#/ mix all three to make a magic brew that kills me on the spot

[caemthe]

just wanted to mention that my favorite romance trope is the star-crossed lovers' one. when the characters already are doomed by the narrative, when they have to kill one another because of greater forces, or when one (or both) will be the death of the other (and even better if they're aware of it). imo it makes it all the more interesting when putting them in different universes/verses/etc. the time they've together is limited so the moments they have together are more satisfying, the overcoming of fate even if just a moment, the perfect catharsis, my bread and butter tbh. and it's the only way i can ship my muses because look at their tales and what they all have in common.

[adriennebarnes]

Sirius Black Must Die: Chapter Two

Sirius Black X Ravenclaw Fem Reader

Disclaimer: Since it’s an AU in the present day without Voldemort, the muggle-borns and half-bloods can use present day technology. I like to think the pure bloods have their version of muggle technology, wiz-tech if you will

MASTERLIST

Before heading to detention, Alessia talked to Sirius in the Gryffindor common room, Ximena talked to Sirius in the Great Hall, and Catalina talked to Sirius in their transfiguration class. Sirius said the same thing to the three of them.

“You know, I don’t know why girls say stuff like that. I mean, I think they’re just jealous of what we have. Because we share something special. Something we don’t have to label. You know it’s an unspoken bond and I love how secure you are.” Sirius said to them and they end up making out.

The three girls went to McGonagall’s office to receive their punishment and they saw that YN was already there.

“Because you four fought each other during Defense Against the Darks Arts, the four of you will have to polish the silver in the trophy room without magic. 5 points removed from each of your houses, now get to work.” McGonagall said. The four girls made their way to the trophy room and Alessia spoke up.

“So I talked to Sirius, it was sweet. He said he felt bad for you and that you were jealous because we share something special. Something that we didn’t have to label because...” Alessia was interrupted.

“Because it’s our unspoken bond and I just love how secure you are?” Catalina filled in the blank. YN was just watching this whole thing unravel

“And it hurts me to hear you question it? Because you’re the..” Ximena started

“Only girl for me?!?” The three girls completed in anger.

“I can’t believe that total arse said the same thing to all of us.” Catalina said as she stopped on the middle of the corridor.

“Figures. First he makes up with us, then he shags us..” Alessia started but was interrupted by Ximena.

“Wait, The two of you shagged?” Ximena asked curiously.

“Sirius and I share something special.” Alessia said as she begins to walk down the corridor and they finally make it to the trophy room. YN was the only one that started polishing the silver because apparently the girls haven’t finished her Sirius Discussion.

“Like what? Like how you both have been in your pants?” Ximena accused. YN winced, Ximena seemed so sweet, never saw this side of her.

“No, of course not. We both like quidditch, have similar music taste, and have excellent stamina.” Alessia said, YN gagged as she was polishing.

“Gryffin-whore” Catalina said in between coughs.

“Oh right, like you haven’t been slithering in his bed like the snake you are?” Alessia replied. “Besides, I don’t know about you two, but Sirius and I belong together. We’re co-captains of the quidditch team, we’re both Gryffindors, and we’re both incredibly hot.”

“Oh, like he’d take either of you two seriously” Ximena said, tired of Alessia and Catalina fighting.

“Don’t lump me with her!” Catalina said pointing at Alessia.

“So what, now you think you’re better than me?” Alessia questioned angrily and offended.

“Just shut up.” YN said quietly but it seems like they heard her.

“Excuse me?” Ximena questioned offended.

“What?” Catalina and Alessia questioned annoyed.

“Sorry, forget I said anything.” YN said and went back to polishing.

“If you have something to say, say it, we won’t get mad. At least I won’t, don’t know about the other two.” Ximena said sweetly and gave YN a shy smile. YN smiled back.

“I’ll say what’s on my mind when the three of you start helping me, we will get this done a lot quicker.” YN said and the three girls started polishing the silver after they picked up the rags that was left for them. “Okay so about this Sirius Black guy. Did he call you guys “love”, “darling”, or “sweetheart” when you went on your so-called dates? Yeah, he doesn’t do it out of affection, it’s so he doesn’t mix up your names. He’s all about an unspoken bond or something special but never about a real relationship? Like he never asked you guys to be his official girlfriend. This whole arrangement was your idea so you feel guilty he cheated. Tell me if I’m warm.” YN said.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were the fourth girl Sirius was hooking up with.” Alessia commented, laughing a little as she was polishing.

“Um no, but I knew a guy like him back home.” YN said.

“You’re right, he’s always making me feel guilty.” Ximena said as she turned to YN.

“It seems to me that if a guy treats you like that..” YN started but was interrupted by Alessia.

“That you’d break up with him, blah blah blah blah.” Alessia said as she put down the final piece of silver.

“Sirius would have another girlfriend in a second.” Catalina said,

“I didn’t say I’d break up with him, I would get even.” YN said,

“Who are you?” Alessia asked,

“She’s YN, she’s in our DADA class, a ravenclaw, and a year below us.” Ximena explained to Catalina and Alessia. “I’m a Hufflepuff, I know everyone.”

“I’m glad to see that we’re in first name basis.” YN commented.

“I mean if we’re gonna take Sirius down, we kinda have to be.” Alessia said and that’s when YN had a small stroke.

“I’m sorry what?” YN asked confused.

“Your plan to get even with Sirius? Like if we want this to hit hard, we need to start planning ASAP.” Catalina said.

“Ooh yes, we can meet in the kitchens, just tickle the pear in the portrait and it will open. This way we can plan this in secret and have snacks.” Ximena suggested. “Do we go after detention or wait a little while so no one gets suspicious?”

“Maybe wait a little while. And if all else fails, you can come to the Ravenclaw common room, just Google the riddle on your phone if you guys get stuck.” YN said. A few minutes later, they were finished polishing the silver and YN went to the Ravenclaw common room after answering the riddle correctly. She saw Charlie studying.

“Hey, Squirt, how was detention?” Charlie asked.

“I guess it was fine. Still hate the fact that I got detention for ‘vulgar language’ like what the fuck.” YN said and Charlie laughed.

“Can believe that. You swear like a sailor.” Charlie said.

“Yeah whatever, I’ll be in my room listening to music if you need me, dear Charlie.” YN said as she went to her dorm room and put on her headphones to listen to music until she dozed off.

When she woke up from her nap, she saw Alessia, Catalina, and Ximena by her bed.

“For fucks sake, what are you guys doing in my room?” YN asked.

“Your friend Charlie let us in. He’s really cute, sadly he’s younger than me.” Alessia said.

“He was held back, you can go for it. You’re here for the plan?” YN asked as she sat up on her bed.

“Yes actually. How do we go about killing Sirius Black?” Catalina asked.

“I mean there’s always the killing curse...” YN muttered.

“Not literally, my dear Ravenclaw, I meant like killing his reputation and everything he stands for, you know? Like he’s the face of the Marauders, he’s basically worshipped by every guy at Hogwarts minus the Slytherins obviously. And literally every girl drools for him.” Catalina said as she started to fidget with a stuffed bear on top of your trunk.

“I guess that depends. I mean what made you attracted to Sirius?” YN said.

