies down and as Harry steps back to his mic they start the last song.

It’s quite an upbeat, funky song, you just can’t resist dancing around on your chair and seemingly Rita is enjoying herself as well, cheering with her beer in her hand. The song comes to an end and they all line up at the front of the stage bowing down together as the whole bar cheers on them as one person.

“Woah, this was… something else,” Rita breathes out once they disappear at the back and chatter fills up the place once again and the lights come back.

“They smashed it!” you nod in agreement. You figured they are good if they get asked to perform, but this was way beyond what you were expecting.

Looking around you are hoping to see Harry somewhere, but they must be celebrating somewhere at the back. Maybe he won’t even come out, you think to yourself as you finish up your beer.

“I’ll get us another round,” you tell Rita as you make your way to the bar.

There are quite a few people waiting to be served, so you squeeze yourself into the crowd and hope to get to the front soon.

“So how did you like it?”

You jump in surprise when you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind you, and turning around you see how close he is standing to you.

“Hi! I didn’t even see you sneak up on me,” you chuckle making him smile as he squeezes himself next to you. The two of you finally reach the front, but the bartender is serving someone a little on the left so you have to wait. “I loved it, you were like a proper rockstar up there!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles and his dimples show up on his cheeks. The bartender finally gets to you and Harry is quick to order for the both of you. “’S probably better if I place the order since you’re not twenty one just yet.”

“Didn’t have any problem ordering the first time,” you smirk smugly and Harry raises his eyebrows at you before his eyes wander down your body for a second.

“I bet you didn’t in this dress.”

Suddenly, you’re very aware of how daring your outfit looks, so out of reflex, you pull your jacket tighter on yourself, Harry’s smile quickly fades as he realizes that he made you uncomfortable with his comment.

“I meant that you look really pretty. Definitely makes you appear a little older though.”

“My friend wanted me to wear it, I would have been fine with something else,” you admit as the bartender places your order in front of you and Harry pays for the whole thing.

“Glad she convinced you,” he grins down at you and you can feel your cheeks heating up once again.

He helps you carry the drinks to the table and Rita quickly puts her phone away when she sees who you are returning with.

“Harry, this is my friend, Rita. Rita, this is Harry,” you introduce them and Harry shakes her head smiling.

“Nice to meet you,” he nods kindly.

“Oh, same goes for you,” Rita smirks and you roll your eyes at her.

“I’ll go get the rest of the band, do you mind if we join you guys here? There are no empty tables.”

“Sure,” you nod smiling before the crowd swallows Harry.

“For fuck’s sake, you have to make a move on him, Y/N!” Rita turns to you as soon as he is gone.

“Would you stop?” you chuckle.

“No! This dude is so hot I forget my name when I look at him! And you live with him! You can’t miss this chance, Y/N.”

“I’m not missing anything. We live together, it’s not worth it.”

“Not missing anything?” Rita looks at you as if you were mental. “You are literally missing everything!”

“I’m done with this conversation,” you tell him just when Harry appears again, this time with two of his bandmates, Sarah and Mitch are following him smiling, hand in hand.

“Charlotte had to leave early, but this is Sarah and Mitch,” Harry introduces them as they join the two of you at the table. “And this is my flatmate, Y/N and her friend Rita.”

You all shake hands as Harry sorts out the extra beers he has ordered so everyone has a drink on their hand.

It’s no surprise, but Sarah and Mitch prove themselves to be just as cool as they seemed up on the stage. And the best thing is that they don’t shy away from sharing funny stories that include Harry.

“So have you been looking for a new place to stay, Y/N?” Mitch jokes. “I’m sure you’ve had enough of Harry by now.”

“Very funny,” Harry laughs at his bandmate’s comment.

“To be honest it’s pretty fine so far. He is a pleasant person to share your home with,” you say with a soft chuckle.

“What’s one thing you hate about living with him?” Sarah asks and Harry pretends to be hurt over the question.

“Who said there’s anything she hates?”

“Shush, I was asking her!” she hushes at him making you laugh.

“I really can’t point out anything in particular. Maybe he has been very careful, luring me into believing that he is the perfect flatmate so I get stuck with him.”

You stay for a while, just chatting and having a good time until the bar starts to empty out and you decide it’s better if you head home as well.

“We have to take care of the equipment, are you leaving or do you want to wait for me?” Harry asks you.

“We’ll just call an Uber, don’t worry about it,” you smile at him.

“Alright, see you at home.”

You say goodbye to Sarah and Mitch and part your ways with them as you and Rite head outside.

“I hope you noticed how Harry was looking at you,” Rita smirks at you when the two of you are sitting at the back of the Uber.

“What are you talking about?” you sigh leaning your head against the seat.

“I caught him staring at you quite a few times.”

“He was just probably looking at me when I was talking. Don’t try to talk something into it that’s not true.”

“Alright, I’ll stop,” she replies holding up her hands. “But I still think you are missing out on some amazing dick.”

You awkwardly glance at the driver who is hearing everything you say, but Rita seemingly doesn’t mind that you’re not alone.

“You know what? We should give Tinder a try.”

“What? Why?”

“If you don’t want to make a move on your hot flatmate, we need to get some satisfaction from others.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Oh, you are not,” she chuckles. “But you will be when you match with the hottest guys on campus.”

You let Rita believe that she convinced you to sign up for Tinder, but you get out of the car with the intention of never downloading the app, like ever.

Walking into the apartment you grab a clean, oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties since your sleeping shorts are all dirty, but you were planning to do the laundry tomorrow. You decide it’s not a big deal and the shirt will probably cover enough of your body.

You take a quick shower to get off the thick smell of the bar that’s stuck on your skin, taking your time moisturizing yourself once you’re done. When you get dressed you see that the shirt does cover your bum, but if you lifted your arms up it surely shows a big portion of your ass, so you’ll have to be careful if Harry arrives.

You’re lounging on the couch watching a rerun of House M.D. and scrolling through your phone when Harry arrives.

“Hey there, rockstar!” you greet him teasingly and he just chuckles shyly.

“Is it gonna be my new nickname?”

“Well, you really were one tonight, so I think yes,” you nod making him laugh. Walking further inside his eyes stop on your bare legs and he is quick to notice that you’re not wearing any pants, like you usually do. You immediately tug on the end of the shirt to cover more of your skin, but it’s not really working.

“Ehm, I’ll go and take a quick shower,” he informs you before disappearing in his room first and then rushing into the bathroom.

Looking down at your attire you decide it’ll be better if you threw on some sweats. Harry clearly got a little uncomfortable seeing you so bare, so it’s better to cover up. You’ll just take them off when you go to bed.

Harry doesn’t take too long in there, and when he joins you on the couch you are pretty sure he took a cold shower since no steam followed him when he left the bathroom. His eyes flicker to your now covered legs, but he doesn’t say anything, just makes himself comfortable next to you.

“You like it?” he asks nodding at the TV.

“Yeah, he is such an asshole, but it’s funny,” you huff. “Hey, I took a few pictures tonight. Wanna see if you like any of them?”

“Sure,” he nods pushing himself up a little as you unlock your phone and show him the photos you took of him and the band while performing.

Some of them ended up really cool, you were able to catch the lights and their movements just the right way, especially one stands out where he was holding out a note, basically screaming into the mic, he really looks like a rockstar on that one.

“Can you send me this one?”

“Done,” you smile at him and glancing over you see that he opens the Instagram app on his phone. You watch him crop and adjust it a little bit, then tag his bandmates and finally, he posts it.

“Wow, this is the first picture on your page with you actually on it,” you tease him.

“So you’ve been stalking my profile?” he smirks at you.

“I wanted to check you out before I moved in, but your social media was no help in that.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of posting that much, but this was a cool picture.”

“It’s an honor to know that I took the first one featuring you.”

“Actually, this is the second one, but it is the first one where my face is visible,” Harry tells you before turning his attention back to the TV, but the gears start to turn wildly in your mind, trying to remember which picture could be the other one.

Later, when you’re lying in your bed with your door closed, you pull up his profile and stat scrolling down. Most of the pictures fall out, because they have absolutely no trace of any human being on them. But then you stop at the one that features a black silhouette of a man, the one you thought wasn’t him.

Opening up you tap on the tag and see that it leads to Mitch’s profile, but now that you’ve met him, you’re pretty sure it’s not him in the picture. So you take a closer look and as you go over the small details, like the line of his neck, how wide his shoulders are and the untamed curls, you soon realize that it is indeed Harry in the photo.

You push down a moan when realization sets in, because that means that you’re staring at the naked silhouette of Harry and it immediately starts a fire between your legs.

“Jesus,” you whisper as you let yourself stare at the photo a little longer. You weren’t expecting it, but it’s surely making you feel some kind of way.

Locking your phone you throw it to your nightstand before you bury your head into your pillow. You have to press your thighs together quite tightly to make the throbbing sensation stop so you can finally fall asleep. Well, it takes some time before that happens and it’s quite torturous.

  Unlike how you planned, Rita finally gets you to download Tinder and give it a try. She helps you set up your profile, and though at first it feels incredibly awkward, you slowly adjust to being out there on the virtual market.

You start swiping left and right whenever you are bored during classes or you’re having a break from studying. Your matches start to pile up and soon enough you start getting messages as well. You reply to the ones you like or find funny and creative, giving them a chance, but not many end up going too far. Somehow the conversations always die down and you lose interest in the person.

Only one guy gets as far as asking you out and getting a yes as an answer. Jordan is a physics major and seemed like a nice and funny guy through the messages, good-looking too, so you decided to give it a go.

So Friday evening you dolled yourself up, put on a nice blouse with your favorite skinny jeans and black heels, ready to head out to your first ever Tinder date.

As you walk out of your room you find Harry in the kitchen in his basketball shorts and a simple black t-shirt making himself a cup of tea. The shorts are hanging low on his waist and as he reaches up to get the hones from the cupboard you get a glimpse of the soft skin on his lower waist. You quickly look away before you could have any further thoughts about what else is under the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh, where are you heading all dressed up?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“I actually have a date,” you admit nervously as you grab your keys and put it away in your purse.

“Lucky guy,” he smiles and you can feel your cheeks heating up again. There’s just something in the way he compliments you, it makes your knees go jelly.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later? I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” you tell him grabbing your jacket from the hanger next to the front door.

“Have fun,” he nods before you walk out.

 Jordan proves himself to be quite frankly the same guy you got to know through messages. He takes you to this Mexican themed bar and you are just chatting over some exciting looking cocktails, but you find yourself zoning out sometimes.

What is Harry doing right now? Is he staying at home? I should have asked if he had any plans. Maybe he is hooking up with someone right now.

You find yourself thinking about way more than you probably should and it’s making you lose your shit. So maybe this is why, or because Rita told you to just go with the flow, but when Jordan asks if you want to go up to his place you say yes.

It’s as awkward and bad as you were expecting, unfortunately. There’s a reason why you don’t hook up with every random guy you go out with once. You are totally on different pages, but when you are lying under him on his bed, you just know there’s no way out.

It’s not that he forces you, because you’re sure he would have stopped if you asked, but it would be so awkward to just walk out because you weren’t feeling the vibe. So at least one of you should enjoy it.

You should deserve an Oscar for that orgasm you fake, it’s so believable. Jordan doesn’t seem to notice that you felt absolutely nothing, just frustration and impatience, he tries to make you stay the night, but you save yourself with a lie that you have to wake up early in the morning so it’s best if you head home.

Your frustration just grows on your way home. You were really hoping to get laid tonight, so maybe that could stop you from fantasizing about Harry, because your thoughts have been wild since you found out that he is the one on that Instagram picture. It doesn’t help that he has been walking around shirtless quite a lot.

Shameful or not, you even touched yourself once thinking about him. You were home alone after a particularly boring day so you thought you’d just get yourself off. Before you could realize where your thoughts have wandered, you were moaning his name as you came hard. You couldn’t look into his eyes that day when he came home, he probably thought you were nuts, basically running away from him.

It’s almost midnight when you get back home, you were expecting Harry to be asleep by now since he has band practice in the morning, but you are surprised to see light coming from his room. As you close the front door, kicking your heels off he walks out, of course, without a shirt, his glorious body on full display.

“Hey, how was your date?” he asks as you step to the fridge to get yourself something to drink. You’ve been so damn thirsty since Jordan was… done with you, you could have asked for some water at least, but you just wanted to leave as fast as possible.

“Ugh, don’t even ask,” you whine, leaning against the counter.

“That bad?”

“Worse,” you roll your eyes and Harry chuckles softly.

“Come on, it couldn’t be that bad if you came home so late.”

“Well, it did start off nice, but I shouldn’t have said yes when he asked if I wanted to go to his place.”

“Oh.”

“Worst sex of my life, I wanted out the moment we arrived, to be honest,” you honestly say, feeling a little weird that you’re talking to Harry about it, but you just want to get it off your chest.

“Then why didn’t you just leave?”

“Dunno, I just… I was hoping for just a little satisfaction, but I guess I asked for too much,” you sigh finishing up your water and you walk past him with the intention to grab your pajamas and have a shower that would wash away the happenings of the night, but Harry’s voice stops you.

“Not everything is lost just yet.” Turning around you give him a puzzled look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He bites into his bottom lip and lets his eyes travel down your body, his intent gaze sends a shiver down your spine. When his eyes return to your gaze your heart is wildly beating against your chest.

“I mean that… I can make you feel good, if you want.”

Your mouth hangs open and your eyebrows shoot up at the blunt offer he just made. At first you’re not even sure you heard him right, but as you replay his words you realize that you indeed heard him crystal clear.

“Are you messing with me right now?” you ask, feeling like it’s all just a joke. He did not just offer to satisfy you because you complained to him about how bad your date was.

Harry takes a few steps closer to you, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

“Not really. You want to get off and I would love to be the one to help you with it.”

“But… we live together,” you say and realize how stupid this just sounded, but you hope he gets what you were trying to say.

“So? Does that mean we can’t fuck?”

The way he said that makes your legs go weak for sure. You’ve been fantasizing about things similar to this, but those were nowhere near to actually hear him propose the idea of fucking.

“But… it’ll be weird, won’t it?”

“Only if we make it.”

He walks closer, closing the distance between the two of you and he cups your cheek in his hand as his eyes flicker down to your lips.

“Harry…” you breathe out, but you already know you gave in. There’s no way you can say him no, not after weeks of dreaming about the exact same thing.

“Just stop thinking,” he tells you before pressing his lips against yours.

He kisses you hard and you gladly let his tongue push into your mouth within a second, kissing him back with the same passion. You wrap your arms around his neck as his hands travel down on your sides until they reach your ass and they give it a bold squeeze, making you moan into his lips. You feel him grin as his hands move over to your thighs and he urges you to jump and so you do, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Though you keep your eyes closed, kissing him hard, you can tell he brings you to the couch, laying you down to your back, holding himself up above you. He starts kissing down your jawline and neck, sucking and biting on the sensitive skin. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and you lift yourself up a bit so he can pull it off, throwing it away to somewhere behind the couch. While his lips are sucking on your breasts wherever they are bulging out from the lacy bra, his hands work fast on your jeans, undoing the button and the zipper, tugging them down until you can just kick them right off.

“Matching set? You were really counting on having a good time tonight,” he mumbles against your tummy as he kisses his way down on your body.

His right hand reaches up and cups your breast before it slides under you and easily unclasps your bra. You quickly slide the straps off and throw it to the side, so now you are lying under him only in your panties, whimpering and panting at every kiss he leaves on your body.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he hums glancing up at you, sitting between your legs as he slides just one finger over your soaking wet panties, running it along your throbbing center.

“Fuck, I want you,” you breathe out.

“How exactly do you want me?”

“Jesus, just eat me out, Harry!” you shamelessly moan and he smugly smirks before he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down, throwing it to the ground.

Now you’re lying completely naked in front of him, and he pushes your knees farther apart, looking down at you with lustful eyes.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” he growls as he gets closer and without a warning, he licks into you.

You moan in sensation as he starts sucking on your clit, his tongue working perfectly against your bud. Your hands find their way into his hair and you grab a handful of it in each. Oh, how many times you’ve thought about doing this!

“Harry!” you cry out when you feel him push a finger into you, slowly pumping it in and out a few times before he adds another to it. He quickly picks up his pace as he keeps sucking on your clit, getting you closer to your orgasm with every lick.

“Fuck, I’m so close!” you moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggle to even breathe.

“Cum for me, baby,” he mumbles against your wet clit and just a few more pumps later you came, screaming his name.

“Fucking hell, Harry!” you breathe out when he climbs up on you smirking.

“You think you can handle another one?” he asks, pecking your lips softly. Looking down you see how hard he is and even if you were on the verge of dying you would have said yes. There’s no way you let him get up from this couch unsatisfied after the orgasm he just gave you.

Instead of saying anything, you push on him until he is sitting on the couch and you have your knees on his sides.

“I think you are a little overdressed, aren’t you?” you ask teasingly as you bring a hand down to his erection, cupping it through his shorts and underwear.

Harry cranes his neck so his lips could meet yours again as he lifts his hips up, pushing his shorts down along with his boxers. You sit back down to his lap and his erection presses against your wet folds making you moan into his mouth.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” you ask breathlessly, but Harry shakes his head.

“I would last, I just want to fuck you,” he growls and you swear to God that was the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Condom, we need a condom,” you tell him, still kissing his lips.

You get off him and he quickly runs into his room, shortly returning with a condom between his teeth. He rips the package on his way and falls back to the couch, rolling it on carefully. When he is done you swing your leg over him and get on top again, holding onto his broad shoulders. He grabs the base of his cock and lines himself up to your center and you give yourself a moment to admire his naked beauty right in front of you.

You look into his sparkling eyes and leaning down you kiss him hard as you slowly ease down to his length, his cock slowly filling you up fully.

“Oh fuck!” he moans at the feeling of you around him. His fingers dig deep into your waist as you stay still for a few moments, adjusting to his length. “You alright?” he asks breathlessly. Your eyes meet his and you nod a little before you start moving.

It takes a few moments to find the right pace and get yourself comfortable, but when you finally do, you just can’t stop. His hands are on your ass as he guides your hips a little and you feel the rings on his fingers against your heated skin. He buries his face into your neck nibbling and kissing on the soft skin wherever he reaches.

“Fuck, you look so fucking hot, Y/N,” he grunts when you let your head fall back, feeling your orgasm slowly building up again.

“Harry, I’m gonna cum again,” you pant, picking up a faster pace, desperate for release.

“Cum for me, baby. Let me make you feel good!” he moans wrapping his arms around you as he holds you still, stopping you from moving, but instead he starts thrusting into you, his cock buries so deep into your pussy, your eyes roll back into your head from the feeling.

“Yes! Don’t fucking stop!” you scream as he keeps fucking you hard.

It doesn’t take too long until you fall completely apart and cum again, your legs basically turning into jelly. Just a few thrusts later Harry cums as well, thrusting deep into you a few more times as he moans into your neck.

You lie completely numb on him, his fingers gently stroking your naked back as you try to come back to reality. When you lean back and your eyes meet again you are still speechless.

“I’ve literally wanted it since the day you walked into this place,” he admits with a soft chuckle.

“Really?” you giggle shyly.

“Oh, really. Seeing you around, sometimes without a bra under your shirt completely killed me most of the time.”

Your cheeks are heating up, you didn’t think he noticed when you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Don’t be so shy, you have amazing tits, you are not allowed to wear a bra anymore around here,” he teases you grinning as you laugh and leaning down you kiss him shortly.

“I had quite a few fantasies about you too,” you admit making him raise his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Mhm, especially after you walked out of the bathroom naked, even though I didn’t even see your dick then.”

Harry chuckles lightly as he pushes his hair back from his forehead, resting his head against the back of the couch.

“So…” you shyly start, ”what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… we live together and we just fucked. What does this mean for the future?”

“Well, I thought that next time we could do it the right way. I could take you out on a proper date, and then fuck you on the kitchen counter.”

You laugh at how blunt he is, but you love the idea he just proposed.

“Okay. Sounds fine by me.”

[ladykissingfish]

Under the Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Six // Hidan

Hidan

“Ah; you fucking lucky bastards! I should charge you all for this; to kiss an elite follower of the mighty Jashin is a privilege you assholes don’t deserve. Except you, Konan. In fact if you want to move the mistletoe to my bedroom then — ow! OW!! Kakuzu let go!! I was only kidding; can none of you take a fucking joke?!”

Konan

She sighs before she goes to him. He’s made a big deal all day about kissing her in particular, although she doesn’t get why. She feels nothing other than friendship for him, and, despite his ramblings, she doesn’t think he feels anything stronger either. Nevertheless, it’s her turn. She steps up to him and he reaches out and takes her small hands, giving them a surprisingly gentle squeeze. “You ready for this, gorgeous?” But something about that, about the word “gorgeous”, sets off the normally calm Konan. She yanks her hands out of his and plants them on her hips. “Gorgeous, beautiful, sexy — that’s literally all you ever say to me. I’m more than a pair of tits; I have a fucking brain in this head!” Hidan blinks, startled. “That’s - the first time I ever heard ya curse, Konan.” He grabs her hands again. He speaks in a soft voice and apologizes, and tells her that he has nothing but respect for her. “I only wanna kiss you so bad ‘cuz you’re beautiful INSIDE and out, and you bring lots of light to my shitty darkness.” She blushes and thanks him, and he takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss her lips. Just a soft touch, but both of them are smiling afterwards.

Deidara

Both of them are hesitant to do this, to say the least. Hidan won’t ever admit this, but he’s held a small physical attraction to Deidara since the day they met. Very small, and *purely* physical, but still. He doesn’t like thinking about it, because to do so would be him admitting to himself that his own sexuality isn’t as black and white as he’d thought it to be. He tells himself that if he likes Deidara at all, it’s simply because the guy looks ridiculously similar to a woman. Deidara doesn’t wish to kiss Hidan because, although HE will never admit to it, Hidan scares him. The man’s proven immortality throws a wrench into Deidara’s long-held ideals of what life (and art) are ultimately about: beauty made greater by virtue of being fleeting. But Hidan being able to live forever — could it be that Deidara’s partner Sasori has been right this whole time? That art really is eternal? Still, everyone is watching, so the two shake off their feelings, and Deidara approaches him. “Keep your tongue in your mouth, okay?” “Same goes for you, blondie.” Hidan gives himself very quick peck to the lips, but both men are blushing quite hard regardless. And even as brief as that was — Hidan makes note to ask Deidara what kind of shampoo he used later, because he smelled absolutely incredible.

Kisame

After the last kiss between them, when it was Kisame’s turn, Hidan is hesitant to get close to this guy again. But Kisame is grinning, and appears to be in a good mood. “Ah, come now, Hidan; surely we can let bygones be bygones?” Hidan starts to curse at him, but catches himself just in time: after all, his mouth was what got him into trouble last time. So he merely nods and stands still, while Kisame approaches him. “Are you afraid, Hidan?” “Ah? Why would I be —“ “I can smell the fear coming from you.” Hidan folds his arms in front of his chest and demands to know who wouldn’t be afraid at the thought of possible dismemberment. Kisame just laughs and promises he’ll behave himself. He leans in, locks eyes with Hidan, and flashes his teeth — before giving Hidan a closed-mouth kiss on the forehead. Hidan let’s out a shaky sigh of relief, and Kisame walks away, laughing.

Itachi

Like Deidara, Hidan has a bit of a grudge against the raven-haired Uchiha. He’s fallen victim before to the power of Itachi’s sharingan, and the calm, quiet way that Itachi reacts to Hidan’s jabs and wheedles always serve to irritate. But even so — Hidan has to admit that the guy isn’t all THAT bad (certainly not the hell-spawn that Deidara makes him out to be, anyway). There was a time once when Hidan caught a cold, and Itachi braved going into his room to bring him a cup of sinus-clearing tea. Itachi steps up to him and nods, and Hidan leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. An oddly sweet gesture, and one that Itachi seems to like, as he actually smiles before he leaves. Hidan watches him go, thinking (and not for the first time) that having a talent like the sharingan is completely wasted in someone who isn’t immortal. Maybe he should talk to him later about joining the Jashinist movement ...

Pein (Nagato)

If the Akatsuki is a family, and everybody (save Konan) are Pein’s children, then Hidan is undoubtedly the problem child of the group. The loudest, the most foul-mouthed, definitely the most violent ... but still. When Hidan could find an ounce of maturity, and focus, he was one of the best members of the team. And Nagato finds his regenerative abilities to be amazing, and, if there was ever the time and opportunity for it, would love to study Hidan in-depth. Pein approaches him and Hidan bows his head, an act of respect he gives to the Leader ... and ONLY the Leader. Pein delivers a light kiss to the forehead and walks away. He can hear Hidan mumbling behind him about “those damn piercings could kill somebody” but chooses to ignore it.

Zetsu

Oh, God. Hidan smells like human blood most of the time (thanks to his many gory sacrifices), and Zetsu is attracted to this scent like a bee is to a flower. He’d hang around this guy all day if he could, if not for the smell then to act as clean-up for the bits and pieces of his victims that he leaves behind. But Hidan doesn’t quite care for the plant man, to say the least. He didn’t sign up for the Akatsuki to be made to work alongside non-human freaks of nature. When Zetsu walks up to Hidan, the gray-haired jashin lover is nervous, to say the least. Zetsu puts his hand on Hidan’s face, leans in, and kisses his nose. It should only take a second, but Zetsu lingers over the spot for an abnormal amount of time ... and Hidan realizes it’s because he’s sniffing him, like an animal. “Okay, freak; get the hell away from me!” But Zetsu doesn’t move, in fact tightening his grip on Hidan’s face. Hidan is surprised; Zetsu is quite a bit stronger than he’d realized. His surprise turns to fear when the expression in Zetsu’s eyes shifts, and Hidan hears a very noticeable stomach-growl come from him. Hidan is seconds away from fight or flight (he hasn’t quite decided yet) when Tobi comes into the room, seemingly breaking the trance Zetsu had been in. Hidan breathes out a sigh of relief as zetsu keaves, giving silent thanks to the moron in the mask.

Tobi

After “scaring” Zetsu away, Tobi gleefully announces that its his turn with Hidan. “Ohh boy, Hidan-san! You and Tobi are gonna have fun!” Hidan is actually quite eager for this; not so much for the kiss itself, but for his chance to see this freak up close and unmasked. Tobi looks behind him; nobody else is around. He turns back to Hidan and slides his mash halfway off his face, revealing his pale skin, dark, long-lashed eyes, and full lips, pursed into a grin. Getting closer, Hidan can detect faded, jagged lines extending from the right side of his forehead to the bottom of his mouth. Still, even with them — “Fucking hot”, Hidan mutters, the words slipping out before he can stop them. Tobi grins and cups Hidan’s face, staring into his eyes. “So are you,” he murmurs, and is it Hidan’s imagination or is his voice ... different, somehow? Well, no time to think about it; suddenly Tobi’s (unbelievably soft) lips are on his own, and for the first time since this encounter started, Hidan feels a feather-touch of unease. The way Tobi’s kissing him ... this isn’t how an idiot kisses. What in the name of Jashin — and then just as quickly as it began, it ends. Tobi slides his mask back into place, and skips off to the kitchen. Hidan has to take a few moments to collect himself, and in the way-back of his mind is a small voice urging him to warn Deidara to watch himself around Tobi. About what? Hidan doesn’t know the specifics. All he knows is those two are alone a LOT for missions, and if Tobi really is more than he seems, then — But then again, why should he care what happens with the blonde jerk, anyway?

Sasori

Another person that annoys Hidan. He was in the Akatsuki for almost an entire year before he’d realized that the ugly body that he was in, wasn’t even his own. His surprise when he witnessed a hatch open and a childlike-looking redhead step out was unprecedented. Learning that he was in his 30’s meant that Hidan should have shown him the proper respect, but Hidan just couldn’t take orders from somebody with the face of a young boy. Sasori seems to know this, and therefore avoids interactions with him as much as possible. Now, however, contact is unavoidable. “Can you even reach my face, shorty?” Sasori tilts his head and seems to really be considering Hidan’s question. Suddenly, without warning, Sasori’s wooden arm detaches itself from Sasori’s body, and hits Hidan full-force in the center of his stomach. Hidan curses and doubles over, and while he’s bent Sasori takes the opportunity to go to Hidan and kiss his forehead. “I can reach you just fine, brat,” he murmurs, before leaving. Hidan has a quick recovery time to all forms of pain, and he’s quickly back on his feet, staring after Sasori with anger — and a tiny bit of admiration.

Kakuzu

“Hey old fucker; you’ve been waiting all day to get a taste of this, eh?” Kakuzu just rolls his eyes at Hidan’s comment. He’s not sure what he did, either in this life or another one, to be partnered with a creature as odious as Hidan. Normally with people that Kakuzu finds no value in, he kills, plain and simple. But Hidan is neither plain nor simple; no matter what Kakuzu hits him with, he keeps getting back up, just as loud and irritating as ever. But ... even someone as gruff as Kakuzu has to admit that Hidan isn’t all that bad. It’s actually a bit lovely, to have found another person (besides Sasori, who has made it clear that when everyone else expires, his complete solitude is something he’s looking forward to) to be with to share the blessing (and curse) of immortality. He walks up to Hidan and grabs him by the forearms, forcing him into stillness. “What the hell, old man?! Let go of me before —“ but Kakuzu interrupts him by inclining his neck and kissing his lips. Hidan’s mouth is soft, and he has a taste to him, something akin to cinnamon or pumpkin. Kakuzu let’s go of him and starts to walk away, when suddenly Hidan reaches out grabs him, pulling him into another kiss. Kakuzu is surprised, but he makes no attempt to break Hidan’s hold on him because ... this is nice. This feels good, this feels natural. Almost like — and then a sudden explosion makes them both jump; Tobi comes running past them, with Deidara (and his bombs) on his heels. “Get back here you little shit!!” Kakuzu sighs, and this time when he turns to go, Hidan doesn’t stop him. But Kakuzu can feels Hidan’s eyes on him, following him all the way to his room.

[jjkpls]

crayons ‘hana’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, light angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 4.5k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

> Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> next

**words in italics are spoken in Korean

It's a grey day.

The Sun is acting up. As if It had been vexed deeply and now, no matter how loud the kids are calling after It, It just won't budge. Hidden behind the thick clouds, not hinting a tiny ray through the heavy shower, It won't show the tip of Its nose today, you have no doubt about that.

It takes some time to persuade the kids of that fact though.

The better half of recess is spent arguing, they just won't admit that for today, the break will be taken in class. It renders most of them gloomy, unable to accept the harsh reality, even if they've lived before -back in the beginning, when you were still too lenient, letting yourself drag into endless quarrel leading to stupid and quite irresponsible compromises- the traumatizing experience of standing in the middle of a storm. You still remember the awful concert of cries and the race to pick every kid somehow induced in a panic paralysis, one under each arm, to bring them to safety in urgency -thank god, Jeon Jungkook had been there, with his stature, able to stack up five of them at the same time, incredibly useful, pretty much life-saving. What you remember even better is the severe scolding you received from the principal, who thought -as you should have- that no matter how bad the children insisted, they shouldn't be playing outside in the rain.

You knew that. They just wouldn't believe you and you thought that, maybe, they just needed practical proof. No harm was supposed to be engendered. And quite frankly, none occurred. Children sometimes just enjoy being dramatic and it was the perfect, quintessential occasion to do so, especially if the principle is in earshot -which she was.

In any case, you learned your lesson. However, they did not.

Charlotte, standing on her pretty polished pearl white shoes -that you know, for a fact, that you'll get in trouble if her mother comes to pick her up to find them ruined by the terrible weather-, chin up high, hands tucked to her side, won't stop arguing with you as the main spokesgirl for the class. Apparently, it's “unfair”.

And it is unfair. Weather is not meant to be fair and you have not a single take on it. Try to explain that to a five-year-old.

“Ok, everyone, listen up!” Everyone's little heads swing forward like those car bobbleheads, wide eyes ogling you with burning impatience and clear, obnoxious delusion. They're all waiting, expecting you to open the door and let them free into the wild. “Let's make a deal, alright? Who wants to make a deal?” And everyone, even if they, for the most part, have no clue what's going on, wants to -except for Charlotte who's eyeing you with a suspicious glare and for Jimmy who's hiding in the corner, a sad scowl on his face. “You know that I don't have any power over the rain. But I do have powers over how long recess will last.” You act smug as you say that, their little impressed faces adding to the effect. It becomes painful to conceal the giggles blooming in your chest. “Since you already wasted half of your time, I have a proposition for you. You'll stay twice as long on break, meaning until it's 3:45,” You explain, pointing on the big clock hovering your desk where the long hand will be standing when the break ends. “if you can stay calm in class, ok?”