“Well because of quidditch, his body is toned. His long fluffy hair that frames his face perfectly, his perfectly plump lips that are so soft against yours, how he knows how to kiss every spot just right..” Alessia said as she started to close her eyes, imagining everything,

“Hey, Gryffin-whore, please pay attention.” Catalina said and Alessia looked at her with squinting eyes “Sorry, Alessia, stop day dreaming about fucking Sirius.”

“I guess it’s just everything. Like he’s cocky but not so cocky that he’s unbearable. He has this sort of arrogance and confidence to him. Like he knows he’s hot and he owns that shit when he’s walking down the corridor. He’s incredibly charming, knows the right things to say, and like Alessia said, he knows how to kiss.” Ximena said, the two girls agreed. YN was writing all of this down on her laptop that her father gave her.

“What are you doing?” Alessia asked,

“Documenting our plan to destroy Sirius, we can’t just wing it, it has to be well thought out.” YN said. “Know, how do we destroy a man like Sirius Black?”

“I mean, he’s literally ALWAYS with someone, you know? Like he always has a girl with him or around him or literally all over him.” Ximena said.

“Yeah, I know, I saw him and Cat making out at the Three Broomsticks.” YN commented. “Wait, Can I call you Cat?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. And I can’t believe you saw that. Wait, that’s how you found out!” Catalina exclaimed.

“Yeah actually, I should have said something earlier.” YN said.

“Nah, we probably wouldn’t have believed you anyway.” Cat shrugged it off.

“I got it? To destroy Sirius Black we have to make him undatable! But it can’t be superficial, it has to be like his manliness, his ego, we need to destroy his confidence so that way he thinks twice about cheating.” Ximena said.

“Ooh, I like it, Hufflepuff. Didn’t know you had a dark side, Sunshine.” Alessia commented making Ximena smile shyly, she’s adorable. “But how do we do that?”

“We could always brew a Bulgeye potion to make his eyes swell.” Catalina said.

“But that’s a superficial thing.” Ximena said.

“Not if it happens when he’s on a date. I can slip the potion into his drink and when he’s on a date, his eyes bug out like crazy.” Cat said,

“Ooh that’s good, I like your thinking, but how about we go a little stronger, maybe a fungiface potion, make his face break out in fungi.” YN suggested.

“Evil, I like it, how long does it take to make?” Alessia asked.

“I’m not sure, probably 5 days.” YN said.

“Great, we can start tomorrow, I can ask professor Slughorn if he can let us use the potions lab for some extra practice, he will just eat that up.” Cat said.

“That’s good, that’s good. Give me your numbers so we can have a group chat.” YN suggested.

“Perfect, that way we can talk and no one will be suspicious about the four of us hanging out and being friends all of a sudden.” Ximena said. The girls exchanged their phone numbers and it was all good.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how come none of you noticed or why did you guys stay with him if he made you feel guilty?” YN asked.

“The three of us never got along. I think it was because of the train ride going to Hogwarts first year.” Alessia said.

“I remember that we were talking about which house we wanted to get into and we started bad mouthing each other’s houses. I guess we just never got over that, until now I mean.” Cat said.

“Well I’m glad you’re over it, and now go to your dorm before my roommates come in.” YN said, they all said goodbye and left, that was when Amara came in the room.

“What are you doing with them? They literally couldn’t stand each other yesterday.” Amara said.

“It’s nothing, Amara, we were just hanging out. You know, being in detention together actually helps you make friends.” YN said.

“Are you referencing The Breakfast Club, Lemonade Mouth, School Gyrls, or that one scene in the Power Rangers movie?” Amara asked.

“Breakfast Club, but I’m glad you understand Muggle pop culture.” YN said.

“Yeah okay, I hope you know what you’re doing, YN. Wouldn’t want to you to forget who your real friends are.” Amara said,

“I could never, you’re like my big sister. You up to watch a movie?” YN asked,

“Sure, I pick the movie though” Amara said as she sat next to YN to pick a movie from her laptop. YN was thinking about what Amara said and the plan for Sirius Black. What they were doing wasn’t bad, it was more like prancing him. He pranks the younger students all the time. It was perfectly harmless.

Taglist:

@blackpinkdolan

Hope you enjoyed this chapter 😊

[clintbartonswife]

lips that sing

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier, Cirilla Summary: Now that Geralt knows it’s Jaskier, he’s scared he’ll be rejected again. Geralt just wants his damn bard back. Notes: part two of eyes that plead masterlist

Geralt would later deny the wounded noise that escaped his lips as he stared down at Jaskier, his hands hesitatingly hovering over his body.

“What - how?”

The wolf seemed to sigh, his head lolling back on to the dirt ground defeatedly. The expression on it’s face one he had seen many times before, mostly accompanied with the phrase ‘destiny’s a bitch’.

Deciding to put aside questioning until he could receive what he was sure would be extremely lengthy answers, Geralt returned to kneeling at Jaskier’s side, placing his sword in the sheath on his back before carefully picking him up in his arms.

Jaskier let out a half hearted growl, body tensing in his arms.

Geralt frowned at this, confused. Jaskier knew who he was - knew that he wouldn't hurt him - so why was he acting defensively? He checked his hold on the wolf, making sure he wasn't hurting him, before standing up and heading back to the clearing, mind racing.

Now that he was this close, he could smell it was Jaskier - the familiar scent of honey and wildflowers dulled behind that of wet dog , but still there all the same. Another scent, less pleasant than those Jaskier usually smelt of, one which had his nose scrunching up in distate was that of sour rotting lemons, one which he had never scented on the bard before.

Fear.

The sense of unease from earlier only grew in Geralt’s chest as he lay Jaskier down on his bedroll, eyes quickly darting to Ciri to make sure she was alright.

Jaskier had never smelt of fear around him before, he was sure of it. Not even -

He stopped mid-thought, remembering the previous night, and Jaskier’s growl when the mountains were mentioned. The repressed memory brought with it the knowledge that he had smelt it on his bard before: the exact day he ruined everything.

Jaskier was afraid of him.

As soon as Jaskier was back in human form, he had decided the first thing he would like to do is smack a tree. Or destiny, if possible. Or both. Because fuck destiny.

He had been so close to freedom when that tree - probably prompted by destiny, damn that bitch to hell - decided it was a good time to shed a branch, right on to his head, no less. As he lie there, cursing at the skies above, who else would show up but Geralt, the very man he did not want to see.

Fear washed over him as the realisation filtered through the Witcher’s eyes, his name escaping his lips in a shocked gasp, stilted questions following.

‘Fuck’ he thought, head lolling back in defeat, ‘if he wasn't going to kill me before, he’s definitely going to now. Why couldn't I have just left as soon as we found him’

He withheld his shock as Geralt leant over to pick him up, almost cradling him in his arms, tensing in shock.

‘Is he going to throw me?’ Jaskier thought wildly, mind racing as they began to move back through the forest, ‘Chuck me in a lake? Feed me to wolves? - Wait’

Jaskier’s thoughts were cut off as he noticed the clearing, Ciri’s sleeping form entering his sight. His body sighed in relief, slightly relaxing as he was placed gently on the bedroll.

Jaskier, feeling slightly less like he was going to die at any point, resigned himself to watching Geralt. The Witcher seemed to be lost in thought, eyes absent but body moving on autopilot to prepare for when Ciri woke up, stoking the embers back into a roaring fire and beginning to place stray objects back into Roach’s saddle bags.

He was halfway through picking up Ciri’s cloak when he seemed to snap back to the present, focus returning to Jaskier with newfound urgency.

“You’re hurt” he mumbled to himself, kneeling back down by Jaskier’s side, “I need to check for any damage”

Through his anger at the man, Jaskier couldn't help but feel a little sympathy for him as he watched his urgent motions, Geralt looking the most discombobulated that Jaskier had ever seen him.

He tried to stay still as Geralt’s fingers ran across his body, checking for any breaks or cuts hidden under the fur.

“I’m sorry Jask” he whispered, voice sounding frail - something Jaskier had never heard from him before.

He felt his eyes widen slightly, looking at him in disbelief. Before he could react, the moment was broke as Ciri stirred behind them.

“Geralt?”

“I’m here”

The princess grunted her assent - ‘already learning bad habits from Geralt’ Jaskier noted - and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Where's Dandelion?”

Jaskier let out a yip from where he was half-hidden behind Geralt.

“He’s a bit injured” Geralt explained, “We're going to have to find someone to help”

“Oh no -is he okay?”

“He’s fine, we just need to get him properly checked” Geralt assured her, dodging the whole ‘I’ve been magicked into another animal’ bit that would probably freak her out.

“A Mage? Like Yennefer?” Ciri asked excitedly, “I saw her in my dreams too, remember? Are we going to meet her?”

Jaskier’s stomach dropped at the mention of her name, dread returning to his person as he watched Geralt nod, seemingly reluctantly.

‘I don't see why’ Jaskier thought bitterly, ‘It’ll be a lovely family reunion. All three back together again, and me flung out on my ass again’

“Excellent!” Ciri squealed, scrambling out of her covers, “Let's get going”

“How much further do you think?” Ciri asked from upon Roach, her eyes shining.

“Not long” 

Jaskier could feel the rumble of his words from where he was pressed against his chest, the sensation surprisingly comforting. To his shock, he had to grit his teeth to restrain what could have been a purr escaping from his throat.

‘This just keeps getting weirder’ the bard thought to himself, discreetly looking at the Witcher above him, ‘I wonder what will happen once I’m back in human form’

“She’s close” Geralt said suddenly, head snapping to his left, spotting a small path diverting off from the main road, “Down there”

Ciri just looked at him in awe as Roach followed the direction, “How do you do that? Know where she is, I mean”

“We’re … connected in a way” he sighed, eyes darting around uncomfortably, “I can feel when she’s near. It’s like somethings tugging me towards her”

“Like soulmates?” Ciri asked innocently.

Jaskier barely restrained a growl, though it looked as though Geralt caught it, the sides of his mouth tilting up almost unnoticeably. 

‘I’m glad my pain amuses you’ Jaskier huffed in his mind, glowering at the Witcher.

“No, not like soulmates” Geralt corrected eventually, the humour gone from his face, “I made a mistake - a long time ago - that bound us together. It wasn't fair on anyone”

As he finished his sentence, Jaskier could swear Geralt looked at him, eyes swimming with hidden meaning.

‘Stop being ridiculous Julian. You’re reading too far into it again’

“Oh”

The rest of the walk was quiet, Ciri and Geralt both brewing on the earlier conversation, until a small cottage appeared in front of them on the path. When they were a few feet away, the door swung open, unimpressed violet eyes surveying them.

“What do you want Geralt”

“Just one favour, please. Then I’ll get out of your hair”

Yennefer’s frown didn't waver, staring at the witcher with something akin to disgust in her eyes.

“Please?”

Her expression melted as she took in the sight of Ciri, finally nodding and gesturing towards the cottage with a sigh.

“One favour”

“Fine”

“So the wolf’s new” Yen eventually said, frown intensifying as she stared at him, “And magical - did you know that Geralt?”

“Of course I knew that, why do you think I’m here”

Yen shot him a glare, though stepped closer to Jaskier, hands moving through the air as if clearing cobwebs.

“This was an enchantment done out of spite, and quite a strong one at that. Where did you find him?”

“I didn't. Ciri did, said he protected her until they found me” 

Yennefer just hummed, “It’s the bard isn't it?”

“How did you know?”

“Why else would you come to me? Come on now Geralt don't take me for a fool. What did he do this time?”

Jaskier huffed, getting quite annoyed at being talked about as if he wasn't there, and let out a growl, narrowing his eyes at the witch.

“Still a drama queen it looks like” 

Geralt just sighed, crossing his arms, “Can you help him?”

“I’ll need to try and figure out what kind of curse was used, and from that I should be able to figure out the counter-curse, or at least what needs to be done to break it” Yen said, moving a stool next to the table where Jaskier was lain, now turning her attention to him, “I need to know who did this to you. Can I search your mind?”

‘Certainly not’ Jaskier thought, appalled, rearing his head back as he tried to shuffle away.

“I don't know why I asked” she sighed, rolling her eyes, “Just stay still, this may hurt”

He just huffed, ‘As if she cared about that’

An intense tingling sensation started to crawl over his head, reminiscent of pins and needles, intensifying to the point of incomprehensible pain, making Jaskier whine as his body seemed to convulse slightly.

Ciri, hearing the noise of distress, entered the room, eyes widening at the sight before her, “You’re hurting him!” she cried, “Stop it!”

The pain stopped almost immediately, leaving his struggling for breath. Ciri ran to his side, stroking a hand over his head soothingly. Yen just stared down at him for a few moments, a new understanding clouding her eyes, mixed with something suspiciously close to pity.

‘Shit’

“It’s a curse - though it wasn't meant for him specifically” Yen explained, slightly breathless herself, “It’s made as a punishment for somebody else”

‘Yeah, Geralt’ Jaskier wanted to shout, still annoyed that they thought he had done something dumb.

“Can you break it?” Geralt sounded almost desperate, eyes flicking between him and Yennifer.

‘Desperate to get rid of me’

Yennefer just glared at him, ignoring the question and turning back to Jaskier, her hand moving a few inches above his body, as if scanning him.

“The curse is strong, but I have no doubt I can break it. I’ll need a few days, but yes” She turned back to Geralt, “You’ll have your bard back soon enough”

“Bard?” 

All eyes turned to Ciri, still stood in the corner of the room.

“You haven't told her?”

“I was going to -”

“When? When he was a fully grown man again?”

“...No”

Yennefer sighed, throwing her hands up in the air, “You’re unbelievable. Explain to her for gods sake”

The next day, Jaskier having being moved to a pile of pillows on the floor for the night, Yennefer was confident that she could break the enchantment.

Geralt was stood in the next room, Ciri crowded in his arms as they waited for the counter-curse to be enacted, the whimpers of the wolf slowly turning into more human-like screams of pain.

At one particularly strangled cry, Ciri broke, pressing her forehead against Geralt’s chest as hard as she possibly could. Not knowing exactly how to help, Geralt simply placed one of his hands on the back of her head, murmuring low promises of it being over soon.

The sudden halt to all noise was not as reassuring as Geralt thought it would be, his body tensing as all the worst scenarios ran through his mind. 