The announcement sends them in a fury, the simple idea of having a longer break overwhelming them with hysterical joy. So much for staying calm and collected.

Fortunately enough, I've been gifted with overall sweet children. It doesn't require more than a collecting "shh" and a reminder of the term of the bargain for them to quietly divert into groups, colonizing different lots of the classroom. Some ask for books, for paints or crayons, for the plushies and the toys they brought along to school -even though they're not allowed to- and a tranquil atmosphere rises and sets itself upon the room.

It's very nice, even for you. Sitting at your desk, watching over them with a distracted eye, you wonder if you'd be allowed to spend the rest of the day like so. They're talking, laughing and creating, sharing, being kind to each other and this whole ambience, slower than usual, calmer, more peaceful seem greatly beneficial for them. They don't feel any kind of pressure from having to learn, having to follow a predesigned, normative rhythm. It's pleasant and healthier than usual. Even if you try your best, constantly, to render every single day as filled with positivity through the required productivity as you can, you can't help sometimes stress and tension from blooming. It suffices one Kevin to come to class, sleepy and upset from a bad night, triggering a Charlotte who ends up scowling and nagging at everyone all day, and then everyone is in a terrible mood. Exercises are a pain to go through. Keeping their attention on you a quasi impossible challenge to overcome. Bringing their spirits up an unreachable, delusional aspiration.

But here and now, spending their time and energy on what they want with their chosen friends, in the comfortable warmth of the safe classroom, with the rain gently drumming on the windows, you can sense peace and joy and it fills your heart with content to the brim, or, almost to the brim.

Your heart could be spilling out with joy if it wasn't for this one, tiny pout adorning one tiny chubby face. Jimmy hasn't budged much from earlier. He had to leave his own desk to relocate at the very end of the room because a few girls decided to set up their library on the adjacent table.

His posture is the same though. Sitting quietly, his back pressed into the corner, hands tucked together against his belly, his big dark eyes are observing his classmates attentively. You read fear but also curiosity that's eaten up by something else, maybe sadness. It's a heartbreaking sight you're unfortunately too used to witness.

Jimmy arrived two months after everyone else. You don't know much about him. Because you haven't had the occasion to meet his parents yet, but mostly because he hasn't spoken a word since his arrival. His pouty mouth, shaped like an adorable button, hasn't opened once. Not even that one time you tried to have him participate and had him tearing up and crying, overwhelmed as he felt under the attention. He just sat silently, eyes drawn downwards, munching on the inside of his cheek, while tears ran down his round cheeks while all the other kids watched, as bewildered as you.

You almost quit your job that day. Certain you were not cut for it, somehow, finding out only now, at 26 years old, that you were a horrible, cruel person and your vocation and higher call were just all a blatant lie.

It doesn’t come as a surprise that today, once again, he’s hiding in his corner. You've tried a few things before. You didn’t just watch, waiting on time to operate and break his thick shell on its own. You've consulted the principal, colleagues, the internet. You've looked for clues, for tricks and after having tried quite a few, with little to no success at all -you've made him look up to your eyes, a thing he had been incapable of before-, you've decided to lay off a bit of that zeal.

You were getting too invested, even as this child’s teacher and you knew it wasn’t a good idea to pursue. As for him, you didn’t want to harm him in any way. No matter the benevolence and kindness and softness you put in every single one of your interaction, you thought, he seems so wounded already, you could break him, without meaning to, by simply trying too hard to smother his hostile edges.

You calmed down.

It tastes like defeat, coating a heavy layer in your throat, it never ceases to remind itself to you each time your eyes fall upon the sad pout and curious eyes. 

Today is no different.

Everything would be perfect if only, for once, he could mingle with his peers and if you could, for the first time, see the shades of his smile. If he even knows how to smile. 

Rising from your chair, you pick up a few pencils from your personal collection -the precious ones, unbitten at the top, unbroken at the tip, tall and seemingly unused. You don’t ever lend those to the kids as you know they’re not mature enough, and they won’t be for a long time to come, to care for your stuff the way those crayons need to be cared for-, a few white sheets and a sharpener and quietly make your way to him. He catches you and your intention from afar, his gaze fixed on you as you get closer.

He doesn’t utter a word, nor adumbrate a movement as you crouch next to him, soft smile, soft gestures. It’s a bit hurtful to think about it this way but it’s like approaching a wild tiny, tiny helpless creature -you're terrified to see it flee away.

“Hey Jimmy,” You say kindly, ignoring pointedly Charlotte who’s watching you (you can see her from the corner of your eyes) so that she knows to not interrupt or try to interfere in any way. “Would you like to draw a little?” You lay the material in front of him. His whole attention is offered to you and while you're glad you’ve reached that point where he can actually look at you, you can not help but wish he’d look away as his heavy stare suddenly makes you feel anxious. “Those are my personal crayons. I’m sure I can trust you to take care of them well, right?” He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile. You're not sure if he’ll even pick one of them up. You know he won't in front of you anyway and not wanting him to feel cornered and pressured, after another sugary sweet smile, you wave him goodbye and let him be.

The afternoon goes on, calmer than usual. It's as if they were brought to a state of peace so deep, they're now willing to accept any unfairness the world has in store for them. When the school bell rings, the children quickly run to the racks, grabbing their coats and little bags. A few of them start piling up at your feet, whining for the teddies and toys and lip balms they brought to school this morning and that you had to hold hostage as they are not supposed to bring them to school.

“Could we have another recess like today, miss? Tomorrow?” You see the shimmery eyes, the pressing pouts and impatient wiggling of the butts, waiting as patiently as they can for an answer. You're glad they had a good time today, still, a part of you can't help but regret it all. That part, conscious from the start, of how it'll all come back to bite you in the arse. No matter how cute they are, those little monsters always end up munching your arm up to the shoulder if you only do as much as tend an open hand their way.

“We'll see.” You say, waving them off. You don't mean to be so misleading but there's no way you're sending those kids home crying hysterically because they haven't heard the answer they were looking for.

Quickly they're all out of the class, seen outside to their carers by Adrianne, the lovely woman who helps out you, along with all the other teachers, with the kids every day.

There's only you and a little mess that you're able to tidy out quickly. In the corner, lay the little pile of papers and the crayons that had been obviously unused. Your heart squeezes briefly uncomfortably but you were not expecting any different from him. Since he arrived, two months ago, Jimmy has only drawn or traced letters or painted or built anything when the rest of his classmates were doing it too. You assume it's because he feels like he can't refuse to do something everyone else is doing. When it's just about him, when it doesn't concern directly the course, when it's just for pure personal entertainment, he simply would not do it.

You notice something. If he didn't draw anything on the sheets, he touched the crayons. They're piled very neatly, all tips turned the same way, one next to the other on top of the papers. What a sweetheart.

What a lovely, lovely kid.

It sends a rush of hope and determination back into your heart. You're not utterly desperate. It might take time. Maybe you won't be able to make significant progress until the very end of the year, when you'll have to say goodbye to him once he changes classes, but you don't despair to reach him, eventually.

And maybe that's all the universe needed -the conviction that you're not holding into this kid in pure vain- to offer you a generous little push. The magical manifestation comes in the form of Jimmy himself, escorted by Adrianne whose hand hovers few centimetres atop of his dark mop of hair, standing in the doorway, eyes drawn to the ground as if he's in trouble.

“Jimmy's father is running late and I-” She winces a little, grimace accentuating the lines carved on her face around her easy smile.

“You want to ask me something, don't you?” You tease knowingly. She looks embarrassed until she catches your wink, understanding she's probably fine to ask you anything.

“It's Felicia's birthday and I promised I'll be home early...”

You have to contain yourself, to not sound as ecstatic as you feel, to not drop to the ground, hands held high in gratitude towards the sky, settling for a simple: “Okay, I'll stay with him.”

“Are you sure?” She asks because she's nice and considerate but she's already turned her body towards the hallway. It doesn't take much more convincing to have her disappear.

It's only Jimmy and you now.

You're giddy but anxious. He doesn't even raise his head once she's gone. He just stands there, little raspberries tinting his cheeks and you're filled with a fondness tightly intertwined with sadness because he shouldn't look this guilty when he's done absolutely nothing wrong.

“Come have a seat.” His black eyes raise high enough for a split second, just to see where your hand is patting before quietly, he makes his way to the chair adjacent to yours. You've laid the papers and the crayons you'd picked up from the ground, an idea had come to you. There's no chance you'll have him draw something for you but you could draw for him.

You don't know if it'll have the same effect as it does on the other children. It's this special, unique teacher power that turns every single one of your shitty doodles, gifted to one of them, into a priceless, beautiful gift. It's the funniest thing and one of your favourites. The feeling is like the one you get when they fight and have to make serious arguments and deals to decide who will be the lucky one to hold the teacher's hand today.

Surely it's ridiculous but it does flat your ego grandiosely.

You're not expecting this kind of reaction from Jimmy, you'd just like to create some sort of contact, an interaction. Staring down at the white sheet, you're left speechless, nervous. It's been a while since you've sat in front of one of those, with no clear indication of what you were supposed to lay on it. Quite frankly, your crayons you only use to grade. The feeling is terrifying and you realise, gulping, that you didn't miss it. Maybe that feeling is the reason why he didn't pick up a pencil to draw himself. Was he filled with the same irrational paralysis that comes with the fear of the unknown?

“I'm not really good at drawing, to be honest with you... Do you like cats, Jimmy?” His big eyes watch you carefully. No answer. He simply munches on his lips, waiting for you to fill in the silence. “You probably do. Or, I hope you do because cats are what I draw best. Let's see.” You mumble, picking up a blue pencil to start -another consequence of the unusual anxiety you're feeling, suddenly picturing cats being blue.

It takes him a hot minute to open up the slightest. Actually, it takes about half an hour. Half an hour of you talking on your own, making conversation for the both of you; of you struggling to draw the cat you were certain you knew how to draw; of stopping every now and then to go over the basic body shape of a cat. It starts in the form of him snorting discreetly -you almost miss it- when you almost curse, fishing your cellphone out of your back pocket to look for the ugliest but easiest drawing of a cat you can find online for reference, tired of erasing and redoing the same damn curve of the cat's neck and messing up each time. It continues with him accepting to chose the next colour for what you keep calling “our cat”. He picks a deep purple for the back of the kitty, a bright yellow for the paws and apple green for the eyes. It's kind of funny looking but in a way you've done it together and your heart is filled to the brim with happiness. When it's done, sort of, you're ready to grab a new paper, hoping that maybe, on this one, he'll feel comfortable enough to grab a pencil himself and leave an actual mark on his own but the universe taps gently but firmly on the tip of your fingers, reminding you to be thankful for what happened today but not to be too greedy.

It's the tall and dishevelled man, stumbling loudly through the door that interrupts and determine the end of today's progress. Jimmy raises on his seat on reflex, running into the man's -you assume to be his father- legs. The man seems a bit uneasy, with his trench coat poorly buttoned, his dark hair messy with a thick strand sticking up to the roof, forehead crossed with worrisome lines. He reaches for the little boy, carrying him up to his chest, smacking a big kiss on his forehead; Jimmy's short arms are reaching far, far away, wrapping as much as he can around his father's neck and the previous wrinkles simply fade away.

“I'm so terribly sorry!” He apologizes, voice remarkably low, sounding lovely somehow even through the tension straining it. “I had this meeting that just lasted forever, I'm so, so sorry. It won't happen again.”

“No it's totally fine, don't worry about it!” You might be screaming a little bit because the big, impressively built man is now bowing with Jimmy draped around him like a koala and you feel so embarrassed because 1) no one has ever bowed to you, 2) you sincerely didn't mind staying a little bit later (especially given it happens more often than not) and 3) you were glad, you feel fortunate for the chance you just had to spend more time with Jimmy and see a spark of something you've never seen before. The reason you made a good improvement, you believe, is because the circumstances were favourable. Having a class filled with twenty-five other rambunctious kids that require great attention, at all time, doesn't, ever, allow you to bond with the boy. “Please don't, it's fine.” You insist, forcing him with wide gestures to stand up straight again. “Jimmy is one of the sweetest kids of my class, honestly, it was no bother.”

The dark eyes, perfect imitations of the ones Jimmy carries, display a lovely glint at my comment. He attempts to look at his son who’s snuggling in the crook of his neck, smiling softly.

“Is that right, Jiminie? My good boy.”

Jiminie. Without knowing what he says, the sonority of his words sounds so gentle and lovely, you can tell why the boy turns all sheepish.

There's a loud kiss pressed to his cheek and you can hear a high giggle, shy but sweet, as Jimmy squirms a bit in his dad's arms, pressing a hand to his ear. The scene is so, so adorable, you would cry if only you were not too worried to give off a terrible portray of an unbalanced and ugly-crier of a teacher to this father.

Father that you’re meeting for the first time.

And this fact, lost in the middle of a storm of agitated thoughts, manages to find his way to the surface after a little while of just awkwardly standing there, not really knowing what to say.

“Mr Kim, actually, I'm glad you're here. I meant to- meet and maybe have a little conversation with you, I don't know if Adrianne told you-”

“Yes, yes, she did. Of course. I apologize, I was supposed to get back to her with a date but work has been pretty- hectic. I've just changed job and-” You nod, genuinely understanding. If you don't know much about this man, nor this family in general, you can tell from the layers of fatigue that even the tender smiles he generously grants his son can't diminish, that he's not having the best of times. “It's not that- I don't want you to believe that I'm not invested in my son's education, it's really not the case-”

“Oh no, I don't believe that!” Quite frankly, you'd say that to any parents that come to you with these kinds of doubts, it's probably the worst thing you can do to a parent to criticize their parenting, their love, especially when you know from experience than most, even the ones that mess up and scar, don't commonly mean to. Parents are just adults and adults are just humans. Trying to figure shit out and actually not knowing jack shit about much. As a teacher, of children that young too, you owe to help them turn their progeny into the best versions they can be, as a team.

But this dad, standing there, distress and something akin sadness shading so much of his face, there's so little room for softness, a hand tenderly massaging the back of his boy's hair, you have no doubt, whatsoever, that it's not the case. That he tries and probably struggles, with whatever their circumstances are, but means the best. “I really don't. It's just I'd really like- I mean, I need, to have a little meeting with you. I receive every parent at the beginning of each year, it's important for me to understand better the child...” You would point out that in Jimmy's case, it's absolutely necessary given his behaviour but you don't want to say it in front of him. You've been reassured before by the principle that you weren't to worry too much. Jimmy was not, in any case, in any kind of danger at home, she had made sure of that after you first came to her with your concerns.

It's supposed to be a case of extreme timidity. It's confusing. Still, you were ready to accept this as the plain simple explanation if only you could talk to his father, have him confirm it and validate with your own personal impression. “I understand that you're working and don't have much time to yourself and that it's a bit- I mean, even as adults, no one likes to have to attend a teacher's meeting,” Only the corner of his lips twitch a little, yet you gladly accept it as a win. “Would it be possible for you to make just a little slot in your schedule for me? I won't take too long, twenty minutes at most? Whenever you can! Before class if you want or after, in the evening, sometimes I'm still here until 7. Or at lunch! Absolutely whenever is good for you.”

“That's very kind.” Is all he says.

You don't know what to say to that. You're not sure he is right. You are especially invested in your work and your pupils. You've been told before that, maybe, you should lay off a bit -you're told each time you cry at the end of a school year, thinking about all the faces you adore but won't be seeing every day anymore. But most teachers are, you want to believe. Min Yoongi, from first grade, wouldn't be as generous with his time, that's for sure. He'd probably come up with a date that'd fit his agenda and if possible inconvenience the most the parents' schedule and demand that they do make the time and be present, guilty-trip them if they seem reluctant. But that's just him, being a lazy cynical asshole. You want to believe he's an exception and any other teacher, in your shoes, would act the same way.

That being said, the way he's saying it, wide eyes sort of laced with a certain confusion, serves to thicken the compliment.

“Whenever is fine.” You repeat, lacking a direct response to his words. There's a tiny curious eye, picking from the collar of the trench coat, observing you attentively. You smile to Jimmy, picking up the drawing of the cat you've drawn earlier and handing it to him. “I'll let you off now, Jimmy is probably starving.”

After a few seconds of just staring at it, Jimmy sneaks a hand out to accept the drawing, face instantly burying further in the fabric of his dad's clothes, all shy and embarrassed.

“Thank you. Thank you very much for today and for any day really. I promise I'll make sure to meet you very soon.”

“Sure, perfect. Jimmy, see you tomorrow?”

“You say goodbye, Jiminie?”

He mutters something you don't quite catch, enshrouded as he is in the fabric adorning his dad, but his father and you decide that it's the answer you were waiting for. A wave and a stumble down the hall later -one that nearly gives you a heart attack as the prospect of the man actually eating shit with tiny Jimmy still in his arms hit you-, they're gone, out of the school and on to their way home you assume.

You're entirely alone now. Giddy as a school girl overly excited about something mundane that doesn't require this type of enthusiasm. You're not precisely sure why. It's a storm. Again. An overwhelming storm of emotions. In the mix of it all, you can decipher the loud, brilliant thoughts regarding the tiny shy little boy, and a future brighter than the one you used to picture for him. One where he's not scared of everyone, where you can hear his voice and see him giggle without his dad for him to hide behind. And something else.

You're not sure.

You don't suck at your job, you decide, as you think back about the adorable chubby finger pointing shyly at the crayons he wanted you to use.

A/N : as always, a lot of love send your way, thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoy it :)

[khoicesbyk]

The Nanny Affair

The Fight.

Author’s Note: This fanfic right here is another challenge thrown down by a skilled writer/sister friend. I once again accept! Talley Ho! *in my Sherlock Holmes voice*

Song and Story inspiration: Ro James-Burn Slow and Sign Your Name-Terence Trent D’Arby.

***Rated: Mature 18+. Contains strong language.

***Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters.

***Characters: Sam Dalton (LI) and Krystal Parker (MC).

***All Characters and names (except MC) are property of Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 2,600 words.

3:34am.

That’s what the clock on her phone read, when she checked it.

3:34am.

For the third time in 2 weeks; she woke up in the middle of the night, gasping for air, shaking and in a cold sweat because of him. Because she’s being haunted; not just by how much she wants, misses and needs him. But; by how much she wants that night at the gala to happen again.

It has been 2 weeks since everything had happened; between Sam and Krystal. She hadn’t heard from nor seen him in that long. Because; he was either gone before she woke up; or she was already asleep when he got home. She knew he was avoiding her. And the poor girl was starting to crack under the misery.

After finally forcing herself back to sleep; Krystal was up and getting the boys ready for their week long trip, with their grandparents to their beach house in The Florida Keys. They both were excited to go but; bummed that Krystal wasn’t going with them.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go Krystal?”, Mason asked.

“Yeah, you could even sleep in the Grandpa’s boathouse!”, Mickey quipped.

“After being Krystal smashed, squished, sandwiched, piled on AND pillowed for the last 2 weeks: I need a break!…preferably BEFORE I wind up in the funny farm.”, she said as she helped the boys tote their suitcases to the front door.

“Awwww!”, the boys collectively pouted.

“None of that! You’ll be back before you know it! And don’t forget to bring me some seashells, you two!”, she told them. “I’m gonna miss you two while you’re gone!”

“We’re gonna miss you too! We promise to be very good for Nana and Grandpa!”, Mason said to her.

“Yeah! What he said!”, Mickey told her.

“That’s all I ask. Alright you two! Carter just texted me. He’s outside. Let’s go load up!”, she tells them as she leads them to the car. Before they left; they wrapped her up in the tightest, fiercest and most loving hug, their two little bodies could give. And she gave that hug right back to them. She watched as they pulled off and got misty eyed.

She missed her two sweet babies already.

They are what kept her around. They are what made that house bearable, since their father was seemingly AWOL as of late. And now that they’re going off to Florida for a week; the house seemed colder. Because; instead of 4 people in that house, it was just 2. Her and Sam.

What was she gonna do?

Well, for starters; she was gonna attempt to NOT traumatize herself, by straightening up their room. As she got to their room, she put her headphones in, turned on Amazon Music and let Ro James take her away as she cleaned up.

About an hour after her straightening up; Sam came home. He was coming from the Airpark. He had to say goodbye to his boys; before they left for a week of fun in the sun. After having to put out yet another fire due to the data breach in Milan; he was a mix of flustered, anxious and feeling like he could break something with his bare hands.

Without even thinking, whether or not Krystal was home; Sam went and changed into his gym clothes. He hadn’t noticed she was home until he saw her in the kitchen. She was getting a bottle of water and still had her headphones in. He had no idea what she was jamming to; but it was clear that she was jamming.

At least she was until he scared her by tapping her on the shoulder.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! What are you doing here?!”, she asked as she tries to calm her breathing and heart rate.

“…I live here? I mean the last time I checked; I owned the house.”, he told her as he leaned against the kitchen island.

She rolled her eyes in clear annoyance. She was also trying to hide the fact; that she was loving seeing him in his workout gear. He chuckled as he asked her, “what have you been doing?”

“A little something I like to call: just finished cleaning your kids room. I never thought that; two 7 year olds could traumatize me. Apparently I was wrong.”, she told him.

He grimaced at the thought. “Yeah…I guess I should’ve warned you about that. Remind me to put a little extra in your check.”, he told her. She nodded.

“What are you doing home so early? I thought you’d be spending the day in the office.”, she told him.

“I was. But; I remembered that the boys and my parents were leaving today. So, I met them at the airpark in Gaithersburg then came home and saw you. And here we are!”, he said with a shrug. She rolled her eyes again.

“Headed out for a run?”, she asked.

“Nope. About to hit the punching bag and maybe the weights.”, he told before he asked her. “You wanna join? I could use the company.”

“Sure. I got some steam to blow off, anyway.”, she replied.

After changing into her workout clothes she joined him in the gym. It was pretty decent sized gym. It had a little bit of everything in it, even has a boxing ring and a sauna.

Every so often; she would catch herself looking at him; out the corner of her eye. Sam is gorgeous! Especially whenever his muscles flexed or he rolled his neck and shoulders. She was still royally pissed at him but; when it came to seeing him sweat she couldn’t help but want him.

He was her entire weakness.

After about 2 1/2 hours; they both had worked up a pretty good sweat. She was feeling invigorated. She needed the distraction and she got it. Even if what caused her to need the distraction from in the first place; was in the same room.

While taking a small break; Krystal watched him on the punching bag. He reminded her of her older brother Kelly; who’s a former Marine. He was pretty good. Except for his right hook. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t all that good.

“You need to work on your right hook.”, she told him.

“Huh? I need to work on what?”, he asks her.

“You need to work on your right hook. It’s lacking. Quite a bit actually.”, she replied.

“Well alright hotshot! Since I’m lacking quite a bit; as you put it why don’t you show me how it’s done?”, he asked in a sarcastic tone.

She rolled her eyes, taped up her hands and went to work. When she was finished; she told him, “you have to have better control on your speed. You’ve got the right amount of strength; but your speed is horrible.”

He flashed a small smile. He was both impressed and insulted by her.

“Well…now that you’ve all but insulted my skills; hit the ring with me. Let’s see you in action.”, he told her.

“It’s your funeral.”, she shrugged; before stepping into the ring with him.

When they were across from each other; she asked him. “So pick your poison boss. A boxing match or a little game I like to call: tap or pass?”

“Definitely tap or pass!”, he replied.

“Alright then! Rules are simple. You make other person tap out or pass out.”, she answered.

“So it’s about submission, eh? Works for me! Besides it wouldn’t be the first time that you submitted to me.”, he replied. She wanted to punch that smug grin off his face.

At this point; she was beyond annoyed by and pissed at him. And was full on ready to kick his smug faced ass.

“Like I said earlier: it’s your funeral.”, she tells him before going to one corner; he went to the corner across from her.

“You ready?”, she asks him.

“Let’s go!”, he replies before taking his shirt off. He hoped it would distract her. But; he was about to find out that; when it comes to tap or pass, Krystal isn’t easily distracted.

With Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” blasting through the surround sound in the background; the “game” was on. They circled each other; waiting on the other one to strike. Sam was first to strike. A fury of punches and blocks soon followed.

They danced around each other; both looking for an opening on other one. Krystal found her opening and she took it, with a stiff right hook to his jaw. It caused him to drop to one knee.

“So that’s what we’re doing?”, he asked while briefly holding his jaw as he stood up. She merely shrugged and said, “it’s called tap or pass for a reason.”

He simply nodded as he returned fire. She was able to dodge most of his shots; until he got a good one in on her kidneys. He stopped and asked, “are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine! Let’s go!”, she said through ragged breaths.

Soon; punches and kicks turned into takedowns. With each trying to trap and out do the other. He wanted a fight and she was giving him one. But; what they both failed to remember is that neither likes to lose. At all; for any reason. He intensified his attempts to take her down. She was going to lose. He just needed the right time and she thought the same for him.

Like a spider does a fly in its web; Sam finally caught her. He had her pinned face down to the mat, in a sleeper hold with his knee on her back.

“You’re not getting out of this, kitten. I’ve got you right where I want you!”, he whispered harshly in her ear.

“Don’t call me kitten!”, she sneered. She managed to get free but; because that sleeper hold zapped a significant amount of her energy; it didn’t take him long to capture her again.

This time; he had her in another sleeper hold, but with his legs around her midsection. By slightly arching his back; he had the sleeper hold as well as the body scissors locked in. She was going to fight her way out of this. But; the more she tried to move, the tighter that body scissors felt.

“Give up Krystal! You’re NOT getting out of this!”, he growled in her ear.

“The…fuck…I’m…not!”, she replied. She was determined not to lose. Especially; not to the one person, who had her heart and emotions all over the damn place. But! Try as she might Krystal was trapped. Especially after; he shifted his weight slightly; by rolling onto his left side and trapping her left arm. Doing so, put her in a position that all but killed her left shoulder.

“Give up Krystal! It’s over! You have nowhere else to go!”, he told her.

“No!”, she shouted as she struggled to get free.

“Let go Krystal! It’s NOT worth you passing out!”, he told her.

She tried her hardest to try to hold on. But he was just too strong and she was too tired. With; tears full of frustration and fury in her eyes…she finally tapped out.

When he let her go; he felt everything but victorious. Especially when he saw the tears in her eyes; as she tried to put some feeling back into her left arm.

“Are you okay?”, he asked her clearly concerned about her.

“I’m fine!”, she snapped at him as she finally got up off the mat.

“You’ve been off ever since I came home. What’s gotten into you?”, he asked her.

“What would you expect from someone; that you’ve been ignoring for ohhh what is it, two weeks now?”, she replied with a question of her own before walking away.

That’s when the realization hit him like a gut punch. The gala…or at least everything that happened afterwards.

“Krystal wait a minute! Please!”, he called out to her before catching up to her.

“About that night—“, was all he said before she turned around; eyes blazing with heart ache and fury, “don’t okay? Just don’t! You’ve said all you needed to say to me! Or lack thereof that is.”

As she turned back around; she heard three words that she never thought she’d ever hear from him.

“Krystal…I love you!”, he said to her. She instantly froze in place.

“What did you say?”, she asked him. Not because she wanted to get her hopes up but; because she wanted to make sure she heard him correctly.

“I love you! And I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry that it took me this long to say it to you. I haven’t been intentionally trying to ignore you. I promise you that. But; I realize now that I have been distant. And that’s not fair to you. Look, it’s not that I don’t want to be around you. Because I do. I always want to be around you! Hell I want you! I need you! I HAVE TO have you! I want to taste you! I want to touch you! I want to please you! I want to see you smile! And right now if I’m to be honest: all I want to do is kiss you.”, he told her. She was stunned.

“Are you…are you serious?”, she asks him.

“Every word baby. Every single word.”, he responded as he got closer to her. He pulled her into an embrace; careful not to hurt her already sore left arm and shoulder. As soon as she was in her arms; the dam of emotions she was holding back broke. And she burst into tears.

“If you love me like you say you do; then why shut me out? Why treat me like I’m some dirty little secret of yours? Why keep me at arms length but expect me to welcome you with open arms and heart?”, she asks with tears streaming down her face. He did the one thing; he swore; he’d never do: he broke her heart.

“I should have a response to that. But the truth is; I don’t. I don’t have an answer for my actions towards and about you. Other than; I’m a selfish and self centered bastard who is absolutely crazy about you. I just…God this is hard! Baby; you have to understand that I haven’t felt this way about a woman since, my wife Samina died. When I lost her; I felt like I lost my heart and soul. I did actually. I lost my heart and soul. And I swore that I would never again; love any woman like I loved her. That was until I met you. The day that you walked into my office for the first time; as cliche as it sounds; it was love at first sight for me. And it’s been that way ever since.”, he explained.

She was stunned once again. She just stood there; trembling in his arms as she cried. She finally heard it. He finally said it.

“Sam…”, she managed to say through her tears.

“Yes?”, he replied as he rubbed her back and placed a small kiss on her forehead.

“I love you too.”, she told him.

At that moment; he gave into every ounce of unrestrained and unbridled passion; that he had in him. And he kissed her like his life depended on it.

Because in that moment…it most certainly did.

“Come with me?”, he asked her.

“To where?”, she replied.

He never said a word. He just took her hand and led her to his bedroom.

@lucy-268 @txemrn @choicesficwriterscreations @lovelyladyk88

😘

K.

[ofwizardsandmen]

Unplanned

Gossip Witch AU (HP AU)

Characters: Tara Lee (OC),  Mark Yang (changed his last name for plot purposes)

Word count: 2,1k

Genre: fluff, a lot of fluff 

“Mark was eleven the day he decided he wanted Tara Lee to become his wife. It was one of those summer days when the two of them laid sprawled on the grass in the backyard of the Fawley Manor. They had spent the morning talking about Hogwarts and how Tara would write him letters every day and probably send him some of her favorite treats from Honeydukes if she ever got to follow Tyler to the weekend trips to Hogsmeade.”

—

Mark has known Tara for over two decades. Through the years he’s seen the good, the bad —not like there was much to see, except for the very few times Tara has allowed her free-spirited soul to cloud her judgment,— and basically everything in between. 

And yet, Mark can’t think of a time his girlfriend looked as angry, frustrated, and seemingly disgusted —all at once— as she does today.

All Tara says when she storms into Mark’s one piece apartment, looking beyond stressed, is that her brother has outdone himself this time. Whatever that means, that’s to say something considering Tyler Lee is one of the most stressful people Mark knows, if not the most stressful. However, over time Mark has learned not to even pretend to be surprised by any Tyler-related news simply because Tara’s brother seems to possess the staggering skill of outdoing himself every other day.

Judging by Tara’s expression, today is one of those days.

“There is no way I am going back there, Mark,” Tara announces gravely, shaking her head vehemently as her boyfriend wraps an arm around her supportively “I am never going back to that place. I’m moving out!” That last part she blurts it out of the blue, eyes ignited with a mixture of resolve and something Mark can only describe as murderous rage. it takes him a few seconds to process Tara’s words and realize she’s talking about the home she shares with her brother. 

“T, I get it, Tyler can be a real pain,” This Mark says it sincerely, his mind purposely trying to block the mental images that suddenly assault his memory ”But, think carefully, you can’t just move out. Where are you planning to go?” He asks, genuinely concerned about the possible options Tara might be contemplating… the Fawley Manor or Enzo’s apartment, for example. Or even worse, Arabella Black’s home.

“I don’t know and I don’t care. I can go stay with-“ Tara makes a pause as if trying to organize her thoughts “Enzo” she finally says, confirming Mark’s fears and causing him to bite the inside of his cheek. “Or Adela” she starts counting with her fingers “Leah, Adam, Florence…” Mark only closes his eyes, anticipating Tara to drop the name he dreads the most. “Ara. I’ll call her and ask if I can spend-”

“Babe” Mark steps in front of his girlfriend so they can look at each other face to face, his hands moving to her sides gently “why don’t you talk it out with Tyler first? Whatever happened between you two, and as much as it pains me to say this, but he might have some reason. Not to mention that he adores you and he’d-“

“He’s dating Daniel” Tara blurts, interrupting Mark’s increasingly heartfelt speech and causing him to frown at her, his upper lip slightly going up and creasing the tip of his nose. A look that Tara would’ve considered adorable, had not been for the images occupying her mind at the moment.

“Wait-“ Mark raises a hand, asking Tara not to add a word, his expression as childish as his increasingly mature features allow him to appear now that his 24th birthday is fast approaching “he is- what?”

“Dating, fucking, whatever it is, it’s disgusting, they were-“

“It’s ok, I don’t need the mental image” Mark interrupts, barely being able to conceal the panic in his voice.