“He’s back” Yen said, walking out of the room, wiping sweat from her brow with a proud look on her face. Ciri rushed to give her a hug, knocking her back slightly with the force of collision, “thanks”

“Thank you” Geralt said, sincerity clear in his words.

She nodded once, with a depth of understanding that unsettled the Witcher.

“You should check on him” she nodded towards the door, eyes drawn to the girl held within her arms, “I’ll send her in in a few minutes”

Geralt did as she instructed, opening the door softly, eyes immediately latching on to the familiar figure of Jaskier curled up on the bed.

“You’re ok”

The bard’s head whipped up at the sound of his voice, wincing slightly at the sudden movement.

“Yes, it appears I am” he replied, giving a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, “if it’s alright with you I’ll be here for a few more hours before I get out of your hair - changing forms like that is quite painful”

Geralt frowned as the scent of fear assaulted his nose once more, this time not dulled by that of wet dog. In his confusion it took him a few seconds to register Jaskier’s words.

“Leave? Why would you leave?”

The bitter laugh that escaped the bard cut Geralt to the core, a pain starting to bloom in his chest.

“I’m only doing as you wished, my dear. I believe it was your life’s blessing to be rid of me. Alas, I didn't mean to come across you again so soon, though I suppose that cant really be blamed on me considering the mage wanted to target you”

Geralt blinked. Jaskier kept talking.

“I mean, really, the one time I didn't actually do anything wrong was the one time I got myself in a mess I couldn't get out of - awfully ironic don't you think? Then I found Ciri and I knew I couldn't just leave her, surely you understand that” 

He had started using hand gestures now, apparently feeling better by the second, “and I did try to leave when I found you, I really did, but then Ciri kept calling for me and I’m weak when it comes to that girl - you know she reminds me of my niece, always getting what she wants”

“Jaskier-”

“I did try again yesterday but then the tree dropped its branch on me because destiny is a bitch so that didn't work either. Anyway now I’m back to normal I suppose you’ll want me out of here - I promise I will after a nap”

“Jaskier” geralt growled, stepping closer to the bed.

The fear scent spiked, “Or - or not. It’s fine, I didnt really need a nap anyway. I’ll just get going then, yeah?”

Geralt stopped at the edge of the bed, placing his hand over the younger man’s mouth, “Shut up Jaskier”

A squeak came from behind his hand, so he removed it, taking a deep breath as he prepared to speak.

“I am sorry for what I said on the mountains. It was wrong of me to take out my anger on you. None of those things were your fault, you were just there when I made the decisions”

Jaskier watched in awe as Geralt spoke, eyes widening as the scent of fear started to lessen. 

“I missed you, afterwards. I didn't think you’d want to see me so I didn't look for you - I should have and for that I’m sorry Jaskier”

The bard just sat there, stunned. 

“I don't think I’ve ever heard you speak so much in one go” he eventually said, hesitantly teasing. Geralt could see it for what is was - testing the waters.

“Perhaps I would’ve said more if you had let me get a word in edge wise” he retaliated, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Seemingly all the reassurance he needed, Jaskier sagged in relief, leaning forwards until his forehead rested on Geralt’s lower stomach.

“I missed you too, my dear Witcher”

They were quiet for a few moments, just enjoying their closeness.

“So you don't wish me to leave?”

Things finally clicked in the Witcher’s mind - the fear was not of him, but of being rejected by him again. With that sudden realisation, Geralt placed a hand in Jaskier’s hair, running it through his locks soothingly.

“Never again, bard”

The moment was interrupted by the door opening, Ciri launching herself at Jaskier with a delighted squeal.

“You were my wolf?” she asked incredulously, “I know you! You came to see me every year”

Jaskier’s grin was back in full beam on his face, “I’m honoured that you remember that princess”

Ciri giggled as Jaskier bowed his head theatrically from his where he was sat on the bed. Geralt stood back and watched the two interact, both full of smiles and laughter, a new lightness in his chest.

Yennefer leant against the doorframe, watching him with a surveying expression.

“Be careful with them” she said, eyes straying over to the pair, “Especially the bard”

Geralt raised his eyebrow questioningly.

“I’ve seen into his mind” she explained, “And that man would do anything for you”

Geralt looked back over to Jaskier, amber eyes meeting cornflower blue, “Hmm”

It took them another two months before they realised they were meant to be, the realisation occurring after a particularly rowdy bar fight in which Jaskier ‘defended Geralt’s honour’ by launching at two men who were speaking ill of him. (Geralt had dragged him into the alley - Ciri was in their room - and kissed him heavily against the wall. He insisted it was mostly to shut him up about his win)

And if Jaskier sometimes still purred when he was happy, or bared his teeth when seeing his ‘pack’ threatened, then who was Geralt to judge? He certainly wasn't complaining about the marking in bed either.

[i-dream-of-twilight-sparkle]

Chapter 2: Daughters of Apples & Pears

Applejack as she leaves Twilight’s castle immediately goes back home to the farm, beginning her invitees with her immediately family. When she gets there, she first sees her little sister Apple Bloom doing some apple bucking of her own. She’s still a little pony, but her years of practice is starting to increase her leg strength that will one day match her big sister’s. It used to take a few kicks for Apple Bloom to get just one apple down, but now just one kick at least gets one apple down and sometimes Apple Bloom even manages to get two down on a good day. Three apples is the average per kick Applejack gets. As Applejack walks, Apple Bloom catches sight of her sister and beams a grin and runs to AJ.

Apple Bloom: Howdy, big sis! Check how ah’m doing, Ah’ve filled three big buckets o’ Apples all on mah own today, aren’t ya’ll proud o’ me?

Applejack: Of course, Apple Bloom! Feel free t’ take ah break though, because ah actually have some important, but fun business outside t’ farm t’ do. And ah’m inviting the family t’ it first.

Apple Bloom: Oh really? What is it?

Applejack: Twi’s friends in Saddle Arabia are getting married. And there’s also going t’ be ah royal ball hosted by t’ royal family that wants lots o’ guests from Equestria. Twilight tasked all o’ us t’ find friends and family t’ bring

Apple Bloom: Ooooo that sounds fun! Ah’ve never been t’ Saddle Arabia, ah’ll certainly go!

Applejack: Great! Now do y’all know if Big Mac is near?

Apple Bloom: Big Mac’s in t’ house wit’ Sugar Belle and Granny. Ah believe Granny is teaching Sugar Belle how t’ do Apple Family recipes.

Applejack: Awww, that sounds adorable. That also helps wit’ getting another off mah invitee list assuming Sugar Belle wants t’ go with Big Mac t’ Saddle Arabia.

Applejack and Apple Bloom walk together to the house where indeed Sugar Belle is learning how to bake the famous Apple Family pies by Granny Smith. Big Mac is sitting at the kitchen table.

Granny Smith: Y’all doing ah wonderful job, Sugar Belle. Y’all might just be t’ quickest t’ getting these recipes done t’ right way in mah entire life teaching t’ family recipe.

Sugar Belle: Well, I was my village’s local baker back when I still lived there. Plus I got some lessons from Mrs. Cake here in Ponyville. I sure hope that I got these recipes right.