“In the living room, Mark” Tara goes on anyhow, causing her boyfriend to wince and scrunch up his nose. “It’s gonna be like this every single day from now on. I can’t put up with that” She claims, allowing her legs to give up and flopping onto Mark’s pastel-colored couch. “Do you agree I have no other option than moving out?” She asks, eyes pleading as she looks up and finds Mark staring down at her with a misplaced expression.

Mark, the ever logical and overthinking soul he is, only presses his lips together and nods slowly before sitting down on the edge of the couch.

“I guess you have no other option,” he says, but it’s still painfully obvious how much he disagrees with her decision. However, Mark is never one to question Tara. He never has questioned Tara even though her decisions made no sense whatsoever or involved the two of them. Mark just doesn’t know how to. He had remained silent even that one time Tara chose to break up with him. “Unless-“

Tara’s eyebrows go up questioningly.

“Unless?”

“Maybe you can use one of those charms you use to soundproof my studio,” Mark suggests hopefully, the slightest bit of blush spreading on his cheeks.

“Mark, no amount of charms will be enough with those two” Tara says and he grimaces at that. “You are being really weird about this” his girlfriend adds, eyeing him as if he'd eventually start to show symptoms of a disease. “You’re ok?”

“Then move in with me” Mark blurts so out of the blue that his own words sound foreign when they come out of his mouth. It would be funny if Tara wasn’t staring at him, looking profusely confused.

“Mark, I can’t invade your personal space.” She reasons logically “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but this apartment is not exactly fit for the two of us,” her eyes dart to the suitcases blocking the corridor and Mark’s guitar and the notebooks where he writes his music down, scattered all over the coffee table and the rug.

“Then let’s find a house,” Mark offers quite simply, not really knowing where the sudden eagerness is coming from.

Moving in together has always seemed the natural next step in their relationship. There’s no denying he’s thought about it a lot. Enough times for him to brainwash himself into believing he knows exactly how waking up next to Tara every morning would feel like and fantasize about getting to a cozy home where she waits for him every night and smothers him with kisses. However, the way Tara looks at him makes his conviction falter and his chest deflate.  

“Mark, I do appreciate the offer, but I don’t think you’re thinking things through,” Tara says her boyfriend’s name carefully and pronounces every word after slowly, almost as though she’s scared of offending him. “Moving in together is a very-“ She hesitates “It’s a huge step, I don’t think you’re aware of it just now”

“I am,” Mark says, finally gathering all the confidence he’s lacked to contradict Tara during those eleven years of relationship.

—

Mark was eleven the day he decided he wanted Tara Lee to become his wife. It was one of those summer days when the two of them laid sprawled on the grass in the backyard of the Fawley Manor. They had spent the morning talking about Hogwarts and how Tara would write him letters every day and probably send him some of her favorite treats from Honeydukes if she ever got to follow Tyler to the weekend trips to Hogsmeade.

“Why can’t you just keep attending school… hmmm… here?” He had asked. At age eleven and with his reduced knowledge of the magical world, Mark’s was a genuine question. Tara had looked at him as though he had asked why the sky was blue or if Earth was really round. The kind of question whose answer is evident, but requires a lot of complex words and scientific knowledge to explain.

“Because that’s how it works” Tara had settled for an answer that was as useless as it was genuine. “It’s just something I have to do” She had moved to a sitting position and looked down at Mark, her expression warm and confident “If I want to go to Oxford with you, I ought to go to Hogwarts first. I’ll be back before you notice” she had added, smiling so brightly and reassuringly that for a moment, the sun seemed to be paling in comparison. Even as a kid, that was Tara’s charm, her confidence and the way she always seemed to know how to offer consolation and calm Mark’s fears.

Back then, Mark dreamed about becoming an author of the likes of C.S. Lewis or Arthur Conan Doyle and he wouldn’t go a day without carefully planning every step that would take him to Cambridge or Oxford and would allow him to receive a Nobel by the time he turned 50.

“And then, I will write you a book about it” There was a moment’s worth of hesitation “For you, Markie”

Mark was just a kid, but even back then, he knew Tara really meant that.

—

“In fact…” Mark shallows and then clears his throat a bit too loudly for his cheeks not to tint again. He forces himself to push the childhood memories away and focus on the matter at hand “In fact, that’s something I’ve always thought, something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately” he confesses. “I know how unexpected all of this is and you might think I’m just rushing things because I don’t want you to move in with Ara and have that odious brother of her lurking around, but” Mark speaks so fast that Tara can barely follow along. “Wait, there’s something-” Mark suddenly shoots up and scurries to the other side of his apartment, opening drawers randomly until he seems to find what he’s looking for. He strides back to Tara without even minding the mess he’s left behind him as he shoves something that looks suspiciously like a jewelry box in his pockets.

“Mark, are you ok?” Tara glances at him, awkwardly standing a few steps away from her, and concern crosses her features “I had no idea you still felt that way about Darius, but if that’s a problem, I can always find a place for myself, you know, on my own” she ventures, her lower lip caught firmly between her teeth.

“No, no, no. It’s not about that” Mark shakes his head almost frantically before wiping his hands on the fabric of his jeans. If Tara didn’t know any better, she’d say he seems nervous. But then Mark seems to collect himself, takes a deep breath, and goes down on his knee.

“Mark, I don’t know what you’re doing” There’s panic in Tara’s voice when she attempts to stand up, but Mark’s hands are quick to grab her sides and hold her in place  “I don’t think you’re-“

“Shhhh, let me talk, please,” He asks, speaking over her, his voice deep and serious. “Listen T, it is evident by now, but you’re the love of my life.” Mark stops for a few seconds, feeling as though he’s not making a very good job at conveying what he wants to say. Tara has the good sense to remain silent because she expects there to be more. But the silence stretches, making the look of anticipation on her face to grow deeper. “You’re my best friend and I know it sounds silly, but I’ve always known I want to spend a lifetime with you, it’s always been you and I simply can’t imagine loving anyone the way I love you.” Tara’s face flushes at that, “I know we’re still young, and you might feel it’s too early, but we’ve been together for so long, there’s literally no other step in between. I want to protect you and love you and wake up next to you every morning. I want us to be a family.” Mark gulps quietly as he fishes in the pocket of his jeans, pulling a red leather box “So, Tara Lee, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Tara doesn’t reply immediately, she stares at the sparkling diamond inside the box with her eyes wide open and her thoughts all jumbled up inside her brain. She can’t quite grasp the situation yet, because it all happened so unexpectedly that it almost feels like her frenzied imagination is pulling a cruel prank on her. She blinks twice to make sure she’s not dreaming and then nods slowly, but Mark has already started to speak again, taking her silence for hesitation.

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be immediate, we’ll need a house and you know Jane, so maybe it can be next year or the year after, I just want us to-“ he rambles.

“Yes, Mark. I will marry you” Tara says laughing as her hand slides under his chin. He seems positively confused for a second or two, until then Tara goes on “It doesn’t matter if it’s tomorrow or next year or the year after, I will still want to marry you, Mark Yang, because you’re the love of my life too.”

Mark looks like he can’t quite believe his ears, but as a wide smile starts to spread across his lips, matching Tara’s elated smile, he allows his insecurities to resurface in the form of a silly question “Wait, can you repeat that?”

Tara rolls eyes and fights the urge to chose a sarcastic reply. Instead, when she closes the gap between them and leans to press their lips together, she whispers “yes” against Mark’s lips.

Mark has known Tara for over two decades. And yet, he can’t think of a time she looked as beautiful and happy as she does right now.

...

[thecardsimagine]

The Tale of the Fog Village

Summary: Venturing out of your foggy village, all you wanted  was to save everyone from the looming threat that cowered in the forest.  No one could have known what you would encounter in your quest to  achieve that, how much you’d gain, and what you would lose. Not you. Not  him.

Pairing: Lucio x Reader (Nonbinary) Rating: Mature because of swearing and suggestive content Warning: Blood, Death Genre: Romance, Drama, Fantasy, Action, Alternate Universe

Back to the Prologue /  [Read on Ao3] / Next Chapter

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a/n: Not gonna lie, it’s a little disappointing to see just how little interaction there is with this story. But I will see it to the end, it can only get better I am sure. So if you are reading it, thanks! If you want, leave me a comment or share for others to find it!

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Chapter 6 - The Deal

“Oh,” you whispered, fractures of the tales you had heard in your life falling together and in place. “That makes so much sense actually,” you thought out loud, letting yourself be urged forward by the wind, not minding it all too much, suddenly. “So that’s what you are.”

“Yes, yes. Done monologuing? We have something to burn…” it mumbled, seemingly dissatisfied with your reaction or the whole situation - you could not make it out from the tone of voice alone. “No, wait, let that sink in. You are the Keeper. You. Keeper. The voice in my head is an undying entity. I really am going nuts.”

The long sigh it let out almost sounded desperate. As if it was rubbing its temples in complete exasperation. “Okay, okay, I only have one question,” you tried to soothe the situation, both of you seemingly losing your mind over it. “Yes, Human?” it complied, words being spoken through gritted teeth of unwillingness. “Why. Why did you do what you did?”

Coming to another halt, you stood your presence against the wind pushing you forward until, on one point, it just dispersed. “I don’t have to answer that,” Lucio replied, and you shook your head immediately. “No! I need to know! This is like the core of the beliefs in the village! You got to tell me!”

Another frustrated grunt echoed in the back of your mind as it decided what to do. The longer you listened to it, the more you could understand how this might not be… a nice topic for it. But you had to know. All this talk, the stories, your trust issues - everything would benefit from it. At least, you’d have something to go home with, if not a complete victory. Gripping the strap from your bag, you kneaded it nervously in your hands, hoping that the voice would comply. But with every second of silence, your hope sunk until it hit rock-bottom. You needed a new strategy, quickly!

“Look, I’m walking,” you pointed out, taking some steps forward. “We’re in this together, right? Those were your words. But we-” you interrupted yourself for a second, biting your lips. As diplomatic as you wanted to be, you felt nothing short of a liar, and it wormed you. “-we got to be honest with each other. And I really need to know this.”

“And how will you benefit from that information?” it asked. It was a justified question, you had to admit. 

“I can trust you better.”

“Have you not trusted me until now? Following my orders through the forest made it seem like you did.” Rolling your eyes, you shrugged lightly. “You win,” you admitted, and you could hear a pleased chuckle from it. “I still really, REALLY want to know. Pretty please?” you asked, as lovely as you could. The reality was, you might be dying in this forest, so even if you had to sink low, you wanted to know as much as you could. Understand as much as there was until… until maybe it was over. 

“I mean- That is…” A groan followed, and it took another moment to collect itself before it sighed.” Fine, I can’t exactly say no if you ask for it so nicely, do I,” it huffed, and you let out an inward cheer of victory, glad to have finally won it over. “Ask your questions, Kid.”

Taking a deep breath, you collected what you wanted to say in your mind, hundreds of ways to ask things from the voice falling in and out of your brain. You took a little too long to sort out how to approach this in the best way possible but urged by it clearing its throat, you came into a stumble, the first, rough draft of a good question just popping out of your mouth. “Why kidnap a village and hold it hostage?”

Damn it, you thought. That was not how you wanted to approach the situation. But now that the cat was out of the bag, there was no way to get yourself out of it anymore. You could hear a few bewildered gasped before it hissed it’s answer - or well, facts - right into your mind. “I did not kidnap or hold anyone hostage!”

“Lucio,” you said very sternly, furrowing your brows. With the call of its name, you felt like it shivered, but you ignored the growing uncomfortableness of the voice. “This forest is so dense, I’ve been walking in it for two days, and I know I will not get out here without guidance. And the people must have come here on some point and build my village. You did admit to being the Keeper.”

“I admitted to nothing, little Human. I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, how else did this all happen?!” You heard it grumble loudly before sighing, finally letting down some guard to reveal some truth. It was a struggle to believe in what it was saying, but you kept calm, reminding yourself to let it be a possibility. 

“They wanted me to bring them here! They insisted I bring them somewhere safe and far away from the dangers of… that world out there. They chose to stay in that little settlement of yours!”

“And now you are keeping them there by raising fog and not letting them get through this forest?!”

“I- Well, I couldn’t have known that forests grow so fast… It’s been a long time, okay?” 

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, taking in the information. The voice… didn’t seem regretful of what it did. Maybe even a little confused itself. So was it really your place to judge, you wondered? “They… the people, right? What is out there that they wanted to be lead away and kept in hiding?” It was a reasonable thing to ask, and you crossed your fingers that its answer wouldn’t be something you would regret hearing.

“There was constant war where they were from. Illness, people starving. I guess they wanted to flee from that.”

“I see,” you confirmed, remembering the few books you had read. Books that had been stored away on the attic of you and your friend’s houses. Books you weren’t supposed to find, but now, they made sense. They had spoken about all of the things the voice listed. Described how hard life had been. Maybe they had been diaries from long-gone ancestors of yours, you weren’t sure. But all the more, you felt like your company spoke the truth.

“Why you? Why did they ask you to help them?” It sighed, and you knew it was getting weary of your questions. Again you heard some mutters that were harder to decipher than the mumbling of some of the oldest people in town. Words you weren’t really sure you even knew what they meant. 

“Because I am-”

“-you’re not human,” you finished its sentence as it dawned on you. “Oh you’re getting so clever all of a sudden. I almost lost hope this would happen,” it snarked, and you had to admit that you may have been too obsessed with The Keeper being a human being - at least, initially. “Right… so not a human that led those people in the village.”

“Never been, never will be.”

“Then what-” you wanted to start, but a cold wind brushed against your face, and you felt like it was your time to shut up. “Don’t test your luck now.”

Maybe you didn’t want to know, you decided. At least, for now.

“Wait, am I-?” 

“One guess. You’ve got. One. Guess.” 

Closing your mouth, you nodded. Of course, you were human, who were you kidding. After all, you couldn’t do that cool mind-talking stuff. Or the raising of the wind and fog. Slowly, you pieced together that it also was the voice’s doing when the plants moved out of your way, and you had to admit, you might not have given it the proper credit for its help yet. 

Lost in thought, you were torn out as it sighed. The voice changed from its somewhat defensive tone to a bit softer, less denying. “It’s not my fault your village is stuck in the middle of this forest. That was the deal…”

“Deal?” you perked up, leaning your head to the side questioningly. A soft push made you change directions, the soil beneath your feet getting rougher as you closed in on another steep track up a hill. “Yeah, deal. You know like two people mak-”

“Lucio, I know what a deal is. I may not know much about the outside, but my home is not illiterate.”

“Right…” it mumbled. “I may have offered them my guidance and knowledge, in return for…” 

Leaning forward, you felt your body tensing, waiting for it to finish the sentence. But the voice only trailed off, leaving you without an answer. “Do you not remember, or do you not want to talk about it?” you sighed helplessly as you knew it would not answer if it really truly didn’t want to. “Maybe… a bit of both.” Nodding, you admitted defeat to its stubbornness, letting down the topic in favor of not arguing for a while.

“Been a long time, huh?” you asked, and you heard it hum thoughtfully. “Yes, a long-” a deep sigh went of its lips, “-LONG time.” 

Curiously, you thought hard if you should ask the question burning on your tongue. Maybe it would be too insensitive to ask, but you wondered how many people had tried to get through the thicket before you in this long time. Maybe your father had never actually tried to wander away from the village - may that be a good or a bad thing to know. Nevertheless, you deemed that information as too important to not risk pulling the voice’s frustration on you again.

“Have there been… other people coming through here?”

“Do you mean humans or not-humans?”

Stuttering, you shrugged, meekly choosing both options. “Either?”

“Well, aside from the few absolutely not human, co-existing presences in this forest… one. There has been one more human.”

“Did he make it?” you immediately snapped, not thinking through your words before they were out. “Oh- I, I mean. They. The human.” You tried to save yourself, but to no avail. Suspicion grew in the voice as it questioned you while still staying unfathomable. “Well, he- or was it? I think it was. Okay, listen, it’s been awhile, I don’t remember what kind of human it was or if that person made it. But how would you know?”

Biting yourself on the tongue, you scolded your brain for sharing too much information. So far, you had wonderfully dodged most questions, evaded the voice’s desire to pull out things you did not want, but no longer. Not with what all you knew now. “Okay… I will tell you. But first I want to-... No, we must do something else.”

By the time you two had reached this point in your conversation, it had long begun to darken. Little, yellow fireflies pooled around areas in the forest, coming up from the thicket you had previously marched through. Paired with the moonlight above, it was a pretty sight, and - if you had learned something from the books you read in your childhood - it was the perfect, ominous feeling to propose your idea.

“I want to make a deal with you.”

There was a halt in its breath, before it answered, shattering you down into the small being you were. “No.”

“Please?” you tried, hoping it would work like last time. “I said no. I will not make a deal with you. What kind of deal would you even be able to make with a being like ME.”

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your coat, nervously kneading it in your hands. It was right. You did not have much to offer, in fact, nothing. It was on you to think sharp about your next words, the burden heavy on your shoulder. It would be all or nothing, if you messed up, the voice probably would never again want to agree to your terms. The curiosity it was showing now was your last straw to hold on. 

“I know that these factories must really bother you.” Pausing, you listened to the wind picking up, rattling through the leaves of the trees. It was your way to evaluate the situation on how careful you had to be, the forest giving you signs. “And I will help you destroy them, and take care of them.”

“Yes?” it asked unimpressed. “What’s in this deal for you?”

“I want you to…” gulping, you pulled up all the courage you could muster, slowly nodding to yourself in encouragement. “If I do that - helping you - I want you to open up a trade route.”

“A what,” it spouted, disbelieving your proposal. “A trade route,” you squeaked softly, and you felt the wind pick up, lashing out all around you. “That will NOT happen,” Lucio instantly refused, unwilling to hear you out any further.

“But, it’s just one route, it’s not like the village will disappear, this all here will remain!”

“No!”

“But then I could-”

“I said no! There is no deal! You want to destroy these factories as much as I do, I don’t need to deal with your ideas!”

“IT’S FOR MY DAD, OKAY!” you yelled, as loud as you could. 

The flapping of the wings from the bird that flew away quickly was the only thing breaking the silence as you struggled to remain your composure. “Okay, I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I- I just really want to find my dad... They say he ran away from the village and you said someone passed through here. If you’d just… let some of us out we could grow as a culture and trade with others, and I could go and search for him.”

For a moment, you thought your words were falling on deaf ears. Stomping your foot in frustration, you felt the headache of the very morning returning. It was no surprise, the day had been long, your patience had been tested over and over. You still felt cold, lost, exhausted, and it was wearing you down. 

“I cannot make this deal with you,” the voice eventually mumbled in the back of your aching head, and you sighed, shoulders hanging. “It’s okay…” you whispered, acknowledging your defeat in the matter. There was nothing more that you wanted to do as to lay down and rock back and forth. Just forget all of this happened and wake up the next morning in your bed. Yes, you wished the Keeper would have actually done his job and kept you out of this damn forest. Even the first encampment would have had trouble to even reach the village, you’d have been save for the next few years. All that you had brought upon you was pain and despair, and you knew you were not going to last much longer as it was.

But instead of breaking down, you moved onwards, just kept walking. Maybe you’d keep walking until your legs would give out, perhaps that’s how it would end. “Hey!” you heard, having completely ignored the voice in your head calling out. It was a skill that only seemed to work when you felt yourself slip into a bad place, but it worked nonetheless. “Will you listen?” it hissed at you, and this wasn’t a real question. “Got no other choice,” you sighed, shoulders still hanging and gaze fixed on the ground.

“I cannot make this deal with you because this isn’t my doing.”

Your steps halted as you looked up again, blinking a few times. “Bu-But you just explained you are The Keeper… You do all of this…”

“Yes, urgh, damn it!” it cursed, some more unknown words slipping out of its mouth. “I was the Keeper. But I don’t control the fog anymore!” It sighed some more, seemingly struggling with what it had to confess to you. But with every word it spoke, you felt a new-found energy rushing into you, the gleam in your eyes returning as you stared ahead, the red flicker of light in the distance. “Here is my deal:” the voice revealed. 

You listened intently as it proposed it’s idea. Slowly, you felt how the weight got pulled off your shoulder, replaced by the sparks of hope and relief. Some part of you still couldn’t trust the idea, but you were too happy to hear about it, you spoke before thinking twice. “Deal!”

“So be it,” the voice chuckled. “It’s a deal, little Human.”

[livsinpjs]

Believe in the Green Light (pt 3) the busy

“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.” - F. Scott. Fitzgerald

The BAU team is called into Pasadena, California after the deaths of three lead to an investigation revolving around Gatsby, a new drug that hit the market at a dead sprint. When a raid on a house reveals the creator of the drug, a young man no one even knew was missing, Jason Gideon and co. find themselves involved in a case bigger than they originally thought.

Spencer sat as still as possible, trying not to aggravate his injuries. He tried to clear his mind, which was running a mile a minute. He needed to take stock of his injuries. That was something he could do. That was something within his control. He closed his eyes and let himself focus on the pain that was his entire world. Starting from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He obviously had a concussion. He didn’t know how severe. He couldn’t remember how many blows he sustained, but the throbbing behind his eyes and the nausea was enough to confirm it. Moving downwards to his throat, which was most likely bruised from the times They would strangle him. Not enough to make him pass out or anything, just enough to slam his head against the concrete wall, which didn’t help the concussion.

Then to his face, bruised and bloody. Nose was probably broken, and cuts from the rings his attackers wore as they pummeled him into oblivion. His mind wandered then, wondering what could have happened to those men that made them feel the need to beat him senseless. Or maybe they were just complete sadists? Trying to use his profiling skills in this condition was almost impossible. Almost. But he was getting distracted. Injuries. Right.

Farther down to his ribs, and shit did he not want to think about them. But it was all he could do at this point. He tried to focus but he could feel his mind wandering, self loathing and crippling hopelessness filling his stomach and- No. It will be okay. He just had to not think about it. But not thinking is something he just doesn’t do. So thinking about something else is his only choice, and- Damn it Reid, focus. Ribs right. Definitely bruised if not broken, obvious by the way his chest moved and felt each time he took a breath. How many, he couldn’t tell. Couldn’t pinpoint the places in most pain. All right, lower. His stomach was probably bruised, but he couldn’t see through his tattered, bloody shirt.

Then to his legs, probably bruised. His ankle was most definitely broken. If the way his foot was pointing wasn’t enough of an indicator, the fire coursing through his veins sure was. That was the last of his injuries that he could pinpoint. Everything else was just pain.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to release his agitation by throwing a huge tantrum like a child or have a breakdown like an emotional teenager. He couldn’t, of course, but even if he could he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t give Them the satisfaction of seeing him break. It was just so hard to hold himself together. The only thing stopping a full meltdown was his situation. He knew that if he did, he could die. They would kill him if he acted out. They told him so. So he just had to sit, the most of the pain being caused by the buzzing under his skin. He just had to sit and wait.

But wait for what?

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

The team walked into the precinct early the next morning. Quickly they began working on the profile.

“The overkill suggests an emotional motive. Maybe he’s a kid being bullied at school. He kills his aggressors to take revenge.” Morgan said as he sat at their table, looking at a specific photo of the deceased Michael Nook.

Gideon shook his head. “These killings have a kind of... maturity to them. If the Unsub was a highschool student, there would be a lot more overkill and a messier crime scene. He would also have most likely stolen the items on the victims, especially the drugs.”

“So who is this guy?” Morgan wonders aloud. JJ walks in with coffee and they continue to work.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

After a while of note taking and slow progression, Detective Sanders came into their conference room with a grave look.

“They’ve found another body. Killed last night by the looks of it. Witnesses recall multiple gunshots.”

Hotchner and Morgan stood up at the same time. They nodded to each other and looked towards Gideon.

“I think I’ll stay here and update victimology.” Gideon said, turning to the board once more.

“All right Morgan, let’s head out.” Hotchner spoke and they left Gideon alone to stew in his thoughts.

What is it about the victims that get them killed?

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

CSI swarmed the alleyway between Marceline’s Flower shop and Bubblegum Tattoo Parlor, crime scene tape and markers seemingly strewn about randomly.

Morgan and Hotchner weaved in and out of people’s way, flashing their credentials when necessary. They were finally able to squeeze into the eye of the storm, crime scene techs taking pictures and doing all sorts of tests. Detective Sanders finished speaking with a technician and approached the agents. Morgan already crouched, examining the dead man.

“Chris Alexander, 28. He had copious amounts of Gatsby on him, as well has hundreds of dollars in cash.” Sanders said as he looked down at the deceased.

“He must be one of the Gatsby dealers, he may have connections to the manufacturers. Morgan, call Garcia and have her go through every inch of data on this man’s phone. I want anything to do with Gatsby analyzed, see if we can find where these manufacturers are, they may be his next target.” Hotch ordered as he pulled out his phone as well, pressing a speed dial and turning to take his call in some semblance of privacy.

Morgan stood and did the same, pressing one of his first speed dials.

“You’ve reached the mistress of all knowledge. Speak mortal, and have your questions answered.” Penelope spoke into her head piece.

“Hey baby girl, I need a complete search through a victim’s phone” He motioned at a CSI tech and they handed over the phone. “Name’s Chris Alexander.” He pulled up the phone number and read it off. “Filter anything having to do with Gatsby or drugs, also anything to do with the book The Great Gatsby, they may have some sort of code they use.”

“Alright, give me a bit to comb and I’ll get back to you hot stuff.”

“Thanks sugar.” He smiled into the phone as he hung up. What a woman. He caught up with Hotchner and they finished up at the crime scene before heading back to the police precinct.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

When they arrived, Gideon was adding information to their board, fresh pictures of Chris Alexander and the crime scene already up.

“He’s growing more agitated. More angry. The amount of overkill in this victim is equal to the distributed amount amongst the Nook’s and McCarthy.” Gideon spoke, not turning to see the two agents entering the conference room. With JJ speaking to the press about another shooting, it was just the three of them.

“Yet the amount of victims has decreased. He killed three in the beginning, why kill only one this time around?” Hotch mused, stepping up to the board next to Gideon.

“Maybe he’s killing these people for a specific reason. All four victims had Gatsby on them. Maybe this guy just has a vendetta against the stuff, or maybe someone he knows is using and he wants to get rid of it.” Morgan sat at the table, opening the file and looking through it for the umpteenth time.

“Whoever he is, he’s getting angrier.” Gideon said.

Derek’s phone rang then, he quickly put Penelope on speaker. “What have you got for me baby girl?”

“Okay, so this guy is not sneaky at all. He blatantly speaks about Gatsby without hesitation, ya know if I were a super secret drug dealer I would use a bunch of code names, especially common words so no one would suspect anything, like grocery shopping, but not this guy is all like ‘Hey I’m selling Gatsby here and here so don’t be goin’ around there’ Like come on! He-”

“Baby girl, you’re getting off topic, what have you got?”

“Right! Well anyway he talks to this one guy a lot, Nick, who looks to me like an OG dealer. He’s kind of mentoring this guy, telling him where to go and where not to go. Anyway, I was able to find a recent message from them saying where they’re gonna be selling throughout the week. This week.”

Hotch spoke up then, “That’s great Garcia, send us an address and we’ll get back to you soon.’’ Then he hurried out of the room. Morgan and Gideon gave each other questioning looks, but neither of them knew what had gotten into their supervisor.

“All right baby girl, thank you, well get back with you later.” With that, he hung up and he and Gideon left the conference room to find their boss.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

She was shaking. Her frizzy blonde hair in a ponytail and her arms wrapped around her as if she was cold in the humid, California air. She looked around feverishly until she spotted him. He was scoping out the crowd just like her, but he was more calm and collected. She looked like she would lash out any second. She quickly moved towards the man, almost desperately.

“You have some, right? The- the stuff? You know? I can tell, you look like the other guys who gave it to me. Please tell me you have some.” She was almost pleading with the man. He seemed amused at her desperate cries.

“I might have the stuff you’re looking for..” He glanced towards a nearby alleyway and began walking towards it.

She quickly caught up to him, falling into step beside him as they entered the alley. “Please, I’ll give you anything.”

He looked her up and down. “Anything?”

“First the stuff.” She almost pleaded. He took out a small, white vial, showing it off.

“How do I know you won’t run with it the second you get your hand on it?”

“B-Because…” she stuttered, reaching behind her.

She drew her gun and pointed it at Nicholas Armstrong. “You’re under arrest. FBI Special agent Jennifer Jareau.” After that, police and FBI agents swarmed the alley, quickly confiscating the drug and cuffing the perpetrator.

“Good work JJ.” Morgan approached her after Nick was carted away.

“It was Hotch’s idea. He looked at Abigail Cooper and thought, with some acting and an outfit change, I could fit in with her crowd. It was his idea to send me in undercover. I’m just glad it went smoothly.”

“Yeah,” He patted her on the back “Me too.”

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

“Look, if you tell us where you got the drug, we’ll say you cooperated with the authorities, that usually sticks out to a judge and maybe your punishment won’t be as bad.” Morgan was trying once again to get Nicholas Armstrong to talk.

“And I already told you I don’t know shit!” Nick said defiantly, crossing his arms as if to prove a point.

“Listen man, I’m sure you’ve heard on the news about the recent killing, yeah? Well, one of the victims was your little friend Chris Alexander. And we have reason to believe the killer’s gonna come after you and these people you got Gatsby from. Now we could put you into protective custody, or we can charge you with illegal distribution of drugs and you’ll be fined and sent on your merry way. Straight into the arms of a killer. So how ‘bout you just tell me where we can find these other guys!” Morgan slammed his hands on the table for emphasis at the end of his spiel. Looking pointedly at the man whose eyes had become like saucers.

“O-okay okay… geez.” He sat up straight and inhaled before continuing. “I don’t know who they are, but every week they open up their house and sell it to use out of there. Actually, there are rumors that they make the stuff down there and that they’re a part of some kind of mob or something, but everyone is too scared of them to try anything.”

“An address, Armstrong. I need an address.”

“Right, right, uh.. It’s 4267 Leavenworth. That’s all I know, I swear.”

“All right, I appreciate your help my man.” And with that, Derek walked out of the room and pulled out his phone. “Hotch, yeah I’m gonna need a SWAT Team at 4267 Leavenworth.”

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

Spencer woke with a start. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, (especially if he had a concussion) but there wasn’t much else to do down in his prison, and he needed to keep up his energy, in case he had any opportunities to escape. He blinked several times, trying to clear his head in vain. After a moment it occurred to him that something must have woken him up. He looked around the room, but nothing seemed out of place. But there it was again. The door was being unlocked. Spencer braced himself, not knowing who to hope for. The two maybe sadists or Maria and her family.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out though, because Maria came strolling in, her father right beside her, looking beyond angry. Spencer tensed as if he were to be struck, but no blow came. The two stopped at Spencer’s feet before the father began speaking.

“We’re leaving.” he said coolly. At this Spencer’s mind raced. Where are they going? Are they going to take him with them or let him go? Or are they going to leave him for dead? Before he could spiral any further, the man spoke again. “Someone’s killin’ the clientele here and the feds have shown up.”

Spencer’s heart swelled at that. The FBI is here, it’s only a matter of time before they arrest Them and rescue him. “But unfortunately for you…” Spencer’s train of thought was immediately disrupted by the man and hopelessness filled him yet again. “You ain’t gonna be seeing no feds in this lifetime. Maria, if you will.” And then he left the room, leaving Maria and Spencer alone.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

Maria stared down at her captive as her hand went to the gun behind her. He looked terrible. His pretty features hidden underneath blood and grime. His form trembling. He hadn’t uttered a word in the six weeks he had been there. Answering questions with a shake or a nod of his head. He would make the occasional scream of ‘no’ or ‘stop’, like the time yesterday when Tyrone had broken his ankle. Other than that, he’d hum annoyingly or whimper. But nothing else. It was almost  like he had gone mute. She knew he could speak. He talked immensely during their class together. Almost none stop. It was almost… endearing in a way. Now he refused to say anything. She almost felt bad for him. He was about to die, beaten and bruised in the basement of a random suburban house with no one to even know he was gone..

She leveled the gun at Spencer’s head and he froze, fear seeping out of every pore. He began to frantically shake his head. She hesitated for a moment, but she quickly recovered her resolve and-

He was mouthing a word at her. What was he trying to say? Then she heard it. The tiniest whisper.

“Please.”

She stopped, dropping her arm and looking at the boy in front of her. He was just a boy. He didn’t deserve to die like this. But her father was waiting for her...

A tear, and a gunshot.

Maria joined her father upstairs and they prepared to depart Spencer Reid’s personal hell.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

The shot was so painful he slammed his head against the wall. And then he did it again. And again. He couldn’t stop himself anymore. He bit through his lip, trying to stay quiet, but a yell still tore through his throat and his leg-

God, his leg. It hurt more than anything he had ever felt before. His vision was tunneling and he was hyperventilating and he couldn’t stop hitting his head.

Against.

The.

Wall.

He couldn’t tell if the sound in his ears was in his head or coming from him.

Then the tears came, silently falling down his face.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

SWAT cars and black SUVs screeched to a halt just outside of a small suburban house. Agents filing out of their vehicles and putting their vests on. Derek Morgan checked his gun for his ammunition and once he was certain his magazine was full, he began speaking with the SWAT directors.

“It’s a simple raid. Apprehend anyone in the house and secure Gatsby and anything else like it. Then once that is taken care of, we’ll station members undercover to try to bait out the Unsub-”

Before he could finish his sentence, a gun shot was heard from inside the house.

“Shots fired!” Someone shouted and they stormed the house. Right away they apprehended two people, a young woman and an older man, presumably related. After disarming them and carting them away, shouts of ‘clear’ were heard throughout the house. Derek took a few SWAT members down into the basement of the house. He was surprised by what he found.

He wasn’t surprised by the lab equipment and the vials of Gatsby. No, he was surprised to find a young boy chained to the wall and bleeding out.

He was seated on the floor, with chains suspending his arms. He couldn’t have been over 19 by the look of him. He was bruised and bloody, but the thing that alarmed him the most was that he was banging his head against the wall. Hard.

After a moment, the SWAT members were finished staring. They advanced and that’s when the boy noticed he wasn’t alone anymore.

His eyes were filled with utter terror. More tears peaked out of the corners of his eyes and he tried his best to move away from the strange men and their weapons. Derek noticed his distress worsening.

“Put your guns down and back away from the kid!” Derek yelled. After a moment, the SWAT agents moved back, lowering their weapons. Derek’s gun was already put away. The kid seemed to relax slightly. He tried to pull his knees up to his chest but his right thigh must have been shot, so he just settled for the one knee. He tried to curl up as well as possible as he continued to slam his head against the wall. Silent tears streaming down his face and a pool of blood gathering under his leg.

Morgan didn’t know what to do. But his instincts took over and soon he found himself slowly inching his way closer to the kid.

“Hey, kid. It’s all right, no one is going to hurt you anymore.” Derek said as he crouched a few feet away from the kid. When the kid opened his eyes, they were glazed over in pain and something else Derek didn’t recognize. But he took it as a sign to continue. “My name is Derek Morgan. I work with the FBI. It’s okay now, we’re here to help you.”

He didn’t get any response. The kid just blinked unfocused eyes at him and kept banging his head on the wall, crying. Then Morgan made the mistake of coming closer.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

Spencer’s mind was racing so fast he couldn’t think. When the group of men in black came down with their guns, the logical thing to think was ‘oh the authorities’ right? But no. Spencer started to panic even worse because all he could see were their guns and all he could feel was the agony in his leg. He faintly registered himself hitting his head against the wall, but now that he finally gave in after 6 weeks, he couldn’t stop. It was like everything he tried to hold back during his weeks of captivity were trying to escape now that his body found him in significantly less danger. So he closed his eyes and wished it all to just stop. To go away.

He registered a voice then, talking to him.

“No one is going to hurt you anymore”

He wanted to believe that. He really did but, he didn’t know if he could. He opened his eyes to try and look at the man speaking to him. The first thing his mind was able to register were the three white letters on his bullet-proof vest. FBI. He said something else, but Spencer can’t remember what it was because the next thing to happen was the man coming closer. And then They were coming at him.

“NO! STOP!” He yanked as hard as he could on his cuffs, but like all the times before, they didn’t budge.

After the roaring in his ears subsided, he managed to make out another sound over his hyperventilating.

“Shh shh shh, it’s okay, I won’t come any closer. Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

He took a few short breaths before they evened out into slightly deeper breaths.

“That’s it, nice and easy. It’s just you and me now kid, and I’m not going to hurt you.” True to the man’s words, when Spencer opened his eyes, which he never remembered closing to begin with, it was just the one FBI agent and himself.

He took another, shaky breath, before relaxing the muscles in his stomach

“All right, that’s good. You’re doing great, can you stop hitting your head against the wall for me?” The FBI agent asked.

Could he stop? He didn’t really know. He probably could if he really tried. His body was already exhausted enough. He tried, and he was able to slow it down, then he graduated to just pushing his head against the wall after a few minutes, needing to do something to distract himself from the pain that was his everything..

“Good, good job kid. Now, a friend of mine is gonna come in here with some bolt cutters and we’re gonna get you out of here. Is that okay?” The man asked.

“Is that okay?” Spencer echoed back. Eyes widening, he quickly nodded and then slammed his head back against the wall, just stopping himself from continuing the rhythmic banging of earlier.

Spencer saw one of the man’s eyebrows quirk slightly, but the agent said nothing. He spoke into his comms and after a moment, another man in an FBI vest came into the room.

“All right so, agent Hotchner here is going to get a little close just so he can cut the chains holding you here okay? Then we’ll get you out of here. What’s your name?” The agent asked.

“What’s your name?” Spencer said back.

He was utterly mortified. He didn’t think about it for long though because agent Hotchner came closer with the bolt cutters in hand. He heard the other agent answer his echoed question with “Derek Morgan” but quickly squeezed his eyes tight and went stiff as a board. A few moments later, his arms fell to his sides. He let out a quiet cry of pain, used to the pain of moving his arms after so long suspended over his head though, he powered through and quickly grabbed onto his leg.

He shouldn’t have done that because the pain he felt was 10 times worse. He cried out and slumped against the wall again, breathing heavily. He didn’t have the energy anymore. He was so tired. Just so, so tired.

He watched the two agents move towards him, but he didn’t have the energy anymore to flinch. He watched them talking, he couldn’t tell whether they were talking to him or to each other. The ringing in his ears was back again.

The last thing he sees is agent Morgan grabbing him and carrying him out of Hell.

pt 1| pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 |

[welllpthisishappening]

All Was Golden in the Sky (23/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—

Rating: Mature AN: Everyone is an exceptionally bad royal. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

Elsa calls a council. 

It’s incredibly proper and entirely royal, a meeting of minds and titles and probably a few more adjectives that are less complimentary because, it seems, when those minds and titles get around a table in one of the rather large halls in the Arendelle castle, they are incapable of agreeing on much of anything. 

David keeps mumbling diplomatic under his breath. 

“Do you think it’s possible for Regina’s face to get stuck like that?” Emma mumbles, leaning to her right and Killian has to bite his lip. It’s distracting. 

He glances at her, not much more than a passing look, but there’s amusement mixed in with the blue in his gaze and Emma lets her hand reach forward. Her fingers twist around the curve of his hook, cool metal that’s almost enough to center her because, really, this council has been nothing short of ridiculous. 

She supposes that’s how politics works. 

Even when they’re being diplomatic. 

“No, I think she’s just got a few extra muscles there,” Killian says. He’s incredibly bad at whispering. And Regina is very good at glaring at them. 

“If you two are quite done.” Emma scrunches her nose, a quick shake of her head. Regina rolls her eyes. 

It’s the third day they’ve done this and a little more than a week since the Misthaven royal family appeared in a cloud of purple smoke in a different hall in a castle that is, seemingly, overflowing with a variety of large spaces. 

There’d been questions – mostly about how Emma had managed to get that bird to agree to fly to Misthaven, but Mary Margaret had been impressed by the whole thing and claimed Evan was very enthusiastic about his mission and--"Now, here we are, ready and willing to save the kingdom.”

And that was that. 

There were more birds sent out and missives, envoys in well-tailored uniforms sent on several different horses in a variety of directions, requesting the presence of every ruler of every kingdom. To save the kingdom. 

And set some ground rules. 

For the rest of everything. 

Emma nearly falls over when she hears the chair on her other side squeak, Ruby’s soft grumble barely audible over whatever kind of reaction Regina is currently making. Maybe they should have discussed how to act while taking part in a royal council. 

As it were, they’d spent most of the last week recounting adventures in seaside ports and Neverland, introducing Henry and trying to remember how, exactly, to move without tripping over the far-too-long hems of the dresses they were all wearing again. 

That might have been Emma. 

She really misses pants. 

She’s going to wear pants to the next royal council. Just to see what it does to Regina's face. And Arthur. She still kind of hates King Arthur. 

He’s most of the objections they’ve sustained in the last three days. 

“What are we talking about?” Ruby hisses, elbowing Emma in the side roughly. 

She groans, gritting her teeth and Regina has started to glare at the ceiling. “Why do you not know how to whisper?”

“I’m not really trying, if I’m being honest.” “That was rather obvious,” Killian mutters, and Emma is not surprised when Ruby sticks her tongue out at them. 

They are a picture of royal perfection. 

“I am bored,” Ruby whines, rolling her whole head with enough drama that Emma is sure they would be able to harness its power for good. “Arthur is suggesting that we need to redo the treaty again.”

Emma is going to sprain her jaw. She clenches it, tight enough to send a ripple of pain down either side of her neck and, possibly, up into her head, neurons firing in something resembling fury because he keeps doing this and she hadn’t really been paying attention. 

Like, at all. 

She’d been far too busy flirting. And trying to covertly look at Killian’s jacket. It’s new – everything they’re wearing is new, meetings with the official Arendelle seamstress, which, is, apparently a thing and Emma’s only a little annoyed that her meetings have led to a mostly all-white wardrobe, something about the savior and meaning, but it had made Killian’s eyes widen slightly that morning and she likes this jacket a lot. 

Maybe the tension in her jaw is doing permanent damage to her psyche. 

She’s fairly positive the vest he’s wearing is leather too. 

It’s absurd. 

“I can hear you, you know,” Arthur drawls, seated at the other end of the table. That’s probably not a sign. He’d picked that seat anyway. 

And that’s probably because is he, at least a little, terrified of Emma. Or the sword strapped to Killian’s hip. 

“Yeah, I don’t think she was all that worried about it, really,” David shrugs. He leans forward, an appraising look on his face, like he’s getting ready to challenge the king of Camelot to more than one duel. 

Mary Margaret bites back a smile. “What is it this time, Your Majesty?”

“Oh shit, that was almost scathing,” Emma whispers. It’s not really a whisper. Regina looks like she’s about to slide out of her chair, directly onto the floor and blow a hole in the ceiling with a very large fireball. 

Killian grins. 

“His Majesty appears to be concerned about the decision to, simply, send Prince Hans back to the Southern Isles,” Ariel says, a forced calm in her voice when her fingers have started tapping an impatient rhythm on the table. 

“We’ve discussed this,” Elsa sighs. “I’m not interested in doing anything else. Hans is nothing more than an upstart and a mistake. He saw an opportunity to seize control of something that wasn’t his--” “--Sound familiar, Arthur?” Killian cuts in. There is no calm in that question. It’s unspoken threat and narrowed eyes, but he leans back towards Emma like he can’t help himself and, eventually, she’s sure, she’ll be able to have a single, coherent thought about the state of his jackets. 

Will snickers, feet propped up on the edge of the windowsill on the other side of the room with Henry and Belle a few feet away, books strewn around them, and he’s doing that chair-leaning thing again. “He does bring up a very interesting point, Your Majesty,” Will says. “And I do believe you’re harping. It’s inefficient.” David hums in agreement, Regina throwing her whole arm over her face because, for the third straight day, this has dissolved, rather quickly, into a rather large farce.

Merida – the heir to the throne in DunBroch, or so Regina explained when the redhead appeared at the Arendelle gate with a quiver strapped to her back and a questionably large horse – scoffs. “Who are you again?” 

“Oh, that’s just rude,” Will grumbles. “We did introductions several days ago.”

“You’re not exactly a royal though, are you?” Princess Abigail, Midas’ daughter, asks archly. “I can’t understand why your opinion should...well, count.”

“Ah, so the rude thing, is just a sweeping pandemic now, huh?”

Mary Margaret tries to turn her laugh into a different noise, a spectacular fail that she does her best to wave off. “What?” she challenges. “That was actually funny.” “Oh, don’t tell him that,” Killian sighs. “We’ll never hear the end of it now.”

“Too late, Jones,” Will calls, slamming the feet of his chair back into the ground so he can pull out a deck of cards from his back pocket. Henry’s eyes practically light up. 

“And he does bring up a good point,” Ella admits. She and Thomas had arrived almost as soon as they’d sent out the missives, quiet smiles and curt nods that Emma hopes is, actually, some kind of sign because they seem nice and they could use some nice at this point. 

Will lets out a triumphant noise. “Thank you ma’am! That’s exactly what I was trying to do. Make a point. A good one, in fact.” “He can’t remember his point,” Killian mutters, barely loud enough for Emma to hear. 

Abigail’s eyes narrow, lips curling into something that can only be a little aggressive and maybe Emma will slide out of her chair before Regina. That would be impressive. 

“Alright, let’s get several things straight,” she bites out, frustration turning into anger and anger turning into words and her voice doesn’t shake. 

Killian is still smiling. 

“Hans is a non-factor,” Emma continues, “The only thing we need to be concerned with is getting him the hell out of Arendelle.” “Hear, hear,” Anna shouts, and Emma hadn’t seen her move away from the table, but she’s already got cards in her hand and a slightly disgruntled look on her face. “Wait, wait,” she adds, “what did you say was wild?” Henry groans. “Jokers, Ms. Joan. And what was the other one, Mr. Scarlet?”

There’s a collective laugh from the entire Misthaven contingent, lips tugged behind teeth and Killian’s whole body shakes while he does his best not to fall over. “Ok, don’t start,” Will warns. “At least the kid knows where to show some respect.” “And you still think you deserve that?” Arthur asks. The room goes incredibly quiet. 

Except for David’s mumbled oh shit. It’s not exactly mumbled. 

Regina pulls her arm away from her face slowly, sitting up straighter and turning so slowly Emma wonders if there’s actually magic involved. She can’t imagine having that kind of control over her limbs. 

“Too many muscles,” Killian mutters, Emma letting out a huff of something that isn’t a laugh, but may just be generic exhaustion and there’s been no mention of boxes or dates and she’s going to make him get several versions of this vest. 

“Thank you, Captain,” Regina says, eyebrows arching impossibly high. He salutes. And Regina keeps moving, twisting towards a wide-eyed and suddenly pale Arthur. “You have thoughts, Sir? Would you like to share them?” Arthur's eyes look like they’re trying to fly out of face. “Sir?” he echoes, voice managing to crack on each letter. “How dare--” “--No, no, no,” Regina interrupts, and she doesn’t actually stand up, but she somehow looks more intimidating this way. Her shoulders roll back, head tilted and a spark in her eyes that brokers no discussion. The flames crackling between her fingers help too. “You want our respect, Arthur? You get it when you deserve it.” “And you what? Assume that you can return here and take over again? Demand we all fall in line and fear you, the same way we did George?” “Oh my God,” David groans. “How many times do we have to go over this? George was an asshole. No one is trying to be him.” “The opposite, in fact,” Elsa adds, several nods from the Misthaven royal family. 

Arthur still doesn’t look convinced. He’s standing, palms flat on the table and enough tension between his shoulders that it almost looks like he’s actually carved of wood. Maybe they could just turn him into wood. 

Emma’s fairly certain she remembers a story like that from when she was a kid. 

“You took your men out of Misthaven, Arthur,” Mary Margaret points out. “You’ve met with Emma and David and Killian more times than we can count. But you’ve still got that fear in your eyes--” “--I’m not afraid of anything,” he shouts, but having to use those words kind of defeats the purpose of them. 

“We both know that’s not true, Sir.”

Anna laughs, the sound bouncing off walls and windows that are, mostly, clear of snow now, nothing more than a soft frost in the morning because it’s autumn and things are changing and shifting and Emma wants to stop thinking in metaphors. 

“What is it you’re looking for, Arthur?” Elsa asks. “Emma told me. They’ve given you every inch you’ve asked for, aside from letting you run rampant through their kingdom.” “A kingdom they deserted,” he growls. 

Killian runs his free hand over his face, fingers carding through his hair roughly. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he sighs. “Answer the bloody question, Arthur. What do you want?” The doors at the far end of the hall swing open –– a man and a woman and Arthur gasps loudly enough that they’ve almost circled back around to comical. “What the--” Emma starts, but she nearly chokes on her own tongue when she notices the look on Mary Margaret’s face. “M’s...what’s going on?”

Mary Margaret shakes her head slowly, jumping out of her chair and sprinting forward, crashing into the man’s chest. He catches her, tight arms and words mumbled into her hair, and Emma doesn’t know where to look. 

Her eyes flit towards David, surprise etched onto every inch of his face. 

“So, uh,” Ruby says, “this is something, huh?” “I thought you were dead,” Mary Margaret exclaims, working back onto her feet so she can rap her knuckles on the man’s armor. He’s wearing armor. The woman next to him looks incredibly amused. “George, he said--once he knew I wasn’t the Savior--”

Her breath catches, tears obvious even from the other side of the hall and David is half sitting, half standing now, hand drifting towards his sword like he’s getting ready to defend Mary Margaret if needs be. 

“It’s alright, Sparrow,” the man says, lips curling up into a smile when his thumbs brush away Mary Margaret’s tears. Emma isn’t sure how she moves, doesn’t remember deciding to shift her legs or unbend her knees, but she’s not sitting on her chair anymore, perched, instead, on Killian’s thigh with an arm tight around her waist. 

“That doesn’t exactly look particularly royal, Jones,” Will calls. Killian flips him off. 

“What are you doing here?” Mary Margaret asks. “How are you even here?” “And how did you get past the guards?” Elsa adds. 

The woman laughs – soft and almost tinkling, eyes flitting towards Arthur. He’s getting paler by the second. “Oh, your guards are perfectly competent,” she promises. “But we heard that you were looking to have all the royals in the Enchanted Forest here and--” She shrugs. “It seemed rude to decline the invitation.”

“You are not the rulers of Camelot,” Arthur sneers, and, really, that’s the last thing Emma expects to hear. Like. At all. 

He pounds his fists on the table, shaking the wood and leading to several swords drawn his direction. “I’d reconsider your next few movements,” David suggests, Kristoff half a step behind him with a look that makes it obvious he’s still not over being denied the chance to stab Hans.

“Can someone tell us who these people are?” Emma demands, waving a free hand towards the strangers. “And if we need to actually be braced for an attack.” The man chuckles. “No, no, Savior. Far from that. My name is Lancelot and--”

“--No, it’s not.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Are you kidding me?” Emma balks, drawing a quiet laugh out of Ruby and Killian’s head falls against her shoulder. He kisses her back. That’s not very royal either. 

“I don’t believe so, no.”

“Ok, ok, I--well, ok. Mary Margaret, did you know Lancelot the whole time? Honestly?” Mary Margaret blushes slightly. “First of all, I was cursed. Second of all, do not ask me questions about Excalibur because, we all know, that’s a myth here and Ariel--” “--Those were good clues,” Ariel argues. “It’s not my fault Hook didn’t remember who he was, so he couldn’t appreciate them!”

“Thank you Fisk,” Killian mumbles, not lifting his head away from Emma. “Once again, you’re the biggest help in these conversations.” She makes a face oddly similar to the one Ruby pulled earlier, and it’s no wonder these other royals are convinced none of them are fit to rule anything. 

“I’m not disputing any of this,” Mary Margaret says. “But, um--well, our stories, our lives, really, are a lot different than the fairy tales they told in the Land Without Magic. And Lancelot--” She nods back towards the man who is starting to look a little stunned and Emma didn’t realize he was holding the other woman’s hand. Her gasp of understanding is impossibly loud. “--He’s the one who brought me to George.”

David leaps out of his chair, fury practically flickering around him, and Killian has to tighten his arm around Emma’s waist to make sure she doesn’t join him. “No, no,” Mary Margaret continues, “it’s not like that. It’s...Lancelot and I grew up together. But I had magic and George was always good at finding magic, wasn’t he? And making sure people would bring it to him.” “What does that mean?” David hisses. 

“My mother disappeared,” Lancelot answers. “Quickly. No trace. I’d never seen her use magic, but there were whispers--when I was young, that she had a connection to the power of the lake near our home and I--I knew what Mary Margaret could do. I thought...well, maybe if I gave George what he wanted, I could get what I wanted. I could get my mother back.” The silence echoes in the hall, most of the Misthaven contingent staring at him with open mouths and something almost resembling hatred. 

“Damn,” Ruby curses eventually. “That’s awful.” Lancelot nods. “It was. Is. I regretted it as soon as I decided and then there was no word of my mother, even after. I--I’m sure George had her killed.”

“He told me he’d gotten rid of my friend,” Mary Margaret whispers, more tears and a quiver to her voice. “He was...he was disappointed that all I could do was talk to animals.” “That’s impressive enough,” David shouts, and Mary Margaret flashes him a watery smile over her shoulder. 

“For you, maybe. Not for George. But I--I don’t understand. What happened to you, Lancelot? Are you part of Arthur’s court? I didn’t think there were actually any knights of the round table here. That’s just…” “...More legend,” Belle finishes. She’s holding cards as well. 

“It could have been real,” Arthur mutters, and every head in the hall turns towards him. His tone has shifted, low and calculated, the kind of voice that invades a desperate kingdom looking to cement his own power and Emma is running out of air to properly gasp. “That part of it’s true,” she muses. “Isn’t it?” “I don’t know what you’re suggesting.” She hums, turning slightly and Killian’s fingers have started drawing absent-minded patterns on her stomach. “Are you Guinevere, then?” Emma asks, more than a few curses from previously cursed royals who believed a different legend and managed to defeat darkness that way. 

The woman nods. 

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes. “Ok, ok, so, um, let me see if I can get this straight. So, everyone here knows George was a dick, right?” There’s a general murmur of agreement, although there are also a few stunned expressions and Killian mumbles colloquialisms into her shoulder blade. “He was, that’s not up for debate. So...as we’ve told you all several thousand times, George was working for the Dark One the whole time. The Dark One wanted, well--me, I guess.” Killian’s arm tightens, David standing up straighter and Mary Margaret’s tears are falling for a different reason now. Will puts his cards down. 

Emma does her best to look consistently confident. 

“We tried to fight that,” she continues, “realized what was going on and did our best, but, well, you can see how that ended up. Anyway. We were gone. There was still dark magic in this realm and Arthur saw it as an opportunity to add some real estate to his kingdom.”

“He’d been obsessed with the Dark One since we were children,” Guinevere says softly. “Wanted to understand how to control him, harness that power and--” “--Harness it?” “Oh, yes. Was equally fascinated and terrified by it. And when all that was left in this realm was that darkness, Arthur saw it as a chance to assert himself, seize control as it were.” “By burning Misthaven,” David fumes, another nod and soft sound of pity from Guinevere. “And he’s what? Never going to agree to anything now that we’re back?” “He’s angry at us,” Lancelot adds. “All of us.” “Because of the what?” Will asks. “If I ever I should leave you, shit?” Lancelot blinks. 

“That reference went over everyone’s head, Scarlet,” Killian mutters, Will making a noise in the back of his throat. “You did take your men out of Misthaven though, Arthur. What is that? Conceding defeat?” “There is no defeat,” Arthur snaps. “Because we are not signing your treaty. Camelot is its own kingdom, functioning on--” “--Us now,” Guinevere smiles. It’s not exactly sweet. “That’s why we’re here, Arthur. Because the kingdom deserves a new chance, enough of the darkness and the desperation.” “Can someone explain what the hell any of you are talking about?” Ruby asks. “If this guy is the one who brought Mary Margaret to George, how’d he end up in Camelot?” “Guinevere just told you,” Lancelot says. “Arthur has been obsessed with the Dark One, his whole life. And when you lot were gone, that sentiment only grew. It’s one I shared for a time.” “Why?” “I regretted what I’d done to Mary Margaret. Knew I’d given her up to a man who--how did you word it, your highness?” Emma grins. “He was a giant and absolute dick.” “Yes, that, exactly. But once Misthaven was emptied, it was clear that darkness was still here. And stronger than ever. I thought I might be able to atone if I did my best to fight it. Only Arthur--he went too far. Started organizing the other kingdoms, even after the magic in this realm changed again. It never stopped. So, I--” “--Ran away,” Arthur screams, face going blotchy and Abigail makes another pointed noise at that. It’s not particularly royal. 

Emma wonders if this is all a dream. That would almost make sense at this point. 

“You didn’t stop, Arthur,” Guinevere says. “It was never enough. Another quest and another piece of research, all of it coming to nothing because the only one who could defeat the Darkness was her.” 

She nods towards Emma, still sitting on top of Killian’s leg. She should stand up. She should say something, smile or give some kind of allusion that she’s got a handle on any facet of her life, but mostly she just wants to come up with a few rules for all of these kingdoms and make sure the people in her kingdom are happy. 

Emma just wants to be happy. It doesn’t seem like that big of a request. 

“And we did that,” Emma adds. “The Dark One is gone, Arthur. There’s no threat of that coming back. The only thing that is back, is us and we are--” “--Heroes,” Elsa says suddenly, sliding to the edge of her chair and she’s got a crown on. She’s been wearing it since that tomorrow she’d mentioned, a shimmer that is absolutely a byproduct of her own magic. “That’s it, isn’t it? It wasn’t perfect and it didn’t all go according to plan, but the prophecy is true now. The Swan and the Knight. Saving the future of magic and ensuring that we’re safe. We are safe now, Arthur.”

“Hear, hear,” Anna calls again, the card-playing, decidedly unroyal group around her throwing their hands up as well. 

“We’ve told you several times now, Arthur, all we wanted was to come home,” David says. “To protect our home. That’s it.” He sheathes his sword, but there’s still a hint of challenge and Emma can see the magic hovering just over his right boot. 

Mary Margaret reaches for his hand. 

“I think everyone deserves that,” Merida mutters, a return to the conversation that’s equal parts surprising and helpful. 

Another woman – dressed in head to toe armor with more than a few weapons buckled to her side and shiny, black hair that reflects the light in that hall – hums in what Emma hopes is, at least some, agreement. “The Dark One was a threat to all of us,” she says. “His defeat is something we should rejoice. Not a reason to question the royal family in Misthaven.”

“You weren’t so sure of that before,” Arthur says, accusation ringing in the statement. “Your king and queen were just as worried as I was. The same goes for your parents, Merida.”

“Oh, look, at that I was right,” Killian muses, hooking his chin over Emma’s shoulder. She leans back, not really trying to burrow further against his chest, but his arm does tighten and she has to rest her hand on his thigh to keep her balance. 

Or so she’ll keep telling herself. 

“I told you that,” Kristoff mumbles. 

“Don’t take this victory from me.” “He’s showing off for the princess,” Ariel grins. She’s sitting on a windowsill again, cross legged with her elbows digging into her knees and, every now and then, she flashes a few fingers in Henry’s direction. 

They’re cheating at cards. 

It’s strangely comforting in the middle of a royal council that has dissolved into chaos. 

“That is kind of true,” Killian admits, pressing the words into the skin behind Emma’s ear and she would probably be embarrassed by the whole thing if she weren’t also half certain Merida and Mulan are currently also making eyes at each other. 

That’s also rather comforting. 

“Huh, so that is happening, right?” Ruby asks, Killian’s cheek brushing over Emma’s hair when he nods. “Right, right, ok, I just wanted to make sure.” “Things have changed, Arthur,” Mulan continues. “The Dark One is destroyed. The Savior has won. Misthaven has a royal family again. A warrior of true honor would understand that. He would not continue only to serve his own self-interest.”

Both Anna and Will shout hear hear that time before Will grumbles are you cheating as soon as Henry puts his cards down. 

“No, no,” Henry promises. “Not at all.”

Emma moves so quickly she nearly elbows Killian in both ribs with each of her arms. “Ah shit, sorry, sorry,” she babbles, but he just presses another kiss to her shoulder and it would be easier for his fingers to find skin if she weren’t wearing this dress.

Seriously, pants. Soon. 

One of the witches from Oz –- Emma genuinely can’t remember her name, but she’d appeared in a bubble and that was a lot, honestly -- makes a noise of agreement. “There’s goodness here,” she announces, as if that doesn’t still manage to sound a little menacing. “A desire to help and they--” She waves her hand towards Emma and Killian. “Are at the very center of it.”

Arthur scoffs. “Them? Please. We know what he was. Even if it’s not true anymore, the pirate was half the reason Camelot had to defend itself!” “No, no, Arthur,” Lancelot objects. “That was only ever you. That’s why we’re here. The people have started to realize what you’ve done. A broken kingdom, sire. And it won’t be mended by you. Not now. Not after everything.”

“The Savior and her pirate have already done more for this realm than you could ever begin to dream,” Guinevere adds. “Look at this kingdom! Hans was--well, he was also a bit of a dick, wasn’t he?”

Mary Margaret’s hand flies to her mouth, still not able to keep her guffaw from flying out of her, and Emma’s eyes get so wide they actually start to water. Ruby’s head falls forward, landing with a thump on her forearms, while both David and Regina sport matching looks of surprise. 

“Aye, exactly that, your highness,” Killian says, smile obvious in every syllable. 

“I wasn’t sure if I was using it in the right context. It’s a very catchy saying, isn’t it?” “Something like that, absolutely.”

“Right, well, as you say. Hans did not belong on this throne. But you and the Sav--” She closes her mouth when she glances at Emma, gaze turning appraising and almost understanding, as if she realizes what that title weighs. “You and Emma,” Guinevere corrects. “Made sure that he couldn’t maintain it. You brought back Princess Anna, brought back Queen Elsa, even. At great personal expense.” “Something like that,” Killian repeats, Emma squeezing her hand lightly. 

“A good warrior knows when to retreat, Arthur,” Mulan says lightly. “Phillip and Aurora agreed to your terms in a different world. Those terms don’t hold anymore.” “Almost like your reasoning for attacking us to begin with,” David mutters. 

Arthur gapes at them, eyes darting from one royal to the next like one  will, eventually, return to his side. None of them do. None of them say a single world, in fact, which doesn’t seem to bode very well for any of them, but then Regina coughs softly and her chair scrapes across the tile when she pushes back, enough royalty to ensure several treaties get signed in the next few seconds. 

“Let’s make a few things clear, shall we, Arthur?” He doesn’t answer. Of course not. “You were obsessed and fascinated and terrified by the Darkness? So were we. We lived it, you coward. We were shaped by it, groomed for a battle that wasn’t ours until it was on our doorstep. We were bartered and captured, kidnapped by even those with the best intentions.” She glances over her shoulder at a repentant-looking Lancelot, a strange string of limbs with one hand still wrapped up in Guinevere’s and the other laced with Mary Margaret’s. Mary Margaret is also holding David’s hand. 

“You made mistakes,” Regina continues, “we all did. We--Gods, that curse was a disaster, wasn’t it?” “It wasn’t the best,” Killian agrees, the feel of his upturned lips obvious on the side of Emma’s neck as soon as she leans further back. She’s started toying with the edge of his jacket. 

“We’ve been over this, Arthur,” Emma adds. “Our magic isn’t something to be feared. It’s the deck we were dealt, that’s it.” Will groans. “If you keep making jokes, I’m not going to have a job, Em!” “You are not actually the court jester,” Ruby points out, but Henry is laughing loudly and Belle looks consistently charmed by this and maybe they can just be good royals by being themselves.

That’s a kind of a nice thought. 

“I mean, we could probably do something about that if he’s really determined,” Regina muses. “Maybe after all of this though. Priorities.” “Regina, was that actually a joke?” Emma asks, both Ruby and Mary Margaret exclaiming in what may actually be delight. 

The other royals look stunned. 

So, maybe they’ll have to temper back some of their honest personalities. 

“It happens,” Regina mutters, David already objecting and Killian mumbling what sounds like that’s never happened, ever under his breath. Regina blushes. This may actually be a dream. “Oh, whatever,” she grumbles. “The point I am trying to make and really--not just to Arthur, to all of you, is that we understand your anger. We’re still angry. At everything done to us and done because of us and by us and if we could change things, we would.”

She turns to Emma, the ends of her mouth tugging up. “But,” Regina says pointedly, “the past is something that is, unfortunately, set in stone. Not a sword in a stone, but--” “--See,” Ariel cries. “She would have understood my references.” “I was cursed, Fisk,” Killian hisses. She ignores him, far too busy trying to make the clubs symbol with her hands. 

“We aren’t asking for anything from any of you,” Emma says, sitting up straighter. That only pulls her back closer to Killian’s chest though and it probably shouldn’t make her feel more confident, but that’s another deck she’s been dealt or however the metaphor about True Love should work. “Honestly. And we--well, prophecy lasts a lifetime, doesn’t it? We all have magic, we all have power and we’re not opposed to using either one of those things in the future. For good.”