Applejack and Apple Bloom take seats at the table as they come in, Sugar Belle notices and turns towards them

Sugar Belle: Hello Applejack and Apple Bloom, are you here for my very first Apple Pie as an official Apple family member?

Applejack: It’s not t’ sole reason we’re here, but ah suppose while y’all are offering it wouldn’t hurt t’ have ah bite.

Sugar Belle: Good! Because it just got finished.

Sugar Belle opens the oven and levitates the Pie out onto the table. Big Mac drools at the sight of the pie, and Sugar Belle then cuts parts of the pie into spices. One for Applejack, one for Apple Bloom, and one for her husband, Big Mac. Each of them gives their slice a bite, and all are satisfied.

Applejack: Granny sure wasn’t kidding! Y’all got this pie done just about perfect. It took maybe months fo’ me t’ learn from Granny how t’ bake ah pie this good.

Apple Bloom: Sooooooo delicious! Isn’t this so good, Big Mac?

Big Mac: Eyyyyyyuuuuuuuuuuup!

Sugar Belle: Thanks, all of you!

Applejack finishes eating her slice and pats her tummy.

Applejack: Ahhhh, that hit t’ spot. Thanks fo’ t’ Pie, Sugar Belle.

Sugar Belle: You’re very welcome, AJ!

Applejack: Now, ah actually need t’ ask some of ya’ll something. Ah’m inviting family and friends t’ Saddle Arabia. There will be ah Royal Ball that’s requesting t’ have many Equestrian guests along wit’ ah wedding fo’ two o’ Twi’s friends who are native there. Ah know Apple Bloom’s already goin’, but how about t’ rest o’ you?

Big Mac: Ah’ll g- Wait, AJ… did ya’ll say Saddle Arabia?

Applejack: Ah did, yes

Big Mac: Didn’t ya and t’ others almost get killed last time y’all went there?!

Applejack: Well… yea. Ah expressed big concern myself t’ Twilight about it, but she told me that t’ Royal Family and Twi herself are taking every single precaution necessary t’ make what happened last time an impossibility. Heck, as long as Twilight’s not in a bottle in Saddle Arabia, she alone would provide enough security cause we’ve got t’ all-powerful genie friend on our side. And Twilight’s not leaving her bottle there when it’s time to stay the night there this time, she promised she’d sleep over in her castle, no one there will be able t’ reach her. And that’s assuming there’s even another evil there other then that Zathir guy that got his flank kicked and imprisoned.

Big Mac: Well, ah guess in that case sure. Ah’ll go,

Sugar Belle: If Big Mac’s going, I will too. A Royal Ball plus a wedding sounds like a wonderful time.

Applejack: How about you, Granny?

Granny Smith: Aaaaaaaaaah’m going t’ decline, but ah appreciate t’ offer. Ya’ll have fun whenever ya’ll leave.

Applejack: Ah understand, just didn’t want t’ leave y’all out in case y’all were interested. Now ah can get going and get ah few friends from outside ponyville. Namely, Rara in Manehattan and Autumn Blaze in the Kirin village.

Apple Bloom: Wait, ah’m confused. Ain’t Manehattan and t’ home of t’ Kirin’s places that will take days t’ get t’ and from each?

Applejack: Normally, yes. But Twilight provided each o’ us with ah bit of ah cheat. She gave each of us magic gum that when blown into ah huge bubble, it creates ah portal t’ whatever place y’all thinking o’ going t’ next

Apple Bloom: That sounds sweet! Ah could probably use that t’ more quickly and safely get t’ ah certain Zebra ah’d like t’ invite.

Applejack: Thinking o’ inviting Zecora, huh? Ah guess teleporting there would at least let me worry less about y’all walking straight into t’ Everfree forest. So sure, here’s ya gum Apple Bloom.

Apple Bloom: Alright!

Apple Bloom chews her gum, blows a bubble, and once popped. Zecora’s house in the middle of the Everfree comes into view. And Apple Bloom leaps through the portal.

Zecora is mixing another of her many potion brews as Apple Bloom enters. After the door is opened, Zecora stops mixing and looks who’s visiting and sees it’s perhaps her most recurring visitor.

Zecora: Well if it isn’t lil’ Apple Bloom, what brings you to my room?

Apple Bloom: Howdy Zecora, just thought ah’d pop and offer an invite t’ something ah’m and many others are going t’!

Zecora: Where are you going? I could perhaps end up showing.

Apple Bloom: Saddle Arabia! Specifically the royal palace where a ball is being held as well as a wedding between two of Princess Twilight’s friends who live there.

Zecora: A Royal ball? That must have a beautiful dance hall. I can certainly be there, for the daughter of an apple and a pear.

Apple Bloom: Great! Ah’m gonna head back home now, seeya there!

Apple Bloom waves goodbye, though Zecora mentioning a pear suddenly gives her an idea for another invitee to her sister. Apple Bloom leaps back into the portal and just like that is back in the kitchen. And the portal closes.

Applejack: Did Zecora say yes?

Apple Bloom: Yep! Though ah just got another idea, do you know where Grand Pear is at t’ moment?

Applejack: Ah don’t think so, But can ya’ll wait t’ let me get Rara and Autumn in ah moment before we go and find him?

Apple Bloom: Sure thing.

((Story continues after the break))

Suddenly the door bell rings

Applejack: Huh, ah wonder who this is.

Applejack opens the door to find Sandbar and Yona

Sandbar & Yona: Hi Professor Applejack!

Applejack: Sandbar! Yona! Nice t’ see ya’ll, what brings ya t’ the farm?

Sandbar: Yona was craving some apple-flavored treats.

Yona: Yes, Yona hungry!

Applejack: Well y’all in luck, Sugar Belle still has some apple pie left.

Yona: Oh yes! Yona loves fresh Apple pony family pie!

Sandbar: I might grab a slice as well

Sandbar and Yona head to the table, Sugar Belle slices one for each of the students. Sandbar takes a bite, and Yona just about messily eating the entire slice in one bite.

Yona: DELICIOUS! Thank you, Sugar Belle!

Sugar Belle: You’re welcome, Yona!

Applejack: Say, while ya’ll both here would you be interested in going to Saddle Arabia with us? A Royal ball and wedding will be happening there. You’re also free t’ invite your other student friends if you’d like.

Sandbar: I’ll certainly go. Though I must tell you Gallus, Ocellus, Smoulder, and Silverstream are currently all at their native homes. So I don’t think we could really reach them all that quickly

Applejack: Oh that’s right, Ah forgot that t’ rest o’ my friends will probably be able t’ pick up t’ rest anyway with their own pack o’ portal gum. Ah think Rainbow Dash will be getting Gallus & Silverstream. And Spike will get Ocellus & Smoulder. So we’re good.

Sandbar: Cool!

Yona: Yona wants to go, yes!

Applejack: Alright, ah’ll tell ya when it’s time. For now though, Ah’ve gotta get two more friends o’ mine that are far away from me. Ah’m going t’ see Rara first.

Applejack takes out a piece of gum and blows a new portal, this time in the view is just outside Coloratura’s residence. Applejack walks into the portal. Meanwhile, Yona looks at Sugar Belle with a slight grin.

Yona: May Yona have seconds?