There’s a murmur from the other Misthaven royals, encouraging smiles and even Elsa nods, promises on their lips that Emma fully expected them to make. It’s nice all the same. 

“These kingdoms were allied before,” Emma continues, “but only because George was a threat. And the Dark One was looming. Those are gone. We’ve made sure of that.” “What are you asking us for, Emma?” Merida questions, and she can’t help the laugh that flies out of her. 

Killian’s hand stills, understanding even in the lack of movement. 

“Nothing,” Emma replies. “There’s no bartering here. No back and forth. No magic for magic. I--I’ve seen that already and I’ll be honest, I’m not all that interested.”

“And you’ve got the authority to do that?” Abigail counters. “If memory serves, even before you lot disappeared, after George had locked himself in his tower, you weren’t the acting monarch were you, Emma?” And, that time, the murmur that comes out of the Misthaven royals, and Elsa, is a little less understanding, an edge to the noise that’s reminiscent of defenses and a childhood spent protecting each other. 

“Oh, you may want to try that again,” David suggests. “Killian, take a deep breath.” Emma doesn’t have to turn around to know how thin Killian’s eyes have gone narrow. She can feel his chest shift against her though, Abigail’s expression turning timid the longer no one else says anything. “Well,” she reasons. “It’s a fair question.” “Is it, though?” Ruby asks. “Honestly?”

“Are some of you worried that we’re actually...going to fight each other?” Mary Margaret whispers. “For the rule of Misthaven?” Arthur clicks his tongue. “It’s been known to happen before.” “Fucking hell, Arthur, shut up,” David roars. “Abigail, that is not something that’s going to happen. We’re--well, we’re a family. Our only interests are the ones that benefit the future of Misthaven and--” “--Emma has all of that power, though,” Abigail objects. “Even Glinda said it. The Swan and the Knight. We’ve all heard the prophecy. What’s to say we agree to your terms and she suddenly decides she wants a little more?” David exhales. That’s probably the best reaction. Until Killian reacts. 

“She’s the bloody Savior,” he shouts, loud enough that Emma winces at the sound reverberating in her ear. “You think she’s suddenly going to turn into a power-hungry royal? No, no, we’ll leave that to the rest of you.”

Abigail seems very interested in her hands all of the sudden. “There has never been a kingdom with multiple rulers,” she mumbles. “It just--it simply isn’t done that way.” “Oh, that’s not entirely true,” Belle objects, Killian’s quiet laugh bordering close to pride as soon as she jumps up and leaves a small pile of cards in her wake. “It’s happened several times in history. A whole family and mutual interests being served, I mean...think about England.” “England,” Abigail repeats dubiously. “Which part of the Enchanted Forest is that in?”

“Is that honestly the real name of this place?” Will crows, nearly falling back in his chair again. 

Emma sighs. She hopes they don’t have to actually use the guards to escort Arthur out of Arendelle. “That’s not the point,” Emma says. “The point is, and seriously, this is the last time we’re doing this, I am not looking to take over anything. I was supposed to defeat Darkness, I--” 

She twists, not entirely comfortable, but absolutely necessary and Killian’s smile feels as if it slinks its way down her spine and settles her magic. 

“We,” Emma amends, “did that. And so we’ve done enough. We’ve done Neverland and getting Hans out of Arendelle. We’ve comforted people whose entire homes were destroyed by Arthur. We understand what you went through and know some of that was our fault, but that’s different now. All we’re looking for is for you to trust us. No one is coming for your kingdoms. No one is looking for magic or the chance to intimidate anyone. All we’re looking for is exactly what David told you, to return home and start over. For the better, for all of us.”

No one says anything. 

No one even moves. 

And for a moment Emma doesn’t dare to breathe, eyes wide and lips parted slightly, but then she can feel the flutter of fingers tracing over the curve of her hip and her magic rises, a soft wave that’s a bit like the tide and a hint like the waltz she’s determined to get at some point and--

“Camelot pledges its loyalty to the royal family of Misthaven,” Guinevere says, nothing but confidence in her voice and Killian’s exhale makes Emma’s magic soar. 

Arthur pales. “You can’t do that!” “Ok, but I--I just did, so…”

Guinevere shrugs, Lancelot chuckling lightly with a kiss pressed to the top of her head and Emma’s jaw drops even further. She glances a Ruby, an almost identical expression on her face. Mary Margaret’s got her hand over her mouth again. 

“You’ve gone too far, Arthur,” Guinevere continues. “And you’ve known this was coming for ages. All of it, you--” “--I am the king of Camelot,” he shouts, stumbling back with hands that can’t seem to grasp his sword. “This is my decision and you’ve all agreed to stand with me and--” Arthur nearly trips over his own feet, a clack of metal from the chain mail under his shirt and the hilt of his sword slamming into his stomach when he manages to get it out of its scabbard. 

“That was different,” Merida says evenly, but Emma can see her fingers fluttering at her side and maybe next time they hold a council they’ll make everyone forego their weapons. 

“You’ll regret that!”

Merida hisses in a breath, standing up with an arrow pinched between her fingers. Mulan’s sword is half pulled out and even David’s trying to move Mary Margaret behind him.

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles, a soft laugh on her neck when Killian shifts her off his leg. He stands slowly, not trying to move her any further, and, eventually, she’ll think that may be her favorite part of the day, but then he pulls his sword out and tilts his head slightly, narrow eyes and a certain set of his mouth that’s nothing short of a threat. 

He smiles. 

And it’s not kind. It’s not Emma’s. It’s sinister, almost, a sneer and every single one of his teeth, the tip of his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. 

“I’d put the sword down, Arthur,” Killian murmurs, a slight flinch when Emma’s magic sparks. The ball of light in her palm doesn’t touch her skin, but it’s bright enough to reflect of the metal of his sword and she needs to get him a new sword. 

Maybe she’ll ask in Arendelle. They did such a good job with the jacket. 

“Or what?” Arthur challenges. “You’ll kill me? That’s only proving my point. You do not belong here. None of you do, not anymore. This realm doesn’t need you! And we certainly don’t want you. Especially,” he adds, voice dropping with the weight of the next few words, “a villain and a pirate who destroyed everything he--” “--Enough,” Emma snaps. The light in her hand explodes, bathing the entire room in a near-blinding glow and she’s never moved that quickly. She nearly over-spins, the ends of her dress fluttering around her heels and she’s got to get used to heels again, but she’ll worry about that later. After her hand lands on Killian’s cheek, stubble on the inside of her palm and the feel of his jaw clenching against her skin. 

“Shit,” Will muses, entirely un-royal and absolutely accurate. “You’re a total asshole, huh?” Guinevere still hasn’t moved, but her eyebrows shift slightly. As if she’s not surprised. At all. “You never understood, Arthur,” she mutters, “never. That there’s more to this. Being alive...being in love. Caring about anything except your own interests. Camelot will be better off without you. And this realm is better now that they have returned. All of them.”

“DunBroch agrees,” Merida says. She tosses the arrow on the table, a move Emma hopes is some type of respect. “We’ve already seen magic change with your return.” “As have we,” Mulan adds, and Glinda nods in agreement. Emma’s still really curious about the bubble thing. She’s fairly certain it personally offended Regina. “You have our loyalty as well.”

There’s a hum of agreement around the room, Arthur sputtering and stammering until David pulls his sword away from him, but Emma keeps her hand in the same spot, eyes tracing across Killian’s face, looking for something she hopes she doesn’t find.

“I’m fine, love,” he breathes, a quick kiss between her eyebrows. 

“Arendelle as well,” Elsa says, and Killian’s arm wraps around Emma’s waist when she spins again. “Our full support and alliance and any other politically correct word or description you can come up with.”

“I could probably figure out a few,” Belle grins. “I defer to your expertise.” Emma’s smile feels impossibly large, a surge of hope and burst of magic directly underneath Killian’s hand, but then goddamn Glinda starts shaking her head slowly and she’s certain everything is going to go to complete and utter shit again. 

Mary Margaret’s eyes widen. “What?” “I’m afraid Elsa won’t be able to agree,” Glinda explains, “without actually being crowned queen. Despite his departure from the kingdom, King Hans is still, technically, the ruler here.” “Departure,” Kristoff echoes and Belle mumbles politically correct under her breath. “So, what? You’re saying we have to have some kind of ceremony?” “A party,” Anna cries. She nearly knocks over the cards when she jumps up again, Will and Henry grumbling in displeasure. “Oh, stop, I was winning anyway.” Will huffs. “That is not how poker works at all.” “Poker, Scarlet?” Killian asks. “Honestly?” “Don’t go all royal on me, Jones. You’re just frustrated you didn’t get to play.” Killian doesn’t answer, Emma’s smile still there and turning a little teasing when she tries not to laugh too loudly. It’d be inappropriate in their current situation. David’s still trying to restrain Arthur. “Better at dice anyway,” Killian mumbles. 

“And not quite a party,” Glinda corrects, Elsa’s face dropping with realization. “A coronation. You need to make this official, Your Majesty. After everything that’s happened, I think following protocol and tradition will serve us well.” “This is my kingdom, though,” Elsa argues. “I shouldn’t be crowned for show.” “I’m afraid the only way Oz will agree with this is if there is a coronation. You open the gates, allow the kingdom in, invite every land. Show that you are committed to running Arendelle, instead of running from it. Again.” Ruby lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s super harsh.”

“And true,” Elsa mumbles, glancing at Regina. “What do you think?” Regina makes a noise in the back of her throat – a little frustrated, a little accepting, entirely royal. Maybe that’s a step in the right direction. “It might be a good idea. Let your people know you’ve returned, have no intention of leaving again and make sure that the cut between Arendelle and Hans is severed completely.” “The past must be discarded,” Glinda continues, and Emma does her best to keep her face even at the absurdity of that particular sentence. She can feel Killian’s chest shift against her back. “A new era in this realm, with optimism and--”

“--So, it’s really a party, then?” Anna interrupts. “Because we should probably get some chocolate or something.” Glinda’s mouth parts with a soft pop, Elsa shaking her head slightly and Kristoff’s laugh may actually do permanent damage to the structural integrity of the hall. It’s loud and joyful and party might not be a bad word. 

“Let’s cross that bridge in a little while,” Elsa says. “Maybe after we’ve all gotten something to eat first?”

It’s a dismissal without actually saying the words, the doors opening by guards who are very good at reading their soon-to-be official queen’s expressions, and the table clears out slowly. There are muttered acknowledgements, hopes for a treaty very soon and Mulan apologizes that Aurora and Phillip couldn’t be there. 

Again. 

She does it every time they disperse. 

And then they’re gone. Arthur is escorted out by a different set of guards, Guinevere and Lancelot promising to take care of it, which is only a little menacing, but Emma’s gotten used to very menacing, so this is almost a victory. 

David drops into the nearest chair, barely making it in the seat, legs splayed out in front of him. He lets his sword clatter to the ground. “Well,” he mumbles, head in his hands, “that went great, didn’t it?” “It definitely could have been worse,” Regina reasons. 

“How? How is that possible?” “We got people to agree with us, David. Pledges of--oh, shit, fealty sound archaic doesn’t it?” “Something about tradition, probably,” Elsa grumbles. She’s moved away from the table, dropping back-to-back with Anna and there are half a dozen snowflakes fluttering between her fingers. “How long do coronations normally last?” Ruby’s lips twitch. “Long. There will probably be trumpets.” “Oh Gods.” “Can we focus on the positives, please?” Regina sighs. “A lot of good things happened and--” “--A lot of stupid things,” Emma cuts in. 

Killian tugs her back with him when he sits down again, nipping at her shoulder blade. “It’s definitely Scarlet playing poker during a royal council.” “As has been pointed out several times, I am not royal,” Will argues. “And, I am doing the kid a service here.” He nods in Henry’s direction, curled against Belle’s side now with her fingers in his hair and his eyes obviously closed. “Real, useful life skills.” “You’re turning him into a degenerate.” “King Arthur of Camelot called you a pirate today. As an insult. Let’s keep degenerate where it belongs, huh?” Killian scoffs, chin bumping Emma’s back when he nods. “Plus,” Will adds, “if you and Emma are going to adopt this kid you just---found, then we’ve got to make sure he’s well-rounded.” “We’re not adopting him,” Emma objects, not sure why that’s suddenly so difficult to say. Her stomach lurches, though, a spike in her center that’s a little painful and very magical. 

Will doesn’t look convinced. Mary Margaret looks offended. “Arthur won’t be a problem,�� she promises. “Guinevere’s got just as much power in that kingdom as he does. So if she’s decided to align with us, then I think we’re ok?” “You think,” Ruby repeats dubiously. “Are we not going for sure?” “And we’re really going to trust the guy who turned you over to George?” Emma asks. 

Mary Margaret clicks her teeth. “Ok, this is kind of mean,” she wavers, “but uh--” “--You kind of did,” David finishes. His head is hanging over the back of the chair now. “Technically, you know.” “Killian is not Liam,” Emma points out, and those words hurt too. Damn. She wants to go back to their rooms. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting to be thrown into the middle of some Camelot love triangle. The whole thing is getting very complicated.”

Will starts humming under his breath – lyrics to a song Emma is only vaguely familiar with, but Ariel looks overjoyed and--”I know that song,” she cries, more than a few exclamations of quiet thrown her way when Henry stirs. “And that whole thing is wrong. The legend in the Land Without Magic is far more dramatic. You know, Hook, maybe that’s it. Arthur’s just jealous of your very fancy sword.” “You’re the one who made it seem like Excalibur, Fisk.”

“Ah, I set that joke up for you so well and you just...left it there.”

He hums, a shift in his eyebrows Emma doesn’t have to see to be aware. “I’ve grown, you see. Matured, even.” “Gotten less...Dark One’y.” “Aye, that too.” “Still a pirate though.”

Killian doesn’t answer, but David’s head snaps up, eyes wide like he’s only just remembered something important. “Also, it hasn’t been said yet, but we’re all a little annoyed you didn’t invite us on your pirate adventure.”

“None of us were upset by that,” Regina promises. 

“Mostly that you just didn’t tell us,” Ruby amends. “Tell us before you adopt the magic kid, ok?” “You’re being ridiculous,” Emma says. 

“Am I, just?” “Do you want to plan a coronation or not?”

“No,” Elsa responds at the same time Anna shouts “yes” and they wake Henry up almost immediately. 

They spend a few more hours in that hall – Elsa calling for food and an impossible amount of chocolate because, as Anna continuously points out, I was stuck in a cage, I’m going to eat my weight in chocolate and no one seems to able to argue with that. There are decisions made and more than a few debates, Belle combing through comically large tomes that burst with dust every time she flips a page, trying to find out how the last twenty Arendelle monarchs have been crowned and each discovery suggests more grandeur. 

By the end of it all, Elsa is lying on the floor – in between Emma and Anna, more snowflakes falling in soft piles by their head – with Mary Margaret curled into a different chair and Ruby perched on the windowsill next to the one Ariel has claimed. Belle’s legs are draped over Will’s, a book still in her hand, while Killian tries to translate something that may be ancient runes and David paces a small circle into the floor. 

“You’re going to ruin your boots,” Emma muses, and while he doesn’t break stride, his lips do twitch up, a quick flash of his eyes her direction. 

“You’re not a cobbler.” “And you’re worrying. What about? Lancelot?” “No,” David says quickly. His pace picks up, and Killian makes a contrary noise on the other side of the hall. “Oh, shut up, Jones.” Killian salutes, Emma propping herself up on her elbows and trying to level David with her best accusatory stare. It just makes her head hurt. That may be all the chocolate she’s had. 

“It’s going to be ok.” David stops pacing. “Is that positivity I hear?” “It is an attempt.” “It’s impressive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma groans. “Your compliments are really ringing true. I’m just--I don’t know, maybe Glinda was right. We’re always going to be everything we were. Magic and makeshift royal and out-of-place pop culture knowledge, but focusing on the past is only going to drag us down and then everything’s going to suck.”

David chuckles, a click of boots moving towards Emma that aren’t his. Emma takes Killian’s hand as soon as she sees his fingers. “Eloquent as always, love,” he says, pulling her up with ease. “C’mon, if I look at anymore of those symbols, I’m going to go cross-eyed.” “It’d be a look.” “Gods, do you two ever stop?” David whines. 

Emma shakes her head. “I hope not.”

She doesn’t let go of his hand while they walk down the hall, torches lit with a slightly different glow than the one she’d caused that afternoon. He has to twist around her to open the door to their room, and there’d never really been any discussion of that, no questions about propriety or that pesky tradition that Arendelle seemed so fond of. 

It just was. 

With a bed Emma is considering stealing when they leave. “How difficult do you think it would be to commandeer a feather bed?” she asks, appreciating whatever her question does to every inch of Killian’s face. 

He arches an eyebrow, eyes drifting up her body like he’s taking stock of each part and the twist of his lips is entirely unfair. There are a few pieces of hair stuck up in the back, and Emma knows he’d been running his fingers through it, trying to figure out what, exactly, Elsa has to hold in order to assume the throne, but the whole look makes him a little unruly and decidedly piratical and she yanks on the front of his jacket. 

At first, it’s mostly just to get him closer, but then Emma can see the flash in his eyes and the want in his gaze and she tilts her head up and he bends his neck down, the curve of his hook digging into her back and making her arch further against him. He groans. She kisses him.

Hard. 

Emma pulls in a breath, heartbeat turning staccato in her chest and she’s thankful for the heels now. It makes it easier to move her arm, a hand in his hair and the other flat against his chest, memorizing the beat of his pulse in a way that’s only kind of weird and possibly possessive. 

“Gods, but you are distracting, you know that?” Killian mutters, and Emma must make a noise because she can hear something, a laughter that flutters out of her and bounces off the walls.

“Ok, but that’s not an answer to the bed question.” “I’m sure we could get a very similar bed at home, Swan.”

Her eyes close of their own accord as soon as she processes that word, one that never really had much meaning before and it’s still not enough. Not years and a field or the smell of salt in the air, stolen toffee and fingers dancing on her skin. It’s not leather or a glint of light bouncing off the edge of a sword. 

It’s more. It’s bigger. And it’s...again. It’s soft and easy and it’s always been that. 

From the very start. 

“The one normal thing,” Emma whispers, repeating words from a life that feels like a dream now. Until. Until she lets her eyes flicker up to find Killian staring at her, wonder and love and--"You’re trying to figure out how to get this bed out of here, aren’t you?” “It was your idea!” “You’d probably have to use the window, right?” “Or magic.” “You want me to magic a feather bed? Where?” Killian shrugs, nudging her closer to the bed and Emma doesn’t try to temper her magic. “Be easier with a ship,” he mutters, an admission that might not be that, but her magic jumps anyway and she’s going to fix that too. 

Save it, as it were. 

Emma hums, flopping back on soft blankets and cloud-like pillows, half a plan and a smile that makes her cheeks ache, Killian catching her lips again as soon as he lets the jacket fall to the floor. And she’s not sure how long they spend in that bed, roaming hands and that goddamn tongue thing, but his breathing evens out eventually, her smile still there and the soft heat in the very center of her makes it feel as if her heart expands, warding off the chill in the air and the past that isn't quite as formidable anymore. 

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Obiyuki AU Bingo Camelot AU

The first time Zen tells Shirayuki about the game, it’s nearly a month after he first sat next to her in homeroom, since Kiki elbowed him in the side and said, just talk to her already, it’s getting sad to watch.

He’s under duress this time too; it’s the fourth Friday in a row that she’s put her tray down at his table, and he stutters to a stop, eyes wide and cheeks flushed a painful red.

“I can go sit somewhere else,” she offers, though she has no idea where. Her only friends here besides them are Kihal, who has lunch fourth block on Fridays; and Ryuu, who eats lunch at the middle school, since the guidance counselor thinks it’s better for him to associate with children at his own level of maturity during free periods. He hates it, but Shirayuki gets how impossible it is to tell adults that when they believe they’re doing what’s best.

Oh, maybe she should let Kihal introduce her to some people like she keeps threatening to.

“This had become officially ridiculous,” Kiki informs him in her calm way, eyebrow twitching. “You need to tell her already. Look, you’re giving her anxiety.”

“I’m not --!” Zen grits down on his words, taking a deep breath. “I’m not giving her anxiety, you are giving her anxiety!”

“Amazing,” she deadpans. “Somehow you’ve managed to exceed my already ground-level expectations by digging under the bar. Just tell her already, or I will.”

His jaw goes slack, like he’s never considered that a possibility. “But then she’ll know that you --”

“Unlike you, I’m not ashamed of my hobbies for show.” Kiki turns to her with a brilliant smile; Shirayuki’s knees wobble under the beauty of it. “Since Zen is too weird to tell you, I like to spend my Saturday evenings --”

“We play D&D in my basement!” The moment the words are out, Zen wrenches his head away, hand wrapped around his mouth, as if it might keep more from leaping out.

“Oh.” There’s really no good way to say she has no earthly idea what he’s talking about. “That’s...good?”

Kiki’s mouth twitches. “You don’t know what that is, do you?”

Of course Kiki would find her out. At barely a month, Shirayuki knew all-too-well that it was impossible to keep a secret around her.

“No,” she admits on a sigh. “It sounds fun, though?”

“You’re entirely too nice for your own good,” Kiki informs her, though her mouth shifts to a smile. “Here, sit down. Did you like playing pretend games as a kid?”

Shirayuki has always liked words.

When she was five years old, she won a raffle at the town library. She hadn’t even known what a raffle was at the time, let alone that JaJa had slipped her name into the box, but that hadn’t mattered when she strutted down the street, collecting the children’s dictionary that was her prize. It was as thick as her arm and almost the size of her entire body, but it was first thing she had ever won -- the only thing she has ever won -- and she’d carried it the whole three blocks home, refusing to sit in her shiny red wagon and let JaJa pull her.

She spent many a day on the window seat of the B&B’s living room, poring over the seemingly endless entries. JaJa had laughed, had called her a budding intellectual with no little pride, ruffling her hair.

But she didn’t read her dictionary just to learn words, to be able to pull them out at breakfast and dinner and impress their guests. There was something comforting about it, about the idea that words meant something, that she could call something ovoid and have everyone see a similar picture to what she meant.

Well, provided they knew the word, of course. She ran into that problem often enough. Apparently, chiaroscuro was not a word that was common in the average adult’s vocabulary, let alone a nine year old’s.

This is the second time she has been in Zen’s basement, and Shirayuki honestly wonders if he knows what one is at all.

Basement means someplace dark, dry, the air heavy with must and the scent of wood shavings. It’s rickety wooden stairs and exposed beams of two-by-fours turning a suspicious green. It’s the small walled-in area where JaJa kept his tools, his projects piled high, chair legs shaped but unstained or entire pieces tipped on their end, held in vices for the glue to set. It’s a small, renovated area with a dying plaid couch and an overstuffed bookshelf, a place she could study without stumbling into guests every time she wandered out to the bathroom.

But this -- this is something entirely different.

This is fully renovated, with hard wood floors and walls painted a blinding white. The Game Room itself -- that’s what they call it, the game room, like their house is a Clue board complete with a study and a conservatory -- is bigger than her entire apartment, and there’s an exercise room just beyond it, filled with equipment expertly maintained, but most likely never used. She got to take a good look at it last time, because that is where the shared full bath is, along with a Jacuzzi tub.

It’s nice to be saved the trip upstairs, but still, still.

The furniture down here is at least not quite as intimidating as the painstakingly arranged antique and designer pieces upstairs, though Shirayuki is certain that just one part of that sectional sofa probably worth more than a month’s rent. She really doesn’t want to know what what the table set cost, especially not when Zen has been telling her they want to replace it, to put in a real gaming table, a custom model instead of just a regular dining table and -- and she really doesn’t know what a real gaming table would involve, but she’s sure it’s more zeroes than she would feel comfortable dropping for a car, let alone a slab of wood.

“Shirayuki!”

Zen scrambles out of his seat, realizing a moment too late that he’s stuck; Mitsuhide is settled in on one side, and Izana’s chair blocks a casual escape on the other. His nose wrinkles in annoyance, and all at once she finds it both endearing and -- and a relief. It’s nice to have someone excited when she walks in a room, but at the same time, it’s not as if she’s from an Austen novel and social mores demand that he rise for a lady. The last thing she needs is one of her few friends in this town giving her Mister Collins vibes.

Mitsuhide, at least, stays seated, absorbed in what looks like a new -- or at least new to her -- equipment book. Kiki had told her Bedwyr was in the market for some items to bolster his lay on hands; after all, he’s not going to be dropping points in Charisma any time soon, and all those mental stat boosting headbands were prohibitively expensive.

Shirayuki had nodded along. She had...definitely understood some of those words, when Kiki said them.

She knows the moment Izana steps down behind her, not only because his sternum bumps into her shoulder and sends her spilling forward, only avoiding an embarrassing fall into the sectional the price of a college education by the hand that wraps firmly around her arm, but also --

Mitsuhide bolts upright like a dog straining his leash and asks, “Are those...cookies?”

His eyes lock onto Frosty’s cheerful coal-eyed gaze, looking like he’d wag his tail if he could, like he’d be getting gleefully underfoot in hopes of getting a treat to spill on the floor, just for him.

“You bet they are.” She can’t see Obi, not when he’s right behind her, but she can feel his grin on the air, too pleased. “Red’s already bribing the DM.”

Zen flushes a deep red, and Shirayuki’s glad looks can’t kill, because otherwise she’d be looking for a new ride home. “Shirayuki would never. Who could even believe--?”

“Why, Shirayuki,” Kiki drawls, a slow smile curling across her lips. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Kiki!”

She winks. “I’m impressed.”

Zen fumes silently in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he stares -- right at the hand on her arm, the one she’s just noticing is quite bronze against the cream of her cardigan. She follows it up, up, until she looks straight into amber, and --

And at least Obi looks just as surprised as she does, his hand slowly uncoiling, like somehow it will suddenly be less noticeable how long it’s been there if he just moves slow enough.

Her face is unbearably, irrevocably hot, and she knows she must be redder than her hair, in the midst of a blush she has no hope will go unnoticed.

“N-no, no!” she protests, turned back to Zen. “It’s only a, um, host gift! I thought it would be polite!”

She wouldn’t have done it at all, if she knew everyone would make it into such a -- a thing.

Ugh, no, she feels guilty even thinking about being that rude. Of course she would have done it anyway. “They’re snickerdoodle!”

Zen stares at her blankly, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “What’s a--?

“Anyway,” Izana drawls loudly, saving her from knowing whether it was host gifts or snickerdoodles Zen had never heard of. Either way seemed like an oversight on his parents’ part.

She takes a surreptitious look around the room. Well, maybe his au pair’s part.

“I believe there is a game we are supposed to be playing.” Izana steps past her, setting the tin down at the head of the table, just outside of his screen. The snowman is on full, humiliating display. She really should have chosen a plainer tin. “Or have you ingrates forgotten, marveling at how polite Shirayuki is?”

“Does that mean Red is going to get some sweet starting bonuses?” Obi asks, slipping into the chair next to Izana, across from Zen -- who only glares harder, as if he might be able to make Obi disappear from sheer force of will.

“I’m offended you would even ask,” Izana deadpans grimly, cracking open the tin. “Of course she is.”

“Ooh.” Obi perches his chin on a hand, waggling his eyebrows. “Sounds like a bribe to me, boss.”

Zen scowls.

“It’s merely a show of appreciation for such a thoughtful gift.” He plucks a cookie from the tin, inspecting it as if home-baked cookies were suspicious objects, like a bag left unattended at a bus station. “Shirayuki is above such venal acts.”

The cookie hovers near his mouth, and Shirayuki can’t help but stare, palms sweating against her skirt as she waits for him to take a bite. This is always the worst part of making something for someone -- that moment before they taste it, where she’s left to wonder if she picked something they liked, if maybe she mixed up the salt and the sugar --

A slap, quick and harsh, jolts her attention away.

“Ow!” Zen cradles his hand against his chest, scowling at his older brother. “Hey!”

“These are my bribe, thank you.” Izana nudges the tin closer to his screen.

Kiki lifts her eyebrows. “I thought Shirayuki was above bribes.”

“Of course she is,” he murmurs around a cookie. “But I never said i was above taking them.”

There are no bedchambers in the alchemy tower at Tintagel; you have come to understand this is a hard-won rule, brought into being only after a sufficient number of fires, explosions, and demons had destroyed enough personal property that it was deemed prudent to separate living quarters from working space. It makes sense, of course, and after a fashion, you appreciate the thought that went into such a rule, but -- it does leave you walking from one end of the castle to another at least twice daily. A small price to pay for not waking up exploded, or possessed, or worse, but still, there are days you think you might have risked it, if only to save you the trek.

It is while you are trundling through the central corridor that you hear voices, raised and pointed, coming from one of the rooms. It is an odd occurrence here in your, albeit limited, experience. Tintagel is a quiet castle, almost empty for one of its size. Some days it can feel as if you are the only one inside -- at least until your horned shadow peeks his head in your window, reminding you that even should you feel alone, he is always there, ready to prod every wound.

Still, it is not a place where arguments are common; Arturius railing against the unfairness of his brother’s mandates is a daily occurrence, yes, but to hear a counterargument -- it is unusual to say the least.

You draw closer, slowing until you walk nearly on tip-toe to get close to the source. You recognize one voice, at least: high and reedy, commanding -- it can only be Arturius. When he speaks to you, his tones are soft, dulcet, even demure, but you have seen him be prince enough to know that this is his voice as well, one that would be recognized more readily by his knights.

It takes you a longer moment to place the other. It is fluid, ever-changing, never quite rising to meet Arturius’s anger, only sauntering in to provoke it before leaping back.

Ah. It is the tiefling. Beaumains. Less surprising, though you would have bet hard-earned coin on him dogging your shadow, rather than prodding the prince.

You stifle a sigh. That is an unkind assumption. Beaumains, as obnoxious as he can make himself, has professed to turning over a new leaf, to dedicating himself fully to serving Tintagel, and by extension, you. Even at his worst, you would not call him mean-spirited. Between the both of them, it had been Arturius who refuses to warm to your new guard, not the other way around.

Of course, that does not mean Beaumains does not rise to meet the prince’s expectations of him. Or, perhaps more accurately, lowers himself.

“You are not coming,” Arturius fumes through the door, tone utterly final.

The prince is a man who is used to being obeyed, who is used to having the last word if his esteemed brother is not in the room, so it cannot help that Beaumains only laughs, hearty and dismissive.

“It’s my job, Master.”

Armor clinks, hissing against the stone as he moves. “Not if I say it is not.”

“I’d love to see you try and stop me.” You cannot see Beaumains’ face from where you stand, but you know his grin is razor sharp, his body coiled with that dangerous energy of a cat before it pounces.

“I am Arturius, Prince of the Angles,” he says, every word steel, “and if I say you stay, there is no word that may gainsay me, save --”

“You aren’t my prince.”

You can feel the very wind stop at those words, the way the temperature of the chamber drops. You doubt Arturius has ever heard such a thing before.

“I’m no Angle.” Beaumains takes pride in every word; you can nearly see the way his chest puffs out, the way he stares at the Angle’s prince in challenge. Lord be good, but he is asking for a fight.

“Oh, and just what creature do you name yourself, then?” Arturius sniffs, taking yet another clanging step toward him. “A demon?”

“A devil,” Beaumains admits easy enough. “But in your world of man, I’m a...uh...um...”

Obi shoots a helpless look toward Izana.

With a long suffering sigh, Izana picks up yet another snickerdoodle -- his fourth, Shirayuki can’t help but note with pride. “You’re a Pict.”

“Yeah!” Obi whips around, waggling his eyebrows smugly. “I’m...whatever the fuck that is.”

“A Pict.” Mitsuhide squints, chin tilted toward the ceiling as he thinks. “Isn’t that...Scottish?”

“Is it?” Obi’s head swings back, looking wide-eyed at Izana. “Am I?”

Izana lifts his gaze heavenward, hands raised in a despairing shrug, and Shirayuki sees his soul ascend from his body.

“No, aren’t they the, um...predecessor of the Scots in the Highlands?” It’s been two weeks since she read over the player guide, but it sounds right, or at least familiar. “They were in the northern and eastern parts of Scotland from the late Iron Age to early Medieval period, and they’re thought to have eventually folded into the nearby Gael kingdom to--” she looks up, finding everyone staring at her in varying shades of disbelief -- “form...Alba?”

She shrinks, just a little, in her seat. Oh, she’s done it now. Now she’s Hermione Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire.

Zen doesn’t even blink. “Do you just...know all this?”

“You...don’t?” She glances at Izana, only to catch his slack jaw, his raised brows. “It’s...in the supplemental materials. There’s even a map.”

“There’s a map?”

“It’s been on google drive for three years,” Izana reminds him waspishly, well-recovered. “It’s not like I’m hiding it.”

“It’s the same one on Wikipedia,” she offers, though by the annoyance on both their faces, it doesn’t help. “Did any of you read the player guide?”

Everyone makes a good show of looking anywhere but at her or Izana. Well, that certainly answers that question.

“To be fair,” Mitsuhide starts on something suspiciously like a whine, “the player guide wasn’t entirely complete when we started.”

“Oh,” Izana remarked mildly, “is that so?”

The air in the room is tense, a full two degrees cooler than when they started this particular conversation, and --

Obi is oblivious to it. “Does this mean I have a Scottish accent?” He clears his throat, leaning toward her with a throaty, “Ach, lassie, do you ken--?”

“Absolutely not.” Izana turns to her. “In any case, I do believe that Lynet must roll some Stealth, if she means to continue to eavesdrop at the door...”

With a groan that could wake the good neighbors in their barrows, the door falls out from under your hands. Your feet tangle beneath you, tied up in both your skirts and surprise, pitching you forward --

Right into the awaiting arms of Beaumains.

“Why, my lady,” he drawls, entirely too pleased with himself, “falling for me so soon--?”

“Really?” Zen deadpans. “Really?”

Obi leans back for a casual stretch, smile curling his lips. His shirt inches up, bunching around his shoulders, but his button-up is long, covering every inch of him, even where it cuts up at the side.

Not that -- not that Shirayuki is disappointed, or anything. She just couldn’t help but look sitting next to him, that’s all.

“What?” he chuckled, incredulous. “Are you trying to tell me you never wanted to use that line?”

Zen’s mouth opens, closes, and finally settles in a thin line. “Whatever.”

“My dear lady Lynet,” Arturius rumbles, seemingly unsurprised at your appearance, even as you stand stunned in the circle of Beaumains’ arms. “You are just who I had been hoping to see.”

Your heart flutters at that. You will never quite be used to a prince saying such words to you. “Me?”

“It is about your quest,” he says, studiously not looking at the man you are trying to extricate yourself from. It is far harder than it looks, especially since you are trying not to break the prince’s gaze. That seems like it might be...unwisely rude.

“You mean my sister?” Guilt gnaws at you with its tiny teeth; she has been on your mind, yes, and you have felt some impatience, staying here in the castle while she in imperiled in your family home, menaced by the Red Knight, but --

But you have also been distracted, busy with the resources that lay at your fingertips here in Tintagel. At home, you are the only alchemist within miles, with only hedge wizards and herb witches for company, but here --

Ah, now is...not the time to think of such things.

“Are we to leave soon?” you ask, attempting to sound eager. You must miss your mark, for Beaumains smothers a snort. Still, it does not seem that Arturius has noticed.

“Yes, everything is ready for our quest.” The prince favors you with a charming smile, his teeth so white and perfect in his mouth. “However --”

“However, handsome devils aren’t invited,” Beaumains explains, mouth twitching at a corner. He’s been saving that one up, you can tell.

“That’s not --” Arturius bites down on his next words. “There is no point to him going, if he is to guard your person.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Can he do that all the way from Tintagel? Is he the lord God?”

The prince sputters. “No, I only mean, you cannot possibly mean to go, and thus --”

“Excuse me?” Shirayuki doesn’t mean to sound shrill or accusatory, but -- what? “You want me to not play?”

“Of course not!” Zen flushes hot pink from collar to hairline. “I only --”

“Then what are you doing?” she asks. “Why are you trying to get Lynet to stay at Tintagel while the rest of you go on an adventure?”

“I’m roleplaying.” Zen lifts his chin, tone flirting with imperious. “Arturius is --”

“A misogynistic fossil?” Kiki offers helpfully, chin leaning on the back of her hand. “An asshole?”

“Chivalrous, is what I was going to say,” he mutters, annoyed. “It’s only--”

“Huh.” Obi’s brow furrows. “I thought chivalry was about horses.”

“That’s--”

“That’s correct, actually.” Mitsuhide squirms under Zen’s betrayed stare. “I mean, for the time period. Or well, the time period that most of the adaptations would like you to believe. It didn’t have anything to do with, you know, holding doors and stuff until much later.”

Zen swings a pleading look toward his brother, who only shrugs. “I agree with Mitsuhide’s analysis.”

“He is the history minor,” Kiki reminds him. With a small smile, she shifts her gaze to Obi. “Very impressive, Hell Boy.”

He shrugs, grin canting his lips. “Well, you know, I read sometimes.”

“We’re getting off-topic,” Zen interjects, “we were talking about the quest --”

“I am coming,” you inform the prince, as calmly as you can manage. “You cannot believe I would abandon my sister.”

“No, of course not,” Arturius assures you, hand reaching out to cup your elbow, as if you are some horse to be tamed by a touch. “I just did not want to assume--”

“Then you may be well assured I do not mean to stay behind.” You smile, to take away the sting of your words. “Besides, it is I who knows the way to Castle Perilous.”

“Ah, yes.” He grimaces. “I had...forgotten that detail. But no matter. Between myself and my sister and Sir Bedwyr, your safety will be well in hand. We do not need--”

“Beaumains,” you start, enunciating carefully so he may not mistake you, “is coming.”

“What?”

Shirayuki frowns, folding her arms over her chest. “We’re not going to leave Obi out of the game either.”

“I’m not saying we should!” Zen protests, as if he hasn’t spent quarter of an hour trying to make just that point. “He can always sneak along behind us, sent by Uther, or...whatever other shady reason he can come up with! That’s all I mean.”

“I think Obi should be with us from the start,” Shirayuki insists. “It’s mean to treat him like he isn’t part of the party. He’s sitting right here!”

“That’s -- that’s meta gaming!” Zen sputters, cheeks puffing out with annoyance. “Lynet has no reason to trust him!”

That seemed rich from the prince who was ready to trust Lynet the moment she walked into the throne room when his world is populated with evil sorceresses and shape-shifting fey.  “She doesn’t have a reason to not, either!”

“It’s fine, Red.” Obi’s words are light, casual, but the smile he turns on her is tight, pained. “Really. I can just sneak along behind.”

“No.” Shirayuki shakes her head. “Lynet wants him to come.”

Mitsuhide rucks up his mouth, dubious. “He did try to kill you.”

“He wasn’t trying very hard,” she informs him, ignoring the wounded gasp Obi makes next to her. “We’re past that now.”

“‘Kill’ is such a strong word anyway,” Beaumains adds with shrug of his shoulders. “It was really more of a...pointed discouragement. And as my lady says, I currently lack the proper motive to try again.”

“He means money,” Morgaine says to her brother, leading the mounts out from the stables. “In case you were about to take umbrage at the idea that there would be any sufficient motive for harming the Lady Lynet.”

“It still is not sufficient in my mind,” Arturius sniffs, refusing to look at your devilish companion. “Surely he might be tempted again, if offered a kingly sum.”

“Who could offer a more kingly sum than a king?” Beaumains’  mouth twitches as he takes a mare’s lead. “Uther, King of the Angles, is richer than Croesus. And the reward he offers me for keeping my lady safe is sufficient, for my tastes.”

Bedwyr frowns, considering him. “Are we supposed to believe those words from a man so fickle as to change masters for coin?”

“A man who follows money is less fickle than a man who follows his heart.” Beaumains grins at the way Bedwyr twists in discomfort. You sigh; these weeks have proven him a fine enough companion, if one that delights in the perverse, but this -- this is not helping his case.

Arturius’ nose wrinkles in distaste. “And just how is that?”

“You will always know his price,” Morgaine explains calmly. “One more than what he is currently being offered. A moral man will follow his own heart, and only the Lord knows where that might lead him.”

“If that doesn’t put you at ease, Highness.” Ah, how you mislike that smile -- “Then know I have very little motive to ruin a breast so fine as my lady’s for anything less than heaven’s vault.”

Zen whips a hand at Obi, staring at his brother. “Are you going to allow this?”

Izana lets out a long breath, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Shirayuki. Has Beaumains’ comment made you uncomfortable?”

She blinked. “No? He’s talking about Lynet, isn’t he?” It’s not like she has much chest to comment on. “I mean, Lynet is a little peeved, but -- Beaumains is only trying to annoy Arturius.”

“And it’s working,” Kiki observes, lifting a brow at Zen.

“You wound me, my lady,” Obi drawls, pressing a hand to his heart, eyelashes fluttering. “Beaumains is passionate in his devotion to you.”

“To his pocketbook, maybe,” Shirayuki allows.

“You know,” Kiki hums thoughtfully. “I really thought you were more of a butt guy.”

“Yeah,” Zen agrees, “there’s just something about you that says ass.”

“If you are all done speculating on which part of T and A Obi most prefers,” Izana interrupts, long suffering. “I need ride check from all of you.”

“Come on,” Zen sighs, “as if we don’t all have ranks enough to pass a five --”

“Oh, I don’t have ranks in that,” Shirayuki offers as she looks at her sheet. “That means...just dexterity?”

Izana grins. “It sure does.”

Morgaine specially selects the most docile, most trained mare in the stables for you; a pretty thing you never learn the name of, since you throw one leg over it and slip right off the other side. Three times.

“I think,” Bedwyr says in his hesitant, gentle way, which warns you he’s about to say something unpleasant, “that maybe you should share.”

“Oh, pick me, my lady.” Beaumains winks. “I’ll keep you warm.”

Obi waggles his eyebrows. “Beaumains is charged with protecting your body, after all.”

“Ah...” Shirayuki hums. Heat burns at the tips of her ears. She’s tempted, but -- 

“Are you planning on using every bad pick up line you know in this game?” Zen asks, half resigned.

“Well, it’s not like I can use them in real life,” Obi tells him. “I’m not as hot as Beaumains. Get it?”

She stares at him. “I’ll go with Mistuhide.”

The ride is tense as you make your way towards Avalon and the Castle Perilous.

Arturius hunches over his silver mare in the sort of sulk you would expect from a small child denied a sweet, not a prince gently overruled. As if to taunt him, Beaumains keeps pace beside you, chatting with Bedwyr in a way that make you think of a melee rather than a conversation. Although the morning is all water under the bridge for your guard, Bedwyr is eager to put him in place.

It is a many days to your home, and if you must listen to Beaumains’ deft parries to the weapons master’s clumsy thrusts, it will seem even longer still.

You look to Morgaine, seemingly the only reason in this party, but she is straight-backed, wary, eyes scanning the trees around you. It makes you tense as well, hunching close to Bedwyr’s back.

“Is something wrong?” you murmur, gaze fixed to the forest. “Do you see something?”

Morgaine shakes her head. “Listen.”

The die hits the table, spinning on a corner before it settles on a side, setting on the number Shirayuki had been seeing all night. “Oh. A one.”

Zen sighs, burying his head in his arms. “You need to get better dice.”

You strain, but to your ears, there is nothing. “I do not hear a thing.”

“That,” she whispers, mouth pulling into a grim line, “is exactly the point.”

Bedwyr’s back stiffens under you, his conversation with Beaumains stuttering to a halt as he listens. “Ah.”

Still, you hear nothing. “I do not understand.”

“No bird songs,” Bedwyr explains. “Not a one.”

“More than that,” Beaumains says, more serious than you have ever heard him, his amber eyes flicking to every shadow. “No wind.”

Now that you know, the lack of noise unsettles you, makes your skin crawl. You grew up in the woods of Avalon; for one to be so silent is unnatural. “What could--?”

There is a rustling, too loud in the silence, and you hold tight to Bedwyr, burying your face into his back --

“Halt!” a creature shrieks as it bursts from the bush, waving arms as thin as toothpicks.

The prince is at the fore, and so it is his horse that rears at the intrusion, its shriek echoing in the wood. Only expert horsemanship keeps him in his seat, his grip tightening on the reins and thighs squeezing tight to its flanks.

Morgaine is at his side at a moment, her slender hand hovering over the hilt of her blade, putting her mount between the creature and her brother. Though your heart beats as a bird’s wing in your chest, it aches with longing too. You are not so brave, so selfless as she, though you wish you could be. If only you could throw yourself into danger so quickly, perhaps your own sister would not be trapped, would not be at the hands of a man who cared not for her safety, but his own vile ends.

Bedwyr’s mare dances beneath you, his hand hovering at his side, and ah, this might not be the time to be having such regrets. Not when danger is so near.

Your gaze darts to Beaumains beside you, expecting his hands on his knives -- wherever they are -- his back tense and coiled, but --

But he has not moved, not an inch, just staring at the creature with bemusement in the gold of his eyes.

“Announce yourself!” Bedwyr commands, voice ringing through the silence of the wood. “What manner of beast are you?”

“Please, sir,” it begs, ducking its head. Now that it is not moving, not waving its limbs in warning, you can see it is not tall, a head shorter than you, with a stocky body made skeletal by what has to be either starvation or sickness. “I have only come to warn you! You must tread no further in this cursed place, else your very lives will hang in mortal peril!”

Morgaine draws her sword, the magic across its blade making it shine with a deathly sheen. It is the sharpest sword in the Isles, by Bedwyr’s account, having separated dastardly heads from broad shoulders as easy as breathing many times since its making. “He asked what manner of beast you are, sir.”

“Please!” it begs. Against its head, tawny hair clings in tangled whorls, like a man who has been sleeping in the brush for weeks, like a wild creature. “I mean no harm, but you must turn back!”

“Answer.” Arturius draws his own blade, pointing it towards the pitiful creature’s throat. “Or I will cut you down where you stand villain.”

“Wait.”

It is not until every eye has turned to you that you realize you are the one that has spoken, that it is on your word upon which this creature clings to life.

Ah, this is too much responsibility, too much power. How you wish you could have stayed in your Castle Perilous, if this was to be your life outside it.

It is Beaumains’ steady gaze that calms you; there is nothing expectant there, or questioning, just a strange sort of surety, as if he already knows what you might say, as if he already knows you have the right of it.

“I could...” You clear your throat, goading your voice to louder than a whisper. “I will look at him.”

“My lady,” Arturius breathed, shocked. “I could not possibly allow you to near this...this thing alone.”

You draw in a long breath, steeling yourself. “I--”

“Then I’ll go with her.” Beaumains swings himself off his steed with a grace that sends pangs of envy stabbing through you. “Since I’m such a dangerous man myself, there’s no way this pathetic thing could get a drop on me.”

He saunters over with his long-limbed gait; it should look awkward, gangly, but instead it reminds you of how wildcats prowl. He holds his hands up to you, ready to lift you from your saddle as soon as you give word.

Instead, you stare, heat flooding your cheeks as you consider him. “But I beat you.”

“W-well,” he stammers, ducking his chin into his shoulder, looking anywhere but at you. “Those were extenuating circumstances.”

“I tackled you,” you persist, for no reason at all besides that it seems important for him to know. “You were on the ground.”

He let out a disgruntled noise. “I did end up on top --”

“Not to break up this delightful roleplay,” Izana drawls, chin cupped in his hand. “But does Lynet plan on getting off her horse, Shirayuki? Or should I just let Morgaine and Arturius have their way with this creature.”

“Oh!” Shirayuki drags her gaze away from Obi’s, away from where his lips curl, too pleased. “Yes, I’ll, um, get down.”

“Perfect.” Izana’s teeth flash behind his smile. “Then why don’t you roll me...Dexterity.”

“No, wait.” Zen frowns at his brother, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “That isn’t fair! There’s no roll to get off a horse.”

“We’ve already established that Lady Lynet cannot ride on her own,” Izana tells him breezily. “I don’t know why that lack of skill wouldn’t extend to mounting or dismounting.”

Zen’s mouth pulls flat, but he looks away first, cheeks stained an angry red.

“So...?” She darted a glance between the two of them. “Should I...?”

“Oh, by all means.” Shirayuki really does not trust that grin on his face, especially not when Izana purrs, “Please.”

You curse yourself a fool for never taking your riding lessons seriously. Yes, there had been no way to know that you would not always have a riding block to hand, and no way to know that the extent of your excursions would stretch further than the length of your lands but -- still. You were a rambunctious child; surely you should have seen the merit in such a skill, even if your brother would not allow you to sit astride.

Ah, but what a perfect rebellion that would have been: learning to ride like a man. The only blessing you have remaining to you is that at least you are light, for otherwise you doubt Beaumains slender frame would have managed to keep you both upright as you tumble gracelessly into his arms.

“Oh,” he murmurs, chest rumbling beneath your palms. He is still so pleasantly warm, just as he had been when he touched you nights ago in your laboratory, so much more than any man, even Bedwyr.

“M-my apologies,” you stammer, red-faced, your hands itching as you peel them away from his tunic. “That was clumsy of me.”

He lets out a weak laugh, scratching at the back of his head, looking anywhere but at you. “Think nothing of it.”

“Need you be reminded,” Morgaine calls out, half amused, “that we are holding this creature at sword point, awaiting your counsel?”

“Oh!” You hurry forward, bag clanking at your hip, Beaumains just behind. “Yes, it’s only -- I think I know what he is. Or rather -- who he is.”

“I have to roll for this, don’t I?” Shirayuki picks up her d20 rolling it thoughtfully around her palm. “It’s, um...”

“Knowledge Nature,” Izana tells her gently. “Or maybe Knowledge Arcana. Possibly even Spellcraft, if we want to get down to it.”

She hesitates, the die’s corners digging into her fingers. “I have all of those. Is one better?”

“Each one gets you different information.” Mitsuhide leans over the table, pulling her sheet between them. “See how there’s so many knowledges? Each one corresponds to a type of creature, or sometimes items, or related topics. Nature is for natural creatures -- humans, animals, things we see in the real world -- and Arcana is for magical beasts, or constructs. That sort of thing.”

There’s so many on her sheet, with things like dungeoneering or planes that don’t seem to have much to do with creatures at all, but she nods. That makes...some sort of sense, at least. “What about Spellcraft?”

“That identifies a spell.” He gives her a gentle smile, and it occurs to her that she doesn’t know what Mitsuhide’s major is, but he should really consider teaching. “Sometimes, if you roll nigh enough when an enemy caster is casting, you can learn the spell, or counter it.”

That sounds...useful. Good thing she took a bunch of ranks in that. “Can I only pick one?”

“By all means.” Izana leans forward, just slightly, and she realizes -- he’s interested. She’s doing something he didn’t expect. “Roll all three.”

“He looks like a dwarf,” you say, shaking your head. “But he is not, only a man.”

Arturius blinks down, uncomprehending. “Are you to say that he is short?”

“Aye me,” Morgaine sighs, “of course you are preoccupied by such a thing.”

“Dear sister--”

“No,” you interject, before either of them can start an argument. “He is under a curse. A terrible one.”

“By who?” Arturius’ mouth pulled long, his eyes searching the forest’s edge. “A sorcerer? A fey?”

You shake your head. “I do not know its cause. It was done by one with more powerful magicks than myself. All I know is that his shape has been changed, and he is cursed to not be able to speak of his affliction.”

“Sounds fey enough to me,” Morgaine mutters darkly, eyeing the poor man. With a sigh she sheathes her blade, dismounting her steed to help him to his feet. “Come, what is it you warn us of?”

“Plague!” he rasps. “There is a plague at Laxdo.”

Silence reigns in the forest for a long moment. Laxdo, who had long been an ally to your house, who had long been an ally to the throne, now brought low by unknown hands. It could not be anything less than disturbing for the prince and his sister.

“We do not know if he speaks the truth,” Morgaine reminded him. “Not all is lost. This may yet be the trick of his master.”

“He wears their livery,” Bedwyr offers grimly, mouth set in a grave line across his handsome face.

Arturius takes in a long breath, serious. “We must go there --”

“Hold up, hold up.” Obi waves his hands, giving the rest of the table an incredulous glance. “A plague? Like, One to Black Death, where does this thing stack on the disfiguring disease-o-meter?”

“First off.” Izana ticked the point on his fingers. “Bubonic plague is not a number, and thus your scale is invalid.”

“Is your deal called dungeon master or dungeon pedant?” Obi gives him a flat look. “You know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” His expression may be long-suffering, but as Izana flicks up a second long finger, his lip twitches. Just a bit. “Secondly, the situation is a little more complex than rate-my-plague.”

“Still,” Zen insists, surprisingly taking Obi’s side. “The dwarf-man should be able to give us some sort of, you know, gauge.”

“Your unnamed friend has no basis for comparison,” Izana informs them easily, thumbing at the corner of his notes. “He admits, quite sorrowfully, that he does not regularly engage with plagues.”

Obi’s mouth pulls flat. “Listen, let me be real with you, chief. Beaumains only has twelve Con, so I’m just looking for how deadly this whole little soiree is going to be for me, personally.”

“Well --”

“You have twelve Con?” Kiki breaks in, incredulous. “Don’t you fight with knives? Aren’t you a strike-style fighter? How did you expect to survive?”

“I-I’m nimble,” he says, drawing himself up defensively. “And I have illusion magic!”

She stares at him. “Your plan was to just not get hit?”

Shirayuki hadn’t been sure in the car, but she’s sure now -- Obi is blushing. “I mean, yes.”

“That’s a really dumb plan!”

“Well, I know that now,” he gripes, folding his arms across his chest. “It just didn’t seem important at the time!”

“Hit points didn’t seem important at the time?” she deadpans. “Whatever, we will fix this next level. And we’re buying you a belt.”

“Aw, but I was going to buy a Dex--”

“You are getting a Belt of Mighty Constitution and that is--”

“How about instead of worrying about what you will buy next level,” Izana suggests, far too calm. “You worry about surviving to see it.”

“We must go there,” Arturius says again, this time more certain. “We must save Laxdo from this evil.”

“Great,” Beaumains grumbles, levering up to his feet. “Just how I’ve always wanted to die -- in a ditch, covered in boils.”

[let-it-raines]

Second in Command (Epilogue - Part Seven)

Summary: Life as the “spare to the heir” isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be when you’re the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don’t know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: You guys are totally going to be annoyed with me for how I left it on a cliffhanger when I totally didn’t have to except to show some character growth and how things change...which I guess is exactly the reason I ended it that way :D

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr Chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14| 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Epilogue Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 

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“Can I come in, son?”

“Yeah, of course,” Killian answers automatically, the shock of his father just showing up at his door stunning him for only a moment. It’s not like he never visits. He usually just calls or texts first. “I didn’t know you were coming over, dad. Why didn’t you call?”

“Oh, I was visiting the kids and thought I’d drop by since I knew that the two of you had returned home.” His dad steps inside, squeezing his shoulder before leaning down to pet Indy. “Hello, darling,” he then greets Emma, kissing her cheek before wrapping her up in a hug. “How are you feeling today?”

“Good, good,” Emma insists, her eyes still blown wide as if she’s actually been shocked. He knows she’s still a bit rattled from the flight and her nausea. The same thing had happened when they went out sailing the morning of their anniversary, before the disaster of the rest of that day, and even though he had been wary of it, Emma insisted she was fine. She never said she wasn’t, but the green of her face told him otherwise. “How are you?”

“Kicking pretty high for my age.”

“You are not old,” she laughs, tugging on Indy’s leash. “Do you mind if I take Indy for a quick walk? Let her run around a bit. She’s been told she’s going outside, and I’m afraid she’ll freak out if she doesn’t get to go.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll chat with Killian, and the second you two come back inside, I want to hear all about how you’ve been since you left us to go holiday in the warm sunshine. I swear it’s rained for the past week.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Emma takes a step over toward him, leaning up and kissing his cheek, whispering that she’ll be right back before taking a step outside with Indy and leaving him with his dad.

“Do you want something to drink? Eat?”

“I’m fine.” His father begins walking to the living room, settling down into the recliner he prefers when visiting all while Killian sits down on the couch next to him, only a side table between them. “So how was your holiday?”

He almost chokes on his own saliva thinking of all of the things he absolutely cannot tell his father about their holiday as well as wondering if he should bring up the privacy issue just yet. He doesn’t know, is never truly sure about these types of things. He could have a nice, normal conversation with his father or it could turn into another tense, stressful one. He’s had enough of those for a lifetime, but he also knows that he doesn’t have all of the time in the world to fix this. He’s got fewer than four months, really.

“It was wonderful,” he finally answers, his lips ticking up on one side. It really was wonderful to get away with Emma and only have each other for awhile despite the disaster that was their anniversary. It got better, though. It wasn’t completely bad. They had the sailing trip and the takeout meal that was better than anything else they’d eaten if only for how comfortable they both felt. He felt his son move for the first time, which was bloody brilliant and most definitely his new favorite thing. “It’s a gorgeous island. Emma mentioned something about asking you to make our beaches like that.”

Brennan barks out a laugh, the wrinkles on his face all gathering together while his gray hair shakes the slightest bit. If Killian was a betting man, he’d guess his dad is getting his hair cut in the next two or three days, keeping up with his lifelong schedule of haircuts. “If only I could. That would be bloody wonderful. But I like the way she thinks.”

“She’s definitely a brilliant dreamer.” He trails off toward the end of his sentence, looking down at his hand and twisting his ring around his finger, his constant physical reminder of his lifelong commitment to Emma, as if he really needs one. “Can I talk to you about something, dad?”

“Of course.”

“I know, well, I know that things were different when I was a kid, that technology wasn’t as advanced, that I was a bit of a surprise child and that you were on the older side when I was born.”

“Well, why don’t you just call me elderly then, Killian? And you have absolutely no proof that you were a surprise child.”

His dad laughs when he speaks, but Killian isn’t finding a lot of humor in it, knowing that he’s likely going to upset Brennan with his words.

“What I mean is, I know you weren’t really, truly involved in my life. And I’m not blaming you or trying to make you feel…upset, but I need a very particular kind of advice that really only you and mum or Liam and Abigail can give. And I’m honestly not even sure you can give it.”

“What’s wrong, Killian?”

He takes a moment to collect himself, hundreds of words on the tip of his tongue but none of them feeling quite right. But he has to say something, so he might as well speak the truth.

“How the hell am I supposed to be a father in a world where I can’t protect the privacy of my wife and my child? There were, um, photographers who rented out a house and used scopes to take pictures of us on the beach. And Emma and I got into a pretty nasty argument about it. She’s worried…I’m worried about Andrew’s privacy. We want him to live a life as normal as possible. We don’t want photographers following him to school or to the park, and I just – I don’t know how to fix it.”

He’s been clenching his fist all while he talks, the tenseness in his hand almost painful while hot tears form in his eyes, every fault and every insecurity he’s had long before the fight with Emma coming back and assaulting his senses, making everything a dark, cloudy blur.

Brennan looks calm, secure, the blue of his eyes not changing while his eyelids rapidly blink, his brows furrowing and the lines on his face increasing. Has he said too much? Shown too much emotion? Asked for the impossible?

“The fact that you have very obviously beaten yourself up about this proves that you are a better dad than I ever have been.”

“That’s not what I meant, dad. I didn’t – ”

“I know, Killian. I’m not taking offense to anything. I was a poor excuse for a father for the majority of your life. I was focused on Liam, on my job, on the protocol and the way that my father raised Albert and me. All I knew was that fathers were not supposed to be close to their children, and as much as that hurt me as a child, I stupidly believed it. The fact that you have forgiven me is something I still can’t believe.”

He leans over and places his hand on Brennan’s knee, patting him before leaning back and wiping at his eyes. “I did it for me, but with the way you’ve worked to change, you deserve it.”

“Thank you, my boy.” His father smiles, settling back into his chair and crossing his hands together in his lap. “But this is not about me. This is about you and your family. So you don’t want Andrew in the public eye? At all? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, we haven’t discussed it in serious length, but yes. I’m sure that Emma will be okay with releasing the occasional photo or having him join us when we go overseas so we don’t have to be apart from him, but I think we’re going to have to take a step back in traditions. And when he gets older, I think we may need to move somewhere much more private.”

The front door opens then, the alarm beep sounding at the same time that he hears the click of nails and the squeak of sneakers as well as Emma’s voice. He straightens up, fixing his hunched back and sitting against the couch in as much of a relaxed position as he can.

“Go find, Killian, girl, yeah,” Emma coos, her voice getting louder the closer she gets to the living room. And then she’s in view, Indy running in first and jumping up on the couch before getting down once she spots Brennan, less familiar people always more exciting than him. Emma walks toward him, sitting down in the seat Indy just vacated and reaching around him to tangle her fingers in his hair, stroking the strands. “What’s wrong? Your shoulders are tensed.”

How the hell does she always know?

“Killian and I,” his father answers for him, seemingly understanding that Killian wasn’t sure what to say, “were simply talking about how you two seem to be suffering from some privacy issues and are worried about your child’s future, that you want Andrew to lead a more private life than normal.”

“Oh,” Emma gulps, her hand stilling in his hair before beginning again, “well, yeah. I know that we all grew up differently and that my childhood isn’t really an option, but that’s what I want, what we want. We want him to be able to be a kid, you know? I don’t want him to be used to cameras everywhere he goes. I don’t know how we’d fix that, but that’s definitely my top priority right now. And forever probably.”

His hand finds Emma’s knee, thumb running back and forth over the material of her leggings while she speaks. He’s here with her, for her, consistently, and he hopes that she knows this.

“Why don’t you two give me some time to think things over? I’ll meet with security. We’ll work out some plans and ideas. You two should probably talk to Liam and Abigail. It’s not, well, it won’t be exactly the same. You have more freedom than them, and they’re not quite as private as the two of you. But they do have experience in all of this.” “Thank you, Brennan,” Emma sighs, leaning back into the couch and scratching at his neck, his eyes fluttering closed for a quick moment.

“Of course, but at the end of the day, above everything else, we’re a family. How you two feel is far more important than any sort of duty and tradition we have, even if I do ask that we stick to the important ones.”

“Actually, I have something else that I want to talk about.”

His head snaps to her, eyes searching for what she has to say, but she’s not looking at him, her gaze trained on the wag of Indy’s tail while her fingers tap over his on her leg, the hand in his hair having stilled.

“What do you want to talk about, love?”

She looks at him then, the smallest of smiles on her face that comforts him the slightest bit, before directing her gaze to Brennan. “I don’t want to walk out of the hospital all made up hours after giving birth. Kudos to Abigail. She is a badass woman for that, but that’s not what I want. Andy doesn’t need to be exposed to so many people as a newborn. I don’t need to be all dressed up when I’ve just given birth. I don’t care about tradition when it comes to this. This is what I’m doing, and I really feel like it’s the first step in taking a stand about him not being some kind of public property.”

He didn’t know she felt that way about any of that, nearly every word she said news to him, but he gets it, supports it. If that’s what Emma wants for this, that’s what they’ll do. He’s never quite understood that tradition anyways, and he likes the idea of a more private celebration with just them and their families while Emma heals and they adjust to the terrifying process of being parents for the first time.

“I’m not sure we can do that, dear.”

“What?” His head snaps over to his dad, trying to process the words. “You literally just said that how we feel is more important than any duty we have.”

“But that we need to stick to the important traditions, yes. New family members are an important tradition.”

“Brennan,” Emma grits, her voice strained as she tries to keep it friendly, “I respect our family and all of the traditions we have, but I am not some kind of human machine who’s only here to produce babies. Yes, of course this is a big deal, but it’s a big deal for us as a personal family, not as some part of the institution. You can still put the sign up, make any and all announcements you want. Hell, I’ll release a picture if we have to, but all I’m asking is that we’re allowed to leave and travel home in peace.”

“I agree, dad. I mean, really. Of all of the things we break and bend, of all of the things we change, surely you can let this one thing go? It’s not hundreds of years ago where people are faking pregnancies and paternities to keep the line intact, which was ridiculous then. I think letting family be family is the most important thing, don’t you?”

“Aye, it’s just…you’ll have to forgive me.” Brennan runs his hand over his face, visibly warring something within himself, the lines on his face stressing. “You were right earlier when you said things are different now. These are not things that I really went through with you, not as prevalent as you. Emma, dear, I’m sorry. I don’t…I shouldn’t have ever considered making you do something you’re not comfortable with. I love you dearly, and you and Killian know what’s best here, not me.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” Emma says, getting up from the couch and sitting down on the edge of the coffee table so that she can squeeze Brennan’s hand. “You are so brilliant, and you uphold this family so well. I know that I’m different, that it was difficult to accept me, but change can be good, you know?”

“I know.”