Sugar Belle: Sure thing Yona, I guess if I had known I’d be feeding a Yak stomach I should of baked a 2nd or even a 3rd pie *giggles*

Applejack is at the front door of Coloratura’s house and she presses a button to ring the doorbell. From upstairs, Rara looks who rang and sees her old childhood friend, she immediately heads downstairs to greet her.

Rara: AJ! I can’t believe you came all this way just to see me! Hoofsies!

Rara boops Applejack’s snoot with her hoofsie stamp, leaving a heart stamp mark on Applejack’s snoot. Both mares giggle.

Applejack: Nice t’ see ya’ll too, Rara.

Rara: Come on in!

Applejack and Rara head on over to a couch to talk.

Applejack: Though ya’ll were so happy t’ think I traveled far just to see you, Ah wouldn’t be t’ element of Honesty if ah didn’t admit Ah kind o’ did a bit o’ a cheat t’ get here. My friend Twilight gave me portal gum that allows me t’ instantly go anywhere in the world nearly instantly through ah portal created from blowing ah bubble with them.

Rara: Oh, well even if you didn’t actually travel far to get here, I’m glad you came to see me. Though if Princess Twilight gave you that, it sounds like she’s got you on a mission of some sort.

Applejack: Ah suppose, yeah. Though this is fo’ something fun, ya see ah Royal Ball is taking place in Saddle Arabia and Twilight sent me and my other friends in Ponyville t’ fetch as many friends and family they can possibly get. The Royal Family also wants Equestrian entertainment on stage. And you’re exactly who ah thought o’ that fit both o’ those.

Rara: That sounds awesome, I’d love to go. Though I don’t know if I can fit the long travel to Saddle Arabia into my busy schedule.

Applejack: *She leans over and whispers* Pssst, Rara. Ah have plenty of the Portal gum that ya’ll can take advantage o’ t’ get there quickly. Ya’ll could even just simply come in when it’s time fo’ ya performance and head out after if ya’ll schedule is packed.

Rara: Oooooh, I guess that’s true. Though I might be able to change things around so I can at least attend the entire ball.

Applejack: There’s also ah wedding that comes days later, but it’s not absolutely necessary t’ go t’.

Rara: Who’s getting hitched?

Applejack: Just two o’ Twilight’s friends that live in Saddle Arabia.

Rara: Ahhh, I don’t think I can be there for the wedding. But I’ll certainly try to be there for most of the royal ball, it’ll be great to have like, an insta-vacation.

Applejack: Sweet, thank you Rara. Can’t wait t’ see ya’ll there.

Rara: Same to you!

Applejack: Ah need t’ go now, Ah’m getting a Kirin friend ah met and then probably heading back home t’ wait until Twilight gives the go ahead that the Ball is underway.

Rara: Alright, AJ. Seeya later!

Applejack: Oh! And here’s ah few pieces of the portal gum ah mentioned. Ya’ll only need two t’ get t’ Saddle Arabia and then come back home after the ball’s over but just in case ya’ll have ah use of’ some o’ the extras or ya’ll have someone ya’ll want t’ bring as well.

Rara: Right, thank you!

Applejack blows another piece of gum, this time the portal showing the Kirin Village where she and Fluttershy were sent by the Map to help the Kirins get their voice back from the stream of Silence.

Upon setting foot in the village she sees Cinder Glow and goes up to ask if she knows where Autumn Blaze is.

Applejack: Hey there Cinder, do ya’ll know where Autumn is? Ah want t’ talk t’ her fo’ just ah brief moment.

Cinder just points in the direction to Autumn’s house

Applejack: Why aren’t ya’ll speaking? Don’t tell me ya’ll entered t’ Stream of Silence again...

Cinder: No, I just was never that talkative even before the whole village entered the stream. *shrugs*

Applejack: Ah, gotcha. Thanks for the direction!

Applejack goes to the house Cinder pointed to and opens the door and sees Autumn… doing hoof puppet theater by herself…

Autumn: “OooooOOOOOOooooOOOooooo, my daughter. I am your dead mother’s spirit! I have come here to haunt you by telling you to wash behind the ears every night!” “NOOOOOOO! Anything but that!”

Applejack: (Oh Celestia, did she somehow get even more nuts wit’ t’ village back t’ normal…)

Autumn raises her head above the hoof puppet stage and sees Applejack has come to visit her.

Autumn: Ayyyyyy! Applejack, did you come to see my new stage play? I call it, “I See Dead People, and they’re surprisingly not that different from when they were Living”.

Applejack: Nooooooot… exactly… but ah did come t’ talk and invite ya’ll t’ an event ah’m going t’.

Autumn: Oh alright, where did you want to take me, and what for?

Applejack: Saddle Arabia, ah Royal Ball is being hosted there as well as ah wedding, days afterward. Ya’ll don’t have t’ stay fo’ both, but Twilight and the royal family o’ Saddle Arabia wants as many Equestrian guests and entertainers as much as possible.

Autumn: Entertainers you say? Finally, my puppet show gets to hit the national stage!

Applejack: *cringes* Um, ah’m not sure that’s necess-

Autumn: But I wonder which play I should choose. That’ll be hard…

Applejack: *sigh* (Ah don’t want t’ upset her, Ah might awake her Nirik anger, Ah might as well let her at least try t’ put up her show. Just hope she doesn’t go full nirik if say… the Sultan won’t let ah potential cringefest hit his stage…) Um, Autumn who have ya’ll shown ya puppet shows?

Autumn: No one, really. You’re the only one to even see a little bit of what I’ve done. Whenever I ask anyone in the village if they want to see a show they say they’re busy…

Applejack: (Oh Celestia…) Well uh, ah must be honest and say ah’m not sure if the Sultan will even let ya show on stage. Ah just hope ya’ll don’t turn into ah Nirik in anger and scare people away if he says no.

Autumn: Nah, don’t you worry about that, if they say no about putting it up on the stage. I’ll understand and at least do a show on the table I sit at!

That makes Applejack feel much better.

Applejack: *phew* Well then, ah’ll see ya’ll when it’s time. ok?

Autumn: Yes! Thanks for the invite!

Applejack: No problem, ya’ll have ah good day now!

Applejack leaves Autumn’s house. Her last portal was from Manhattan to here, so she has to pull another piece of gum to head back home.

Once back home, she turns to Apple Bloom

Applejack: Alright, Apple Bloom ah’m done wit’ all mah invitees now. Let’s see if we can find Grand Pear.

Applejack and Apple Bloom head together in the direction of the Pear farm. They look around the farm and inside Grand Pear’s home but don’t see him anywhere.

Apple Bloom: Applejack, ah looked everywhere in the pear house and ah see no sign o’ Grand Pear.

Applejack: He’s not anywhere in the pear tree orchard either.

Applejack ponders for a moment, but then realizes the next most likely location Grand Pear went to if he’s not home. She takes off her hat to place it on her chest and looks down solemnly. Apple Bloom suddenly sitting down for a brief moment with a sad look at her sister as even she recognizes what’s on Applejack’s mind whenever she does that.