Brennan stays for a little while longer, hashing out a few more details with them before accepting a cup of tea and some food, finally listening to them talk about their holiday all the while scratching behind Indy’s ears, her eyes closed in bliss the entire time. It’s peaceful, relaxing, and he feels his shoulders loosen the longer the conversation goes on, Emma’s laughter and joyful voice sounding throughout the room. In the back of his mind, though, he keeps replaying the conversation, thinking of everything he said, everything they all said, and he’s amazed it all went as smoothly as it did, surprised that his father acquiesced to their private exit from the hospital so easily. He had no idea that Emma wanted that, and he wonders how long she’s been toying with the idea, how many late nights she’s spent worrying about bringing it up. He knows she didn’t just think of it now, that it wasn’t spur of the moment, and he tries to remind himself to ask her about it later, to make sure that there’s nothing else she’s hoarding inside.

She goes through enough, has gone through enough over the years, and she shouldn’t feel like she has to hold things back from him.

But he saves his thoughts for later, letting his dad leave and letting Emma take a nap, her eyes falling shut without her even laying down on the couch. He wakes her before she can get into too deep of a sleep, though, knowing that it’ll hurt her back, and helps her go upstairs to their room, ignoring the curses she’s muttering under her breath about him waking her up. While she sleeps, he goes downstairs to his office, answering emails and clearing out his inbox that he left alone while they were in Spain.

Summer is normally a slow time for them, June and July full of engagements while August is usually taken off to spend in Balmoral. Emma’s due in September, though, a few days after his birthday, and she’s not working after August begins. He is, though, doing his regular work and making a few short trips, making sure never to never travel more than three hours away in case he needs to be home.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have things to do now, organizing his files and reviewing the financials for Kidding a Goal until Indy comes walking into his office, her nails clicking against the wood until she’s staring up at him with her mouth wide open, tongue practically falling out of her mouth. He checks his watch and sees that it’s far past seven. He’s surprised she didn’t come and get him two hours ago.

“You ready to eat, my girl?”

That gets her tail wagging before she takes off, running toward the kitchen at such a pace that she’s probably there before he even gets up from his chair. Sure enough, she’s already waiting next to her bowl like the most well-behaved dog in the world, which is not something he expected when he and Emma decided to get a dog last year. But she’s done well, their training working most of the time, but Indy does have the tendency to lick his face when he’s sleeping. He’s not a fan of that.

But she’s his best bud and a constant companion on his runs, so it all evens out.

After feeding her, he hears footsteps coming down the stairs, Emma wandering into the kitchen with sleep-rumpled hair and pillow streaks on her face, her pajama top falling off of one shoulder. She immediately heads toward the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and some yogurt before settling down on a barstool.

“How’d you sleep?”

She grunts in response, opening her yogurt and eating a large spoonful. “I hate being pregnant sometimes.”

“So not well then?”

“Nope. I felt like my guts were all being squeezed out, but do you know who’s not moving now that I’m awake and out of bed?”

“Andy.”

“Yep.”

She keeps eating her yogurt, quickly finishing it up before getting another carton. He should probably fix something for dinner so she doesn’t consume the entire yogurt supply in their fridge.

“Hey, sweetheart?”

“Yeah?” she mumbles, pulling her spoon out of her mouth and looking up at him, her hair deflating the slightest bit from when she came down.

“You want to tell me what that was earlier? With my dad. When did you decide you didn’t want to do the public announcement?”

“Oh, um, I first thought about it a few weeks ago, but it was really driven home after last week. Why? You have an issue with it?”

“No,” he laughs, leaning down across from her and propping his elbows on the counter. “I think it’s bloody brilliant, that you are brilliant. I like that you want to do things your way…our way. It’s very sexy.” “Oh boy, if you’re looking to get laid right now that is not happening.”

“Well damn. Now I have no reason to compliment you.”

“Shut up,” she groans, tossing her spoon over into the sink, the metal clanking. “But seriously, you’re okay with all that, right?”

“Of course. I want you to do what makes you comfortable. I’m not the one giving birth.”

“Damn right. I think I’m going to give your dad a heart attack though.”

“Aye, definitely. I know he’s trying and he’s being accommodating, but I could practically see the fear of breaking traditions rolling off of him in anxiety-filled waves. But he’s seventy-three. Some things just aren’t going to change.”

“So basically we hit the jackpot today?”

“Yep.” He walks over to the fridge, opening it up and seeing what they have left over from before they left. “What do you want for dinner?”

-/-

“Bloody buggering hell,” he curses, bringing his thumb to his mouth and soothing where he just jammed his finger on the wood.

Building a crib should not be this difficult, but it apparently is. He’s been following the instructions exactly, making sure that each piece is doubly secure, and he’s not sure how it’s taking this long. He should be finished, this crib should be made, and he should be able to move onto the shelves or Emma’s glider that she was insistent on them getting.

He’s spent more time in this room in the past month than he has in any other room in the house, June somehow running away with itself all while he’s been hidden away within these four walls. It took a month and a half for he and Emma to decide on a simple light gray, one that he’s pretty sure is also in their bedroom, but honestly, once they both agreed on the color (likely because they have agreed on it once before), he wasn’t going to say anything else. He did pick out the gray-ish blue that’s on the wall with the shelves (or at least where they’ll go once he gets to them), so he’s pretty proud of it.

Neither he or Emma are much one for designing, though they have gotten a bit more into it since the remodel of the apartment, but he’s pretty proud of how Andy’s room is shaping up, even if the lad will stay in the bassinet in their room for awhile. It’s a simple room, clean lines and clean colors. All of the furniture are different shades of white and warm browns, woods really, with natural accents. Abigail gifted them a large wooden giraffe along with some leaf and animal prints, so those are sitting in the corner waiting to be placed after all of this furniture is built.

His favorite part, though, is definitely going to be the little sitting area by the shelves and the changing table. He’s not under any impression that this is going to be a calm room, a place to relax, but he figures there have to be times when he’s rocking Andy back to sleep in that very spot, the shelves filled with colorful children’s books that’ll become routine reading one day as well as being filled with several stuffed animals and photo frames that he can’t wait to update with pictures. Of course, the cabinets below will be filled with the essentials, the things no one likes to talk about like diapers and nipple cream (that was something Emma did not want to know about, and he honestly doesn’t blame her), but they’re definitely still in the dreamy, picture perfect nursery phase where the messiness of a child isn’t quite a factor.

Really to him, as much as he knows this is real, as much as he sees the physical proof, feels the physical proof (which holy shit is it incredible to be able to feel his son move), it’s still difficult for him to comprehend that in two months he and Emma will have a child. It’s something they’ve talked about for years, something they were planning on, but it’s difficult to put into words just how much love he has for his son.

And his wife.

She’s a rockstar in every sense of the word, and if he doesn’t mention it enough, Emma sure as hell will. He loves her fiercely, and that love is another thing that he can’t quite put into words. He honestly doesn’t understand men who moan and groan about their wives constantly. If anything, he finds it disgusting. Yes, you’re going to have disagreements with your significant other. That’s natural when you decide to spend your life with someone who has their own wants, needs, and opinions, but at the end of the day, his wife is his best friend. If there’s anyone he wants to spend time with, it’s her. No question.

If the answer to who your best friend isn’t your spouse or the person you’re marrying, he doesn’t understand why the hell you’d bother getting married. His mates are great, but they’re not Emma.

Maybe he is a bit of the cheeseball that Emma always claims him to be, but he likes it that way.

He’s definitely going to embarrass his kids. All of the time. He can’t wait. He’s got a few years, but he can’t wait.

“You know we can hire someone to do this, right?” Emma asks, a bit of laughter in her tone that makes him roll his eyes. His best friend, most definitely. The teasing is just a small part of that.

“Aye, but I’ve started it, and I intend on finishing it.” “Okay, but the crib doesn’t need to fall apart while there’s a baby inside of it, and the glider doesn’t need to fall apart while I’m sitting on it. That’s, like, a double disaster, and I know you lived by yourself for a long time, but I’m pretty sure you’re not capable of that anymore.”

“Oh, really? Because I was just going to make them as unsafe as possible so that I could live by myself again. I miss being able to stretch out in the bed.”

“You’re so funny,” she teases from the other side of the nursery where she’s putting away the washed clothes in the closet, organizing them by size. He swears they have enough clothes to last Andy for the first two years of his life, and that’s not counting the piles of things he knows David and Mary Margaret have at their house. “I think I may have bought him too much stuff. I don’t even think I own this many things.”

“You don’t mess your clothes up multiple times a day.”

“Good point.”

“I tend to make those.”

“Eh. Debatable.”

“Not at all debatable.” He turns back to the crib, looking at the instructions to see if he can remember where he left off before Emma distracted him. “Shit, this is impossible.”

“I can call my dad, babe. It won’t be a problem. He’s a bit handier than you.”

“Please, I am plenty handy.”

“Okay, well being handy with me is not the same as being handy when it comes to building things.”

“If we call your dad, he’s going to take over. I want to do some of this myself.”

“I will tell Dad just to help. Come on, babe, you love spending time with my dad.”

“Only now that he doesn’t give me the scary speeches anymore.”

“Yeah, I bet those were a lot of fun.”

“I mean, it’s been a solid half a decade since I’ve gotten one, but he still shakes me to my core.”

He hears Emma laugh, snort really, before she makes her way over to him, slowly settling down on the floor next to him and waving her hand until he gives her the instructions. She looks over them while looking at the crib, her eyes continuously darting between the two.

“You put part G in backwards. That’s why nothing after that is fitting.”

“Bloody hell,” he curses, reaching over and taking the instructions from her hand and checking to see if she really did just solve his problem, “how did you see that when I’ve been staring at it for the past hour?”

“Fresh eyes, my love. Fresh eyes.” She leans forward and kisses his cheek before falling back against the wall. “And that’s exactly why calling my dad and asking him to come over in the morning will be a great idea. I bet Mom will want to come too, and she does a mean job with a power drill.”

So Emma calls her parents who agree to come over in the morning. On top of moving, they’ve also begun to change around the hours of the pub, opening it earlier and letting Will close it out at night. And it’s because of this that they show up at eight in the morning, he and Emma both still asleep when their doorbell rings. Emma groans when she hears it, burying her face into his chest and making it impossible for him to get up without disturbing her. He can feel Andy summersaulting around in her belly, and he smiles to himself knowing that she’s going to have get up. She can’t sleep when he’s moving around like that.

He can’t sleep when Emma’s basically running marathons in bed, but that’s not something he’s going to voice out loud. He can get up and sleep in a guest room if he needs to. Emma can’t get up and walk away from the person who’s running marathons in her stomach.

There’s two human feet inside of her. That’s pretty weird if he thinks about it too much.

Okay, so really weird.

Slowly but surely he gets out of bed, letting Emma flip over into his spot, and heads downstairs to open the front door. David and Mary Margaret have a key, but they never use it, always waiting for either he or Emma to open the door for them, which he appreciates after one too many times having them walk in on he and Emma.

“Hi,” he greets, opening the door and ushering them inside. “Emma’s still asleep, but I’m sure she’ll wake up soon. Do you guys want some breakfast?”

“We ate at home, sweetie,” Mary Margaret greets, giving him a quick hug before David does the same. “So Emma said you guys were having some issues in the nursery.”

“I believe that it was more like Killian not being able to put together a crib in under three weeks.”

“So funny, Dave,” he bites, rolling his eyes and locking the door. “I did eventually figure it out. I just think this mid-July heat is obviously getting to me. Or maybe nerves. I’m not too sure.”

“Well, let’s go help then. We’ve got to be at the pub at two, but I think we should be able to get things done.”

After he fixes himself some coffee, not nearly as wide awake as David and Mary Margaret, they head upstairs and begin working in the nursery, assembling the shelves and drilling them into the walls in half the time that it would have taken he and Emma had they done this by themselves. So maybe help isn’t all bad. Before Emma even wakes up, they have the shelves installed and pictures securely nailed on the wall. There are books already being stacked, stuffed animals and knick knacks being placed, and all of the fun nipple creams and breast pumps being placed in the cabinet.

They’re working on the glider when Emma finally wanders in, her hair falling out of its band so that half of it spills down her back while the other half is piled on top of her head, and she’s got her glasses on, something she only does when her eyes feel too puffy to put her contacts in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” David greets, finishing tightening the screw he’s working on before getting up to embrace Emma. “How are you feeling?”

“Rough today. I think the little dude’s a giant or something because he crushes my lungs and my bladder at the same time. So I can’t breathe, and I have to pee. So, yeah, it’s fun.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, dad. It looks fantastic in here. You guys have done so much. I feel like we’re not going to have anything to do in the next two months if we finish all of this.”

“That’s kind of the point, love.”

“Yeah,” she yawns, covering her mouth, “I know. Mom, do you want to come and rest with me in my room? My back hurts today, and I just can’t sit on the floor in here with you guys.” “Of course, hon,” Mary Margaret answers, walking away from the closet and stepping over to Emma before she rubs up and down her back. “Are you sure you don’t want Killian to join you? David and I would be fine to work on our own.”

“No, it’s fine. I bug him all day, and I’m kind of thinking that you can paint my toes for me or we can watch movies or something. It’s been awhile since we’ve done that.”

“Text me if you need me, love,” he tells Emma, his eyes tracing over her in a bit of concern. It’s difficult watching her be uncomfortable or miserable on some days when he literally can’t do anything about it.

“Yeah, babe, I will.”

Emma and Mary Margaret walk out of the room, their voices fading away as they walk into their bedroom one room over, and he’s left with just David who promptly gets back to work finishing building the chair. Music plays in the background, an eighties’ playlist he thinks, and it doesn’t take longer before the chair is completely together and he’s sitting in it testing it out. It’s comfortable, probably one of the best seats they have in the house, and he can definitely understand why Emma insisted on this one after shopping around a bit.

“How does someone so small have so much stuff?”

“My child is twenty-eight years old, we don’t even live in her childhood home anymore, and I swear things of hers still pop up all of the time.”

“That’s likely because Emma leaves everything all over the place.”

He folds his hands behind his head, closing his eyes and rocking back and forth while Cherry Bomb plays in the background, which is definitely not a nursery appropriate song. Or maybe it is. Who needs Mozart when you can have The Runaways?

“So is Emma like that every day?”

“Like what?” he asks, popping an eye open to look at David who’s sitting against the shelves, which can’t be good for his back. God, how old is he getting if his first concern is for someone else’s back?

“Exhausted.”

“No, not every day. She’s usually got a hell of a lot of energy, even if there’s always a nap. I think she had a restless night. She’ll tell me like it is, though. If she’s having a bad day, she’ll let us know.” “What about you?”

“Well, I don’t have a baby crushing my lungs and my bladder.”

“True,” David laughs, running his hands through his short hair. Killian swears it’s gotten more gray in the past year, the blonde nearly disappearing. David is only fifty-two, so he’s not exactly older. Hell, if it weren’t for the wrinkles on his forehead and the gray hairs outnumbering the blonde, he’d look much younger. “But I remember being a dad for the first time. It’s terrifying, so you’re allowed to be scared.”

“I am. It’s…” He reaches up and scratches behind his ear, his hair getting long enough that he knows he needs to get a haircut soon. “Emma and I try to make sure that we keep up our normal routines, that we have our normal conversations without talking too much about the baby, but it’s kind of hard, you know? It’s like we’ll be talking about going out to eat and two minutes later we’re making a list of middle names or speculating if he’s going to look more like me or Emma.”

“I know. But it’s an exciting time, Killian. There will never be anything like it, and if you want to talk about the fact that you’re having a kid, you should. You and Emma have been together for so long, and I really don’t think your relationship is going to struggle if you’re not sitting around making references no one else understands for hours on end.”

“Oi,” he protests, resisting the urge to pick up the toy elephant next to him and throw it at David, “that is your daughter you’re mocking, and she can still kick your ass.”

“Trust me, I know. Who do you think raised her to be like that?”

“Mary Margaret.”

“You’re walking a thin line.”

He winks at David, his lips ticking up on the right into a smirk. “I know. You and Mary Margaret did such a good job, still do such a good job, and even with all of the times you’ve messed up – ”

“ – which is a lot more often than even Emma has probably told you.”

“I just…you’re a good dad, Dave. To Emma, to me. I hope I can do half as good as a job.”

“You’ll be great, Killian.” David smiles at him, something genuine, and Killian’s reminded of how much David really has impacted his life in all of the best ways. “I promise. And as much as I love you, I do love my little girl more, and she’s going to be amazing. She’s always…she’s never been too open to a lot of people, but the people she loves, she loves so fiercely, you know? And she’s already doing so well at being a mom. She’ll call me at nights, and I can just hear the happiness and excitement in her voice. At the end of the day, that’s all you want, you know? For your kid to be healthy and happy.”

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles to himself, thinking of how happy he is. “Also, how dare you imply that you love your own daughter more than me. I thought I meant more to you than that. I thought we had something special, man.”

“I can still give you hell. I’d watch yourself.”

He and David finish up in the nursery for the next few hours until David and Mary Margaret have to go to work, leaving after the three of them eat lunch down in the kitchen, Emma staying upstairs for a nap. When the Nolans are gone and he’s finished eating, he heads upstairs, bypassing the nursery and walking into their bedroom where Emma is sitting up on the bed watching TV.

“Your toes look nice,” he compliments, grabbing onto her big toe and moving it back and forth. “Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, twisting onto her back and scooting up the bed, “it’s just one of those days, you know? I’m not usually this miserable.”

“I know, but it’s okay to have bad days, love.”

“Come here,” she tells him, crooking her fingers and motioning toward him before she turns on her side and wraps her arms around her pillow. He does as she asks, kicking off his sneakers and crawling up into the bed, the mattress moving against his weight until he’s pressed up behind her, his knee stuck between her thighs and his arm wrapped around her waist while the other rests above her head. This is how she’s been comfortable lately, and he can’t say he minds. “Did you guys get a lot done?”

“Aye, it’s almost all finished.” He moves her hair off of her neck, placing a kiss there before resting his chin on her shoulder. “It just needs your finishing touches, I think.”

“And we have to unpack all of the boxes that are in the guest room and put them away in the closet.” “That too, but we’ve got time, Emma.” She hums, and he can feel the vibrations as well as Andy moving around under his touch, the movements following how he taps his fingers. “Has he been active today?”

“Not since I woke up, but he always responds to your voice.” “Yeah, he recognizes me?”

“Of course, you talk so damn much. How could he not?”

He turns his head and presses a kiss against her jaw, biting a bit just to tease her. “You are not a very nice woman, my love.”

“Oh please, I’m, like, the seventh nicest person you know.”

“Seventh?”

“I figured it was conceited to put me at number one.”

“Possibly.” He moves his hand against her stomach again, snaking his fingers up under her pajama top so that he can feel the warmth of her skin. “So he really does get more active when I talk?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty weird to think about, but it’s true. He likes when you talk. I think it’s because you’re a much better story teller than me.” “I mean, obviously.”

“And that he’s probably just glad to hear someone else besides me. Imagine being stuck with someone for nine months. Good God.”

“Well, I’m stuck with you for forever. Good God.”

She groans and curses him under his breath before she scoots over and turns in his arms, slowly but surely moving to face him. “Don’t be an asshole. Also, so I was talking to mom today, and she wants to be called Mimi. I think Dad wants to be called Papa, which I like as long as that’s not what you want. I know that’s what some kids call their dads.”

“Aye, it’s what Lizzie calls Liam, which is weird since Alex doesn’t do that. But I’m okay with dad or daddy, so David can be called Papa.”

“Yeah, I kind of like it. Mimi and Papa. And then your parents are Gammy and Grandpa, right? That’s what Alex and Lizzie call them.”

“Aye, but I know Mom didn’t want to be Gammy. It’s just what happened. She says it makes her feel old.”

“Your mom is not old.”

“I know, but considering your parents are barely fifty while my parents are in their sixties and seventies, it doesn’t help.”

“I’ll tell my parents to get older then.”

He smiles at her before closing his eyes and settling into his pillow, letting his head sink down into the softness. It’s calming in here, the lights turned off and curtains closed while the ceiling fan hums a steady rhythm above them. He could fall asleep like this even if he’s not the biggest fan of naps, always somehow ending up groggy when he wakes up, and it doesn’t help with the way that Emma is playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her fingers scratching into his scalp.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

He pops an eye open, looking at Emma and smiling when her nail hits a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. “Aye, I’ve got the Investiture ceremony at ten. Why?”

“Just wondering. I was thinking we could go somewhere. Just us. Maybe take Indy to Berkshire and let her run around, spend some time outside.” “We can do it in the afternoon, if you want. I think the weather is supposed to be nice.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, leaning forward and sliding her lips over his for a brief moment, “I think that would be nice.”

The next day after he’s finished with the ceremony, he hurries home, changing out of his suit and into shorts and a t-shirt, slipping a baseball cap onto his head and grabbing something to eat for lunch while Emma does the same, her hair falling out of the back of her hat in a long ponytail. They’ve got all day, but the afternoon’s weather is pleasant enough that he’d like to go now so they can stop by a café for dinner, even if that’s the absolute last thing that Thomas will want them to do.

They want their privacy, but they should be able to go out to dinner.

So he and Emma load up into his car, letting Indy sit in the backseat with the window rolled down so she can feel the mid-July breeze blow through her fur. It doesn’t take long to get to Windsor, pulling into their parking garage less than thirty minutes later, and instead of going inside like they’d usually do, he hooks Indy up to her leash while Emma grabs some water bottles and they head to the private gardens, avoiding the visitors wandering around on tours.

As much as he prefers the spring, mild July days are near the top of his list of favorite things. Everything is brighter, more pleasant. The grass is actually greener, the flowers contrasting against their background to create a landscape of whites and shades of purple, while everything is covered in a clear blue sky, only a few white clouds scattered throughout. New life blooms, and he gets to be the one to appreciate it, to revel in it. England can be so dreary sometimes, the weather somehow reflecting the moods of most people on their morning commute to work, so he appreciates when it’s not. He’s always loved the outdoors, and if there’s any complaint he has about his home, it’s the small private garden that they have to themselves. He’d like something larger, more space to run around, and sometime in the future, he and Emma plan to spend more time in Bucklebury so that they have the privacy.

That’s what they’ve decided on since returning from Spain last month. There’s been more lengthy, draining discussions with his parents and their security team than he’s ever wanted, and as much as he feels like they haven’t really accomplished anything, he knows it’s a slow process. Of course, there are drawbacks to every positive. They’re still going to have to spend most of their time at Kensington. It’s closer to their work, to their families. Hell, Emma’s parents just bought a house so that they could have the ability to spend time with their grandchild, and now they’re going to move away from them. It’s less than an hour drive, but it’s not nearly as close as they currently are.

But everyone understands, and they don’t plan on moving any time soon, not until Andy’s a bit older. They want to be near all of their loved ones when he’s younger, and they’ve spent so much time working on their home, making it exactly how they want. It’d be difficult to leave full time, so it’ll be nice to have the option of both.

It’ll be even nicer to give Andy the most normal life that they can possibly give him.

Emma whistles next to him, her fingers between her lips, while Indy runs back to them from where they let her loose. She was about five seconds away from jumping into a pond full of fish, and as much as they’d usually let her swim, they don’t need to have a wet dog with them for the rest of the day. So she runs back to them as quickly as she can, her legs leaping in the air with her black and white fur bouncing the slightest bit. He’s convinced that she shouldn’t be able to be that quick, but she’s still just a young dog, less than a year old, and though her legs will get longer, he doesn’t think she’ll ever be full of this much energy again.

If she is, he and Emma are definitely in over their heads.

With the dog.

He’s going to choose to not think of what it’ll be like with a toddler than can run and a dog that he can run after.

After she calms from her almost pond dive, Indy walks along in front of the two of them, occasionally wandering off the stone path to sniff around in the plants, nearly tearing up several flowers until they call her back to keep walking. They stay wandering for a little over two hours, not caring where exactly they’re going or if they’re circling back around in the same spots. Indy and Emma get tired around the same time, so they settle down onto a stone bench with a patio cover that’s next to another small pond.

In the distance, he can see the Chapel where they were married, the steeple rising up above the other buildings and stone walls, and he smiles to himself thinking of that day. In the grand scheme of things, he knows that when it comes to he and Emma, as important as it was, they had so many smaller, inconsequential days that he holds just as fondly in his heart.

But that was a pretty damn good day.

He stretches his arm out over the back of the bench, wrapping it around Emma’s shoulder and tangling his fingers into the ends of her ponytail while she leans her head on his shoulder, the bill of her hat hitting him in the chin for a brief moment. He’s glad she suggested them getting away from London for a little bit, for suggesting that they change up the routine and spend a day enjoying summer, especially since they’re missing out on Scotland with the rest of the family.

A month in the same place as everyone is likely a bit long, anyways. He loves his family, but that’s a lot for anyone.

“I love you, you know?” Emma asks out of nowhere, her gaze never falling away from the rippling of the water in front of them, a fish leaping up out of the water while the lily pads float around.

He squeezes her shoulder, rubbing up and down her arm and kissing her head even if she can’t feel it through the hat. “I know. I love you too.”

[edogawatranslations]

Danganronpa Kirigiri (3) - Chapter 1, Part 5

Table of Contents | Previous: Chapter 1, Part 4

Waiting for me at the end of the red carpet in front of the elevator was the boy in the vest. He had his arms crossed, with his suit jacket draped over one of them just as before. As I approached, he opened his mouth.

“So that’s the decision you’ve made?”

“What, so you can talk?” I gasped. “I totally thought you were some kind of mechanical puppet.”

As I made light of the situation, he snatched onto my right wrist, pulled me closer, and pressed my hand against his chest. From underneath the wool of his vest came a soft, rhythmic beating. I jerked my hand away out of embarrassment.

He stared at me inquisitively, seemingly anticipating a response.

“Fine, fine,” I sighed. “That’s enough to prove you’re not a puppet.”

A cheerful smile spread across his face. He turned to press the elevator call button, and once the doors opened a moment later, he led me inside. The two of us were alone in the small enclosed space. The same sweet scent from before lingered in the air around him.

“Can you tell me the reasoning behind your decision?” the boy asked while operating the control panel in the corner.

“The next time I see my friend, I want to be able to greet her with my head held high.”

A fledgling detective like myself lacked the experience and wisdom necessary to speak to the philosophy or ethics of the profession, but at the very least, I understood the feeling of having something I couldn’t bear to lose. That may have been what he referred to as “pride.”

I shifted my gaze to the item in my hand.

The black Duel Noir envelope—

Compared to the envelopes I had held before, this one felt a great deal thicker. Maybe the next Duel Noir was some kind of game featuring crazier and more complicated rules, but that was no reason to give up and admit defeat.

“You’re quite brave,” the boy said with an amused tone. “I have been tasked with assisting you, regardless of which envelope you chose. I look forward to working with you.”

“...Same here. What’s your name?”

“Is that necessary?”

“What?”

“My name.”

“How else am I supposed to know what to call you?”

“Then, please call me Licorne. That’s what the others here call me.”

That was a weird way of phrasing things. Was he like a stray cat without a permanent home, someone who gained a different name each place he visited?

“Okay. Licorne,” I repeated to confirm.

“Feel free to shorten it to Lico.”

“Right, I’ll do that then.”

We got off the elevator on the first floor, where there was still no end in sight to the line of clients. The young workers were busily tending to their duties at their respective posts away from the lobby.

Lico and I left through the marble entrance.

After stepping outside, I turned to face him. “Before we go any further, let me ask: are you one of them? Part of the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee? Ryuuzouji told me none of the kids here are involved, but you knew about this black envelope.”

“I have no connection with the Committee,” he replied. “I’ve simply been made aware of the situation.”

“Okay... But you’re working for Ryuuzouji, right?”

“Yep. And on top of that, I’m here to assist you.”

Was he monitoring me? Or, was he really fulfilling a task by helping me? This could’ve been Ryuuzouji’s way of making things fair.

“How long have you been working for Ryuuzouji?”

“For about... half a year,” he answered after tilting his head and thinking for a second. While that part of him seemed rather child-like, a mysterious and mature aura strongly emanated from him. What a peculiar kid.

The limo was parked in front of the building with the driver seated inside. I wondered for a moment if he could’ve been a kid too, but one glance was enough to dispel that theory.

Lico opened the rear door, took my hand, and helped me inside the vehicle.

“Where would you like to be dropped off? The Detective Library? Or your home?”

“My dorm would be great.”

“Very well.”

Lico walked over to the front of the car and gave some instructions to the driver, before swinging back shortly afterwards.

“This is where I’ll see you off today. One last thing—please take this with you.”

He handed me a long, slender box with a ribbon tied around it. It was small enough to fit in my palms, and it was fairly lightweight.

“This is a gift from Ryuuzouji. However, please only open it when you find it necessary.”

“Only when necessary, huh...”

“Farewell.”

Lico closed the door, took a step back, and bowed.

The limo started moving, slowly accelerating as it drove along the line of clients circling around the fountain and rose garden. Before long, Lico’s silhouette disappeared from view.

We passed through the brick arch and continued down the boulevard of trees. The sky had grown dim, but the streetlamps on the sides of the road illuminated the lightly falling snow.

Along the way, I spotted two kids sweeping beneath one of the lampposts.

“Driver, could you please stop for a moment?” I shouted towards the front seat. The driver couldn’t see my face through the partition, but since the vehicle came to an abrupt stop, my voice must have reached him.

The kids who were sweeping wandered over out of curiosity. I opened the window and stuck my head out.

“Hey guys,” I called out to get their attention. The two of them, who looked elementary school-aged, stared back at me with intrigued faces. “What kind of person is Master Ryuuzouji?” I asked.

The two of them exchanged a quick glance, before turning back to me with large grins.

“He’s a very kind person.” “But he gets scary when he’s angry.”

The two of them answered.

“My dream is to be a detective like him!” “I wanna be just like him when I grow up!

“I see... Thanks for answering. Good luck with the rest of the cleaning!”

“Bye!”

We waved a quick goodbye as the limo started up once again.

Neither of them seemed to be lying, and their natural guileless expressions seemed to rule out the possibility of them being extorted or brainwashed.

But imagining what the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee was capable of, it wouldn’t have been outrageous to conclude that everything I saw today had been conjured up as an illusion. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was drifting aimlessly in a dream.

As I mindlessly stared out the window, the scenery slowly transformed back into a familiar urban landscape. I held the black envelope up to the light outside to try and get a glimpse of its contents, but to no avail.

———

The car stopped in front of the academy gates. Without any cue from the driver, I opened the door and got out on my own. I turned to bow, but the limo had already returned to the main road and quickly faded out of sight.

Seeing my dorm lights in the distance brought a sense of relief, as I finally felt like I had returned to reality.

Upon entering my dorm building, I immediately noticed a bunch of people crowded in the hallway causing a commotion. Whatever it was couldn’t have been good.

A group of my hallmates spotted me, and one of them called out. “Oh, Yui! You’ll never guess what happened.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just come this way, hurry!”

They pulled me down the hall by the arm. The crowd was gathered outside my room.

“An intruder tried picking the lock to your room.”

“Picking the lock?”

I pushed aside my hallmates and made my way to the door. There, sat a girl with pale white cheeks, and hair that glimmered even beneath the worn out fluorescent lights. The disgruntled expression on her face transformed into one of joy as I appeared before her.

“Yui!”

It was Kyoko Kirigiri.

She stood up and rushed over to hug me. I gently squeezed her small, light body, relishing in the moment—the first time she had ever entrusted me with her body like this. Her clothes were stained in a few spots and reeked of dirt and dust. I cradled her head, fearing that her frailty could cause her to crumble at any second.

None of the other students could comprehend what was transpiring in front of them, but they all started applauding for some reason. I guess it was obviously an emotional reunion.

“So you’re fine with not calling the police?” one of my hallmates asked.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. She’s a friend. Thanks,” I said while opening the door to my room and hastily nudging Kyoko inside. “Goodnight, everyone. I’ll handle the rest from here.”

I slipped into my room, swiftly closing and locking the door behind me to shut out any prying eyes.

Kyoko looked up at me with a troubled expression. “I got caught sneaking in.”

“You can’t be perfect all the time,” I teased. After tossing my backpack onto my bed, I sat Kyoko down on the mattress. “But why make the silly decision of coming in through the front?”

“I first considered breaking the window, but I feared it would get too cold if I left a hole in the glass.”

“Thanks for your concern,” I rubbed her head, but she shook my hand off. Her look of worry hadn’t faded away. I sat down in my desk chair and asked, “Why were you trying to sneak into my room anyways?”

“This was the only place I had left...” Kyoko hung her head, looking down at her clasped hands.

Silence filled the room.

I was expecting her to dive into a more detailed explanation if I gave her a little time, but she showed no signs of wanting to open up.

“Well, I’m glad you’re safe,” I said, taking her hands into mine. “I’ve been so worried about you, Kyoko. You haven’t tried contacting me or anything. Where have you been?”