Applejack: Ah think ah know where Grand Pear is…

Apple Bloom: H- hhh- he’s…. v-visiting… t-them… a-ain’t he…

Applejack just solemnly nods and puts her hat back on. Applejack and Apple Bloom walk slowly but surely to Grand Pear’s likely location: The Ponyville Cemetery, where Pear Butter and Bright Mac are laid to rest.

Grand Pear is carrying a bouquet of flowers, laying it on the grave of his beloved daughter. He’s done this numerous times ever since she died sometime shortly after the birth of Apple Bloom.

Grand Pear: Pear Butter, I left more flowers for ya. Wherever you are, I hope you love these just like the rest I’ve given you. I’ve said this every time I visited since your eternal rest began, but I am just so sorry for treating you like I did before I moved to Vanhoover.

Tears stream down heavily from Grand Pear’s eyes

Grand Pear: I should have given you and Bright Mac a chance, I was such a stupid stallion to put farm ventures over my own daughter’s happiness. I wish… I s-so-so wish… I could of apologized to you while you were still alive… I think I keep coming back here in hopes that just m-maybe there will be some sign you have h-heard me… but perhaps my real a-apology might not happen until I j-join you up there… I’m at a real old age, maybe that will be next year, or even the next m-month.

Applejack and Apple Bloom have been somewhat hearing what Grand Pear was saying as they got closer. Grand Pear looks behind him and sees two of his Grandchildren from the Apple family.

Grand Pear: Oh hey… Applejack and Apple Bloom. Come to visit my daughter and your father too?

Applejack: We actually came t’ mostly look fo’ ya’ll, but ah guess while we’re here. There’s no harm o’ sharing the pain o’ loss one more time.

Grand Pear: Gotcha

Apple Bloom has tears streaming down her face

Apple Bloom: Ah wish ah got t’ know them… Ah was only ah foal when they… when they…

Apple Bloom can’t even finish her sentence as she just ends up burying her face in her big sister’s chest and sobbing uncontrollably…Applejack putting a hoof behind Apple Bloom. Applejack herself with tears, but she tries to be strong for her little sister. She eventually puts her face off Applejack but still very visible tears from her eyes dripping down. Grand Pear turns to the crying filly and tries his own way of trying to comfort her.

Grand Pear: Pear Butter would of loved you Apple Bloom, I hope you know that.

Apple Bloom: A-ah know… b-but it’s j-just still s-so h-hard… i-it ain’t f-fair!

Grand Pear: You have no idea what I’d give it for to me six feet deep right here, and both Pear Butter and your father next to you paying their respects for me instead. I’ve lived and seen a lot of what life’s thrown at me. They were taken from us, way too soon… so I feel very much the same as you Apple Bloom.

Applejack: Ah’m glad t’ have had them fo’ most o’ mah childhood, Ah got t’ know them as some of t’ sweetest parents ah could ever ask fo’. But the day they died, ah felt like my own childhood was over even though ah was still ah few years away from being ah teenager. Granny and Big Mac did a decent job whenever they could. But there’s ah huge hole in mah heart that’s always been missing since that day. Ah’d much rather have it that ah attended their funeral when ah myself was quite old, not ah little filly that has t’ be told her parents are going t’ be eternally resting underground, and ah’ll never see them again… Ah would o’ loved t’ had them as ah was truly growing up into the pony ah am today, as well as getting ah chance to meet some o’ mah best friends. Rara and mah Mom would o’ absolutely been capable o’ ah beautiful duet…

Grand Pear: Definitely…

All three just solemnly look and think about Pear Butter and Bright Mac for a few minutes more before they eventually start a slow walk back to Grand Pear’s house. Sometimes stopping to look back one more time at the graves. Tears being left making a trail along with the hoof prints on the ground.

Sometime later, all three are in Grand Pear’s house

Grand Pear: Ok now, what did you two come to ask me about?

Apple Bloom: We were gonna ask if ya’ll were interested in going wit’ us on ah trip t’ Saddle Arabia. There will be ah royal ball and ah wedding fo’ two o’ Twilight’s friends there.

Grand Pear: Ah, I’m afraid I can’t. But I hope you and your sister have fun, thanks for joining with me to grieve though. It always helps to have some pony there to share the heartbreak with.

Applejack: Ya’ll welcome, Grand Pear. We still miss them as much as ya’ll do.

Applejack and Apple Bloom approach and give Grand Pear a warm hug before walking out the door

Applejack: Let’s get back home, Apple Bloom.

Apple Bloom: Alright, sis. Ah can’t wait fo’ the ball, Ah hope ya do too.

Applejack: Ah am, indeed. ((It’ll certainly be something t’ cheer up both myself and her after that visit…))

NEXT UP: Chapter 3: The Waterbolts

[midnightartemis]

Chapter Three Up Now ~

Read Me Here

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about her every second of every day since he first saw her. It was beginning to turn into a waking nightmare almost. One fucking conversation with this girl and he was gone. She didn’t even give him her last name. She had fallen asleep on the couch not long after she stopped giggling about his tax evasion quip. He wasn’t surprised; she had finished off the rest of the joint on her own. He could watch the smoke pour from her lips for eternity. He was usually an adamant follower of the puff puff pass rule.

Rey from Jakku was going to be the death of him.

When he went to put a blanket over her again, she barely even moved.

The only thing that did distract Ben from her was the impending showdown between him and Kuruk. The man almost matched him in height, though he was much skinnier. That just made him a little bit faster. And Rey taking a liking to Ben has only pissed Kuruk off.

Much to his disappointment, Rey left before anyone else in the loft woke up. No one woke up before two anyway.

Ben rolled a joint as the coffee brewed. The smell eventually woke everyone else up and soon the couch was full, the room smelled of freshly ground sour diesel, and Saturday morning cartoons played on the projector. After a cup of coffee, AP pulled out a wad of cash and divided it out into piles. The largest went to Ben for supplying, the second largest to AP for manufacturing and delivery, and The rest was split between Kuruk, Trudge, Ushar, and… Ben frowned. He hadn’t seen Cardo or Vik and there was one last pile. AP saw him eyeing it. “It’s for Rey.”

“Rey?”

“Yeah, got a problem?” Kuruk was already starting to dig in. Push the issue until it came to a breaking point.

“Thought it took a unanimous vote to let someone in.” Ben eyed each of the guys.

AP, ever the peacemaker, stepped in. “She’s not in.”

Ben relaxed a little. They hadn’t forced her through initiation.

“If she was, Kuruk would not be left standing.” Trudge chuckled.

“Yeah, how’s your nose doing fucker?” Kuruk seethed.

Trudge threw his meaty hands in the air. “Hey, I learned my lesson. She could tell me to eat shit and I’d listen.”

How had a girl that tiny instilled so much fear and reverence into this tiny fucked up group?

“She helps me with the books sometimes. That’s why she gets a share.” AP finally supplied. “We trust her.”

Ben gave a shallow nod. “And Cardo. Vik?”

“Vik’s been MIA since the baby. Cardo will show up when he feels like it.”

Ben let his face drop into his mask. Unfazed from the outside. Warring on the inside. He hadn’t even known Vik was having a kid.

The impromptu meeting ended as quickly as it had begun. Trudge and Ushar settled into their cartoons. At least that much hadn’t changed. Kuruk fucked off to somewhere else and AP sat on the couch looking conflicted. After a few minutes, the quiet guy seemed to resign himself to an answer. He stood, his face dead serious as he looked Ben in the eye. “We should talk.”