“...I can’t tell you that yet.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, slightly miffed. “Because you don’t trust me? Or because you don’t think I’m capable enough to help you?”

“That’s not it,” Kyoko said, slightly taken aback by my remark. “I guess, I haven’t fully come to terms with everything...”

For someone who was normally so calm and collected, she seemed awfully flustered. Wherever she had been, something crazy must have happened to her there. She was a first-rate detective, and I could only think of one thing that could drive her to this state.

“Is it them?”

After a long pause, Kyoko nodded.

—I won’t forgive them.

Those adults were mercilessly chasing after a middle school girl, all because she had coincidentally been born into a clan of detectives.

“I promise I’ll explain everything later,” Kyoko said, averting her eyes. “But these past few days, I’ve been doing my best to elude them and buy some time before my grandfather returns. They’re targeting me, so I thought they wouldn’t be able to do anything if I concealed myself...”

“You’re amazing, you know? They lost track of you and have no idea where you—”

“Yui...” Kyoko interrupted, as a look of astonishment crossed her face. “How do you know that?”

“Ah, well, um...”

I stumbled over my words. Was it wise to keep what happened earlier a secret? Should I at least mention the new Duel Noir?

I didn’t want to drive her deeper into despair. She shouldn’t have to suffer any more.

But all of that worry was for naught, as Kyoko saw right through my hesitation.

“You’ve been in contact with the Committee, haven’t you?” Kyoko bit her lower lip, as small wrinkles formed on her forehead in concern. “I was too late... Things have turned out exactly as I had feared. I thought they might turn their attention to you in my absence, and use you to lure me out. That’s why I came straight here.”

“I see... But I don’t think you’re the only one they have their sights on.”

“What do you mean?”

I recounted everything that happened between Ryuuzouji and me earlier that day, and as I did, Kyoko gradually regained her composure. That calm, stoic detective look on her face always suited her, but it also made me feel pity for her. Her talent was so strong yet fleeting, that it might end up shattering her one day.

“I wonder if they would’ve actually let me join if I took the white envelope...”

“Do you regret your decision?”

“No way,” I chuckled. “I won’t let them have it their way so easily.”

“But... I fear everything is still going according to their plan.”

It was true that Ryuuzouji seemed to think I wouldn’t choose the white envelope. That aspect of him was frightening—the ability to make a move in cold blood despite already perceiving the outcome.

“From talking with Ryuuzouji, it seems they really believe that the righteous path to salvation for crime victims is through Duel Noirs. And they might see the Kirigiri family as the biggest threat to their plans...”

“I wonder...” Kyoko muttered, deep in thought. Something was definitely on her mind.

“Oh, and here’s the new challenge.” I took out the black envelope from my backpack.

“You haven’t opened it yet, right?”

“Nope. The Duel Noir starts as soon as I open it. There was no way I could've gathered the courage to do that right then and there.”

Along with a challenge card, a Duel Noir envelope always contained some sort of microchip that notified the Committee and the criminal the moment it was unsealed. The 168 hours that followed would be the duration of the Duel Noir game, and the criminal’s goal within that time limit was to kill off all of their revenge targets while avoiding detection by the detective. However, if they were caught, or failed to eliminate their targets, they were then considered to have lost and would be liable to pay back the full cost of the Duel Noir financed by the Committee. Since the exorbitant amount was way too much for an individual to bear, the Committee would leverage a life insurance policy taken out against the criminal to cover the debt.

“What would happen if we leave it sealed?” I wondered.

“I imagine that an unopened Duel Noir would eventually be passed onto another detective. But this time, since they’re targeting you from the beginning, I bet even if you ignored this one, another one would arrive in its place.”

I held up the black envelope to the fluorescent light in the room, but again, none of its contents were visible.

“I’m willing to bet we’ll be trapped somewhere again. Geez...” A sigh escaped my lips. “Will it be a mountain villa this time? Maybe a deserted island. I’m not even a specialist in murder investigations...”

“But the difficulty of the case is commensurate with your detective rank, so it should be easier this time around.”

“Oh, you’re right.”

The rank of the detective summoned for a Duel Noir was determined based on the weapons and tricks chosen by the criminal. Since I had been forewarned about my role as the detective this time, it was possible to predict the general difficulty level of the case.

“Kyoko, you’ll help me out, right? I don’t wanna go off somewhere on my own again.”

“Of course. After what we’ve been through, I can never turn my eyes away from a Duel Noir. If the enemy is advancing, we must act to counter them,” Kyoko said with an unusually serious glint in her eyes. Her cold eyes were burning with passion.

“Let’s plan a time to open the envelope that’ll make the time limit easy to calculate,” I suggested. “How about tomorrow at noon?”

Kyoko nodded in agreement.

“Let’s finish up any prepwork we have to do before then; we should cover all our bases. But first, we need to get you a bath. And don’t worry, I’ll fix your disheveled hair.”

Next: Chapter 1, Part 6

[strangerstuffandthingsimagines]

Malachite (Jason Scott x Reader)

Rise Of The Green Ranger

Summary: The sixth ranger emerges, though their loyalty falls with the wrong alliance. 

Malachite Masterlist

 Warnings: Mentions of anxiety/panic attack, swear words

A/N: This is the first part of my Power Rangers series, I loved power rangers as a kid and watched all the old series at six in the morning. I wanted to play with the idea of a superhero who struggles with anxiety as that’s something I wish I had. This story will have elements of the old seasons and lore, so if needed I can make a post regarding whose who from the older series. I hope you like this! Sorry for the long post, the keep reading function is messing up my comma’s.

Prologue

The green power coin embedded into the ocean floor, just as it had the first time the Rangers had fallen. With every ounce of power Rita Repulsa had, she ordered the coin to only find the weak minded, to latch onto their soul and corrupt them with the power that had once seduced her.

It was like a compulsion, your body moving without your control as your legs carried you toward the harbour.

It had happened at school, third-period history to be exact. You couldn’t get out of the presentation, your nerves already getting the best of you as your voice hardly reached the back of the class as you spoke.

You could’ve sworn some of your classmates were whispering about you, maybe even laughing. It was the chest tightening pain you felt as panic set in, your hands shaking by your sides.

Jessica DiAngelous has made a remark that she couldn’t hear you, which only made things worse.

The first wave of the anxiety attack hit you, unable to breathe or make coherent sentences as the room around you moved faster.

Then came the second wave, sheer and utter unexplainable panic.

“So-sorry I just-“ you couldn’t finish your words, the only thing you could manage to do was collect your things and bolt out of the classroom.

You were a prisoner of your own mind whenever your anxiety got the best of you.

To clear your mind and drown out the looping memory of what had happened in class, you made your way to the Harbour, the crash of the waves against the docks being a calming noise to focus on.

You hated it.

You hated what it did to you, how it made you feel. You were your own worst enemy, but you were a perfect pawn in Rita’s game.

And so, the power coin chose you, presenting itself as a hypnotic green glow beneath the raging waters. It called to you, beckoning you to dive down and be engulfed by its power.

It’s power giving you new air to breathe as you swam closer and closer to the rocky depths. Your fingers lacing around the flat, green gem, quickly being consumed by its light.

With a sharp inhale, you sat up in your bed, frantically looking around, unsure if you were dreaming or not. With blood covered fingers, you raised your hand. You hand tightly wrapped around the stone from your dream.

Except it wasn’t a dream.

Malachite

As the weeks went on, you found yourself waking in a cold sweat.

You had convinced yourself it had been a series of recurring nightmares, but they seemed almost too real to be imaginary. Your subconscious was plagued by visions of a man although it seemed more monster than anything, tall and red with sharp armour coating its body.

It wasn’t like the power rangers that had saved Angel Grove only months ago, this creature was undeniably evil.

The latter half of the dreams were always the same. It was as if you were a corpse, mindlessly wandering the mines, always dark and cold.

When you awoke, it always felt as if all the energy in your body had been completely drained. Leaving you with dark bags under your tired eyes.

The hot water from the shower cleansed your body, burning away the unease you felt from the frightening images from your slumber.

Your cold hands crossed your chest as you held onto your shoulders, swaying under the stream of water. It was a poor attempt at comfort yourself from the inescapable destiny that had been thrust upon you.

Thick, black mud spurted from the drain, bubbling at your toes. It was unnoticeable at first, but as the tub began to fill with water, reaching your calves, it was only then you realized the drain had clogged.

“Shit,” you grumbled, kicking your feet around in the dirty water. Thinking nothing of it, you assumed that perhaps the pipes had become backed up by the recent storm.

Billy Cranston sat alone at the cafeteria table, quietly working on his science papers whilst chewing on a chocolate bar. He hadn’t noticed your presence as you hadn’t made a sound in the last five minutes, and when he did, he jumped nearly five feet into the air.

“Sorry.” you apologized, your brows tilted upward in a sympathetic manner. “You were so in the zone that I didn’t know how to get your attention.”

He shook his head in disbelief, unable to grasp the concept of you actually speaking to him as it had been so long.

“Oh, no that’s okay.” he stammered, swallowing the piece of chocolate that he had nearly choked on. “Did you uh-need something?”

Not much had changed between either one of you, except maybe your features that had matured since the age of thirteen. Your fathers had been coworkers, leading you and Billy to one another, quickly becoming best friends. The two of you spent countless summer days exploring the valleys of the mines, collecting rocks and what you had been convinced were fossils.

“Billy, I’m so sorry that I pushed you away during freshman year. It’s just I was going through a lot, you know with the anxiety and everything. I went to a really dark place-emotionally- and I just had to be-I thought I needed to be alone.” You admitted as you began to choke up. “But you needed me. You couldn’t stand up for yourself-I mean neither could I-but I should’ve been there and I’m so sorry.”

Where your cheeks were once full, they had now become hollow as the tired bags under your eyes nearly reached the apples of your cheeks.

“I know you probably don’t want to hang out with me anymore, and I understand, I mean you have new friends now...but I just-I just really need a friend right now.” Letting out a shaky breath, you looked up at Billy with glassy eyes.

“Hey, it’s all good. It’s water under the bridge.” He smiled, slightly uncomfortable as he wasn’t sure what to do.

“I’m sorry, I just think there’s something wrong-“ Your confession was interrupted by Jason Scott taking a seat next to Billy, followed by the rest of his new found friends.

Taking the back of your sleeve, you quickly wiped away the tears that pooled in your eyes.

“Uh-Sorry I should go.” You stammered, clambering to get out of the cafeteria seat. “See you around.”

Billy watched as you walked away, nervously playing with something in your hands. As the sunlight peered through the lunch room windows, he could have sworn he saw a green light shining from your palm.

As you left the cafeteria and allowed the noise from the lunchroom to disappear behind you as the doors shut, you felt a pain ripple through your chest. Fo

“Who was that?” Zach asked as he took bite out of his apple, straddling the back of the chair.

“Just an old friend.” Billy’s words were distant as your hollow eyes haunted his mind.

“She seemed upset, is everything alright?” Jason asked, his gaze falling on you as you glanced behind meeting his eyes, just for a moment, before quickly scurrying off like a startled animal.

“That I do not know,” Billy admitted, fumbling with the foil around his sandwich.

“She looks a bit sick,” Kimberly commented with a worried look on her face as she poked her fork into the pasta on her plate.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Y/N, she’s in my history class.” Trini piped in, spraying Jason with the mist from her Pepsi as she opened the can. “She totally bugged out a few weeks ago.”

“What do you mean bugged out?” Kimberly asked as she dabbed the napkin to the corner of her mouth. Trini let out a content sigh as she sipped on her drink, ready to go into depth of what had happened. That is until something caught her eye in the hallway, standing up from her seat she furrowed her brows together.

“What?” Jason asked, looking at Trini and the doors. “Trini? What are you looking at?”

Plopping back into her seat, she pursed her lips, her eyes not leaving the door. “I thought I saw something...it was probably nothing.” Not thinking much of it, the group continued to chat.

The rangers perched themselves on the edge of the cliffside, feet dangling over the massive drop that led to the pool of water below.

“I don’t want to be cheesy, but I never thought I’d have friends like this,” Trini admitted, leaning her head on Kimberly’s shoulder.

“Aww, Trini.” Zach teased, earning a punch on the shoulder.

The group laughed amongst themselves, their smiles fading as the sky’s cast a strange red light over Angel Grove. Like blood washing through waves, the clouds bled scarlet as the horizon lit up with fiery shades of red and oranges.

“What the hell?” Jason said as he got to his feet, the blues of his eyes lighting on fire from the reflection of the sky. “It’s too early for sunset.” Joining him, the others stood with him, eyes not leaving the sky.

“Red skies at night, sailors delight.” Zach hummed. “Red skies at morning, sailors take warning.”

A rumble of thunder rolled above the clouds before a startling bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, like broken glass. Shielding their eyes from the bright flash of scorching light that erupted from above, slowly opening their eyes to a seemingly clear blue sky.

“You guys saw that too, right?” Kimberly asked in disbelief. “I’m not in some weird fever dream, am I?”

“Nope, we definitely all saw that.” Jason’s voice trailed off, the sound of stone crunching beneath footsteps grabbing his attention.

Clad in armour that covered the figure like an emerald shell, the sixth ranger emerged, stumbling toward the group.

“He’s back.” pain evident in the mysterious green rangers voice as they pushed the words out from their throat. “He’s back and he’s going to-”

The armour began to dissolve from the green ranger, slowly revealing the familiar face behind the armour. The rangers stood still, stunned by the scene playing out before them.

“Y/N?” Billy cried, pushing his way through the others. “Jason, catch her, she’s gonna pass out.” He quickly ordered.

Your legs buckled beneath your weight. Swiftly catching you in his strong arms, your fingers clawing at the fabric of his denim jacket.

“He’s back.” You breathed, blood dripping from your split lip. “He’s going to destroy everything. He won’t stop until he kills all of you.”

“Who? Who’s back?” Jason asked, trying to relax your frantic movements. “Y/N, who?”

“Lord Zedd.” You whispered as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, submitting to the exhausting darkness that you had been fighting.

The same force that had seduced Rita Repulsa to stray from the good and be consumed by evil, had returned, prepared to finish what the Power Rangers had worked so hard to stop, and this time he had found a new pawn.

You.

Tags: @hargroovin (A true Jason Scott lover)

[tanikawrites]

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

The Promised Neverland - Episode 5 Review 

So it turns out that one of our titular trio, Ray himself, is our traitor after all. The fifth instalment is less action-packed than the predecessors we have been treated to so far, however it still manages to maintain it’s own tantalising flavour as we are treated to a very disturbing side to Ray - the most being that someone so comfortable with sacrificing his own kin and numbing themselves to shipping them out as stock has been compact into the mind of a child. 

In truth, I was almost disappointed with the way the episode was headed. Between the swinging pendulum of the screen cutting between Norman’s determined expression and the back of Ray’s head alongside the ‘uncharacteristic’ reversal of Ray’s demeanour, there was potential to think the series was becoming tedious both by repeating its own tropes a little too often (as if we’re not aware that this is a race against time by now) as well as mirroring the style of villainous behaviour that we’ve recognised from other anime before. What we can suppose we have to thank for not finding the whole interaction between these two overbearing then is the creativity in making Ray seem all the more manic; his behaviour not cohesively matching with what he’s saying, and perhaps the fact that even calm and collected Norman is repeatedly thrown off by what his supposed friend is saying is more than enough to make us feel ill at ease too. 

Though this was rather anticipated, we learn that Ray has been Mom’s spy for quite some time - ray not only being aware of the children being shipped out but also having the power to try and work out how much of an advantage he has over Mom before being shipped out himself. You can tell that the animators probably had a lot of fun with making Ray’s expressions as debilitating as possible, taking advantage of his one visible eye and narrow pupils to elevate him to Phantom-of-the-Opera-esque levels of menace. What is particularly evocative about the whole interaction is that, though Norman seems to make sense of Ray’s motives and Ray himself details the fact that everything he’s done has been for the sake of his, and specifically Norman and Emma’s survival, the scene ends with a tangible sense of uncertainty and perhaps more confusion left in the mind of the viewer than when we first entered in - of course, that could be just me. If anything then this heightens the prestige of the anime, for even when the motives and aims of Ray and Norman are painted in black and white (watching these two young friends having to play each other being all the more heart-rendering in its own right) we are still left with an undeniable sensation that there lies an ulterior motive of meaning lurking out of sight. The clash of ideals between Norman and Ray is increasingly engaging to watch, the power dynamic constantly shifting between the two as if we were watching Jackyll and Hyde battle it out on the screen all at the same time. 

It is still hard to know entirely then whose side Ray is on or ultimately what is his motive, especially as one of his bargaining chips with Mom has not even been that he expects to survive. Indeed, he merely tells Norman that he asked Mom to put off his shipping date as late as possible, this apparently being so that he can ask ‘rewards’ off of Mom and thereby see how much he can get away with demanding of her. His psyche seems to titillate as much as the pendulum of the clock itself given the switches in expression on his face - one second seeming like he is covering his eyes in cowering pain, the next delivering such a penetrating stare that creates the illusion of him being in complete power. He definitely creates that impression when he leaves Norman given how he leans into putting his hand on the latter’s shoulder and whispering a slight threat in his ear, the effect of this being all the more chilling given how the light goes out of Norman’s eyes and is left visibly shaken after Ray is gone. But we quickly become aware that Ray is still a victim here too, no matter how much he may not act like it himself. We see this in his interaction with Mom and how, though she still wears her poker face of pride with perfection, she voices her observation - and threat - that Ray better not fail to overlook the perceptiveness of his friends again. 

The constant transitions not only between the expressions of the characters and their different facades therein then is so dizzying that it’s hard to keep up - but then that’s what makes up half the fun. We are additionally to another tantalising nightmare as Norman dreams of all the orphans - including Emma - seemingly drained and decaying in the tunnel that leads out of the orphanage. Whilst the large jaws (with the tiny head of Mom on top if you noticed) is cinematically scary, what is the most interesting aspect about this sequence is the recurring motif of the flowers that are growing in bunches out of each of the kids. We first notice these flowers not just growing out of Conny’s corpse but it is even a prominant motif in the OP and ED of the anime, yet we are still not completely sure what these flowers of death mean. What we can additionally empathise with then is the fact that Norman is clearly far more afraid about what is going on than he lets on to be, his attempts to maintain his own facade and act as the almost adult of the group making his character all the more engaging.

But of course, the episode additionally makes sure to still leave some room for lightness and comedy given how ray so easily reveals the fact that he has been the snake all along when the boys talk to Emma about the next course of action whilst alone in the forest. Indeed, the snappish transitions between the steadily kookier faces of each kid becomes more hilarious by the second, the hilarity being almost ludicrous given the very real danger of their situation. But then, this is what grants this particular anime it’s charm, and if we couldn’t find our main trio funny and loveable, then we wouldn’t ultimately much care for their welfare and rescue. This moment between the three however also ends up being most prominant as it is perhaps the first time we see Emma make the closest thing to a legitimate threat. Her conversation with Ray seems to hint at more guilt in him than the previous night’s dimly lit and more threatening tit-for-tat with Norman, as what seems to catch both the boys - and us - off guard is how Emma can still possibly still appeal to compassion. In fact, we can almost come to agree with Sister Krone noting Emma’s naivete; the narrative perhaps best being careful as the show progresses as this trait of Emma’s is beginning to take a toll on believability. But what creates more guilt is how her questions to Ray - despite the gravity of what she’s saying - is so direct, and so precise. It’s disturbing to see her so calm, when a few episodes ago her nerves were threaded in knots. 

Indeed, what makes her severity towards Ray then all the more unnerving when she realises how he knew about each and every one of their former friends becomign lambs for the slaughter, is that her face is like a micture between fury and fear. Even the action of her taking his hands is quite poignant, as this again evokes the significance of manipulation through touch in this show; thereby showing that even Emma is being forced to prematurely manipulate and mature. She tells him never to do anything like this again. The question then is her expression pitying, or - given how nothing is perhaps more dangerous than one who knows no ends to love - another level of predatory? 

Tanika Lane 

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

When We Were on Fire

Hey everyone! Here’s part VIII for the Chaos and the Calm series! I wasn’t planning on having it out this early, but I finished it and wanted to get it out to y’all as soon as I could! As always, don’t forget to like and reblog- it lets me know you’re loving reading the series as much as I am writing it! And please always feel free to pop into my inbox about WHATEVER, series-related or not! Here’s the chapter, please enjoy!

When We Were on Fire

January 2020

Head down, headed underground feeling wasted/Cold to the bone, so alone I can taste it

“Hey, Alex, are you feeling okay? You don’t look so good.” The voice of Ryan, one of Alex’s coworkers and friends, snapped her out of the trance-like state she had lulled herself into.

She blinked a few times, nodding. “Yeah, thanks for asking. I’ve just been super tired lately. Trying to work out times to FaceTime and call Harry when he’s on the other side of the world takes a lot out of me, you know? The only time I can get him when I’m not at work is really late at night, and it’s been pretty rough.”

“Yeah, I can get how that would be draining,” he responded.

“Enough about me, you don’t really want to hear about my problems,” Alex said with a chuckle. “How are you and Noah? Wedding’s next Saturday, yeah? What time do you think we should get there?” Deflecting was a long-time bad habit of Alex’s. She did genuinely care about the wedding, and did want to know what time she and Harry, who was returning later that week, should show up. That being said, talking about herself had never been her strong suit, and she sometimes struggled to accept that people were genuinely interested in what she had to say.

“5 or so? Ceremony starts at 6, that would give you plenty of time to find seats and settle in.” Ryan’s eyes narrowed slightly; he could tell that something was off, but didn’t want to pry. That was one of Alex’s favorite things about him, he didn’t push something when it was obvious that she didn’t want to talk about it. But the same thing that she loved about him could also prove unhelpful at times. Sometimes what she needed was a friend who would push her when she didn’t want to bring something up.

Alex huffed as she opened the door to her and Harry’s apartment, hefting her backpack onto the couch and heading to the kitchen. She had been feeling dizzy for the past week or so, something that generally happened right before her period. Grabbing a glass from the drying rack, she opened the fridge, pouring herself water and pulling out a container of leftover Chinese from the night before. “It’ll be fine cold,” she muttered, grabbing a pair of chopsticks and sticking them in haphazardly. Fifteen minutes later, she had finished, and turned on the TV to watch the news. It didn’t hold her attention for long, and as the clock struck nine, she turned it off, heading into the bedroom to go to sleep. It wasn’t uncommon for her to stay up past midnight, particularly on nights when she talked to Harry, but she was absolutely exhausted and couldn’t stay up any longer. Sorry if I miss a call, love. Not feeling well, so I’m going to bed now. Alex sent a text to Harry, hoping he wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Grimacing, Alex rolled over in bed, pressing her phone screen to get the blaring alarm to cease. Throwing the covers off, she padded out to the kitchen. Yesterday’s headache persisted, so she opened the bottle of Tylenol kept on the counter and swallowed a pill, opening the pantry. She really didn’t have much time to eat, so two slices of toast were it. Checking her phone, she saw a text sent by Harry late last night. Don’t worry about it, love. Feel better, and go to the doctor if it doesn’t get better, okay? Grabbing her backpack and MetroCard, she sent a text back. Will do.

Walking into her office, she saw Ryan at his usual spot in the desk next to hers. He raised a hand in greeting. “Feeling better?”

She wiggled her hand. “So-so. Headache isn't any better, but I’m a little less tired.”

“Any idea what could be causing it?”

“No clue,” Alex said, exasperation evident in her voice. “Could be my period, but it’s usually not this bad. H made me promise to go to the doctor if it doesn’t get better.”

“Good man,” Ryan said with a smile.

“The best.”

It wasn’t until three days later, when Alex was working on a new project, that she considered it could be something else. While adjusting the font size on the logo for a new maternity boutique in Midtown, the wheels turned in her head and her finger froze above the trackpad of her laptop. Oh shit. Oh shit. Pulling out her phone, she quickly navigated to her and Julia’s texts, shooting her a quick message. Hey Jules, I need a favor.

Drifting apart, getting harder to hold you/Days getting dark and the nights are growing cold/Are we burning out?/Swept out of sight, rolling out on an ocean/Let's cut all the ropes and get lost in the moment/If our hearts are alive, maybe then they might/Send us back to the sun

With Julia’s bag shoved hastily in her backpack, she unlocked the door. Five minutes and one glass of water later, the door once again jiggled, causing waves of concern to run through Alex’s mind. They were alleviated, for the most part, upon seeing that it was none other than Harry walking through the door. “I thought you were coming in later?” Alex asked, confused. “I would have picked you up from the airport.”

Harry dropped his duffel bag on the floor, clearly exhausted. “Flight got in earlier than I thought, didn’t want to bother you.”

She couldn’t decipher the tone of his voice, unsure if it was meant as caring or annoyed. “H, I’ve got something we should talk about.”

Signing, he ran one hand through his slightly-tangled hair. “Can it wait until later, Alex? I’m ridiculously jetlagged.”

Alex picked at her nails. “I don’t think so. It’s important.”

“How important can it really be?” Harry asked, raising his voice. “I’ve been touring for close to a month, have hardly had any time for myself, and now when I finally get a chance to sleep in my own bed and be with my own girlfriend, all she wants to do is talk?”

“It’s important!” She responded, close to tears. She hadn’t been feeling well for a few weeks now, and being the subject of her boyfriend’s frustrations wasn’t doing anything to help the situation. She had learned her lessons from past failed relationships, and they had never really struggled with communication or making feelings known in a constructive and mature way. Fights weren’t really something they did, aside from surface-level spats over who was going to take out the trash or where they were going to go for breakfast. So needless to say, she wasn’t sure what to do, or how to react, or what to say when Harry was acting like this. She knew that he had been travelling for weeks and was incredibly tired, probably wanting nothing more than a good night’s sleep, but sometimes there were things that had to take precedence. And now was one of those times. “It’s important,” she said, quieter this time, voice breaking. A crack in Harry’s tough exterior appeared, and he took a step towards her as if trying to comfort her. “I think I’m pregnant, Harry.”

Out of all the things Harry thought Alex would say, that wasn’t one of them. “Yeh what?” He said, although he had heard her perfectly well. It was like his ears could hear the words, but his brain refused to process them.

“I think I’m pregnant,” Alex repeated.

“How?” Stupid. He wasn’t seven, he knew how.

“Er,” she started, clearly still shaken and trying to collect her thoughts, “I think right towards the beginning of your break before Australia? I think I hadn’t gotten to the chemist to get my birth control refilled yet, so we just used a condom?”

He sat down, trying desperately to comprehend what Alex had just said. “You said you think, have you not taken a test yet?”

She shook her head, fumbling with the buckles on her backpack and pulling out the plastic bag that Julia had picked up from the chemist on her lunch break. “I had Jules pick one up for me. I didn’t know if I could do it myself, and I didn’t want any photos to leak before I got a chance to tell you myself.” She paused, and Harry felt guilty. It was his fault that these were her worries, his fault that she now had to be so concerned about fans and photographers tracking her every move that she couldn’t even go to the chemist without looking over her shoulder. If he was normal, it wouldn’t be like this. If she was dating someone normal, it wouldn’t be like this. “I didn’t want to take it without you. I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “D’you… d’you want to take it now?”

She fiddled with the knot on the plastic bag, pulling out the cardboard box of the pregnancy test. “The sooner we know, the better, I think.” She walked down the hallway to the bathroom, Harry trailing behind her and waiting outside the door. It was the first time he had a chance to be alone after she had told him, the first time he had a chance to process by himself. What would they do if it turned out positive? As if she read his mind, Alex opened the door just then, drying off her hands on the hem of her flannel. “Says it’ll take three minutes. H?” She asked timidly. “What will I… What will we do if it turns up positive?” With that tiny, seemingly inconsequential change in words, Harry was reassured. He may have been scared, she may have been terrified, but they were a team. Had always been a team. Nonetheless, she looked small, and scared, and there was nothing more Harry wanted to do in that moment but comfort her, so that’s what he did. Nestling his chin on top of hers, he responded.

“I don’t know, love. I think we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, if we come to it.” Harry loved kids; that was a given. Two of his best mates had children of their own, and he loved getting to interact with them, and Adam’s kids on tour, and any others he was lucky enough to spent time with. He did want to be a father, someday, but being in the middle of his career, just shy of 26 was not where he anticipated it happening. Practicality-wise, he figured they would probably be able to manage a baby; he certainly had enough money, their apartment had two spare bedrooms, and Alex’s design firm had excellent health insurance. But, perhaps more importantly, he wondered if they were ready, emotionally and psychologically, for a child. And any doubt and stress he was feeling, Harry realized, were more than likely compounded for Alex; it was her body, and Harry knew that the ultimate decision of what to do— if there was anything to do— would be up to her.

Sniffling against his chest, Alex responded in kind. “I really don’t know what to do. This isn’t what I planned for, we’re not even married, I’ve got so much left I want to do before I become a mum…”

Resting one hand around the back of her waist, Harry rubbed the other across her back. “I know, love. I know. I know you’re scared,” he gave a teary chuckle, “and, if I’m honest, I am too. But we’re in this together, you hear me? Whatever it says, we’re in this together.”

She leaned into his touch for a few moments, giving a slight start when the alarm on her phone went off. “Should be ready now,” she murmured, holding onto Harry’s hand like a lifeline. The two tests were face-down on the counter, her hand hovering over them but not touching, like they were a bomb that would explode if she so much as nudged them the wrong way. Each gingerly taking hold of one, they flipped them over.

Negative.

Street's are alive now and everything's bracing/You're on my mind, running in my veins/Fueling the flame, let's start it again

Breathing out an enormous sigh of relief, Alex brought her hands up to her face, letting out a not-so-small sob of relief. “I wasn’t ready to be a mum,” she said through her gasps. “I wasn’t ready.” The four hours where she was in limbo, when she didn’t know if or how her life was going to change, had been some of the most terrifying of her life. Alex, by nature, was a planner. She liked to have a schedule, liked to be prepared, and liked to know what was coming. She was the type of person who had her life mapped out by fifteen, and who hated for anything to disrupt that plan. And being pregnant would have been just about the biggest possible shift in that plan. She didn’t know if she would have continued the pregnancy or not, and she was so grateful she didn’t have to make that decision.

Harry brought a thumb up to the exposed skin of her wrist, rubbing it soothingly. “‘S okay, love. ‘S all okay. We don’t have ‘t dwell on it anymore. We’ll have it all one day— marriage, kids, a house— but it doesn’t have to be now. It doesn’t have to be now.”

Alex looked up at Harry, a bit startled but not surprised. This was the first time he had really spoken, in concrete terms, about his plans for a future together. There had been little bits, of course, passing comments to relatives at dinner and whispered words to the other under the false cover of night, but to hear him speak about a life for the two of them with such finality brought an unexplainable sense of peace and joy to her heart.

Sometime last July, Harry and Alex had taken a trip back to England to visit family. His family liked to do a big picnic-type thing every year for all the relatives in the area, and he had missed it the past two years due to touring and recording. He was free this year, and his mum had insisted he bring along Alex for the festivities. “She’s been a part of the family for fifteen years, Harry,” she had said, “she’s coming.” So they had hopped on a plane to London and driven the rest of the way. It was a bit of a trip but neither of them minded too much, they just rolled down the windows and plugged in the aux cord. Just shy of four hours later, they pulled into Harry’s childhood home, with Anne coming out to greet them.

A few hours later, everyone had unpacked and were settled in, and the couple went out to the backyard, where twenty-odd relatives, most of whom Alex recognized, were gathered. After greeting a few cousins and catching up with one of his uncles, Harry’s grandmother walked up to the couple. Smiling warmly, she said, “Anne had told me you two had finally gotten together. I’m glad to see it, I always did see it coming,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Have you two given any thought to where this might be going— marriage, kids?” Alex blinked a few times, thankful when Harry picked up the conversation.

“Nan!” He groaned slightly, taking Alex’s hand by way of apology. “Just because you and Grandad got married after knowing each other a year doesn’t mean that’s how it’s done anymore.”

“But—”

“Yes, nan, okay? That’s where it’s headed.”

There was something comforting about those memories, something nice about knowing that both she and Harry were genuinely in it for the long term. Looking back at her, Harry spoke, choosing his words carefully. “I’m sorry that I snapped at you love, you didn’t deserve that. I was tired and fed up and drained, but it didn’t do any good to let it out on you. It wasn’t right to let it out on you.”

“You’re not perfect, H.” Alex said. “You’re human, and sometimes you’ll say or do the ‘wrong’ thing. You don’t have to carry the whole world on your shoulders, and I wouldn’t want you to.

Harry kissed her forehead. “You’re out of my league, aren’t you?

“Very.”