That was one of the many things Ben secretly admired about AP. He was one of the originals and in the ten years Ben had known him, the man had barely changed. He didn’t sugarcoat. Didn’t play games. Though he could be a bit cryptic, everything was always dead serious with AP.

Ben nodded and followed the dude out the door and onto the small patio. The dry heat of the afternoon hit him in full force as they stepped out. He lit his joint and didn’t offer it to AP knowing the dude would just say no anyway.

“What the fuck are your intentions here, Ben?”

Ben stilled as he brought the joint to his lips. No one in the Knights ever called him Ben. He was pretty sure Trudge and Ushar didn’t even know his name wasn’t actually Kylo. And AP- AP only used it when he was beyond dead serious.

“You know what my intentions are.”

“You were supposed to get out of this. You were supposed to leave and never come back.”

“Yeah well that didn’t fucking work out, did it?” Ben growled and smashed the lit end of the joint into the metal railing.

“You can’t just come waltzing back expecting to throw a few punches and make everything magically the same as before. It’s not the same, Ben. Why the fuck did you come back?”

Ben huffed a laugh. “Where else would I go?”

“Did you even call your mom? Have you even told her you dropped out?”

“I never said I dropped out.”

“You didn’t have to.” AP scowled and he dropped his gaze to the dead fields of grass. “I would have heard about it if the chemistry lab purposefully got blown up.”

Ben narrowed his eyes and gave AP a long side glance. “You’re still seeing that TA?”

“He’s an adjunct Professor now.” AP sighs. It’s the happiest thing Ben thinks the guy’s ever done. “I know she’ll kill you herself if you hurt her but just know that the rest of us will help bury the body.”

Ben laughs a little and AP turns sharply to face him. “I’m fucking serious. You hurt her even just a little bit and I will wipe you off the face of this planet. She’s been through enough. So if you think she’s just some sick game to piss off Kuruk or a quick lay you back the fuck off and leave her alone.”

AP’s dark eyes are enough to tell Ben that if Rey didn’t kill him, he would. “She’s not. I don’t want to hurt her.”

AP smiles sadly. “You don’t want to. But you will.”

By the time Friday comes around, Ben is looking for a fight. He and Kuruk have steadily been pushing buttons and digging under each other’s skin for days now. It was only a matter of time before the party was set in motion. AP was noticeably absent first thing in the morning. It only takes Ben seeing the look on Kuruk’s face to know that time is up. They’re nearing breaking point and only one will come out victorious. It calls for a party the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Kylo took on Ren himself.

AP was out gathering the more illicit provisions while Trudge and Ushar carried a nearly endless chain of kegs and tubs and ice into the recently ‘unlocked’ basement of the warehouse. Ben and Kuruk were left to simmer. Ben poured himself a drink and set down to rolling the last of the weed to sell or smoke tonight. Rolling was one of the few things that calmed him- even when he could feel Kuruk’s pissed of stare burrowing into the back of his head. Even when AP’s words had been rattling around in there for days now, mixing with the images of her soft smile he held tightly onto. The one she tried to hide from him. And those hazel eyes that looked right at him and kept on digging. Everything about her drew him in. He couldn’t resist the chance for one touch of the light.

He hoped she wasn’t there tonight. He hoped she never saw what he really was. What he could do.

All hope of that was lost when she turned up beside AP a few hours deep into the party. His eyes latched onto her the moment he spotted her hair, up in three little buns. Her eyes were dark as bruises and anger boiled in him until he got a better view in the dim red right and realized that it was makeup. It was only wearing makeup. She wore a black holy t-shirt with a band logo on it so faded it was almost beyond recognition. Her jeans were covered in black sharpie doodles. Flowers, he thought. She had that scowl on her face not at all dissimilar to the one she first gave him. Within seconds AP had a drink in her hand.

Her eyes drank in the crowd, scanning the room until they landed on his. And stayed. A flash of pain danced across her eyes. There and hidden in an instant.

What did he do?

What-

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

Ben looked back down at the tiny brunette clinging to his side. The woman had been incredibly persistent for the past hour, even going so far as trying to force him into an old, musty janitor's closet.

“Not particularly. No.” Ben barely spared her a glance.

“God, you’re a fucking asshole.” The woman stormed away, finally taking his hints. When he searched the crowd again, Rey was gone.

He knew he was an asshole. He knew it and he went off in Rey’s direction anyway. He needed to explain. He needed to know why she looked so hurt when she saw him. He found AP first.

“Where’d she go?”

“It’s almost midnight.”

Ben could give two fucks about Kuruk and midnight. “Where’d she go?”

AP sighed and shrugged. “I’m not her keeper. She can handle herself.”

“You’re a dick you know that, Finn?”

The dude shrugged and went back to fucking off. Ben pushed through the crowd. Most people parted automatically for him mostly thanks to his size and his ability to not give a fuck about anyone. Anyone but her. He couldn’t explain why now at this moment he felt like the entire world rode on his ability to get to her, to find her, to explain himself when there was nothing yet to explain.

He pushed through a rather large group of people and stumbled into an open pocket in the middle of the crowded room. Music screamed through every inch of the room- the bass shaking the foundations.

His eyes searched the room until they landed on the messy row of three buns, the faded black tee. The hand gripping her waist. The anger in her eyes. The smirk on Kuruk’s lips as he turned to look at Ben.

Ben felt the dark thing inside him snap. Kuruk has found the breaking point. Ben grabbed the nearest glass bottle and slammed it on the ground.

He comes to when he feels her touch burning hot against the skin of his wrist. So feather-light he shouldn’t have been able to feel it but it stops him like a live wire. The room around him has gone deadly quiet and it takes a moment for him to feel the stares of dozens of silent people. There’s a groan from underneath him and he looks down to see what’s left of Kuruk’s bloody face. The man is completely slack underneath him, not even trying to fight back.

“Ben. That’s enough.” Rey says quietly, her voice firm. He lets her pull him away with gentle tugs. His mind wars between

She’s touching me she’s touching me she’s touching me

And

Is he dead is he dead is he dead

AP, Trudge, and Ushar emerge from the crowd to haul Kuruk away. He’d gone too far. Way too far. He could tell by the terrified looks he got as he passed through the crowd.

She’s touching me she’s touching me she’s touching me

Outside that small basement room, the party is still in full swing, blissfully unaware of the night's main event. He doesn’t feel a thing but the touch of her skin around his wrist. She leads him deftly through the crowd and up the narrow staircase to the loft. Vik steps away from the lofts' entrance, letting them by. Door duty . Kylo thinks stupidly. He used to hate door duty.

Rey’s touch left him as she sat him down on the couch. He let out a small pitiful whimper at its loss.

“Relax. I’m only going to get the first aid shit.” He might have been imagining it but he thought he saw her smile.

Rey disappeared into the bathroom and emerged a minute later with a giant box of medical supplies. It was even labeled medical supplies in handwriting he didn’t recognize. Her handwriting.

She took out a white bottle and a piece of cloth to wet with the liquid. Ben shuddered and forced himself to stay still as she brought the cloth to his bloody knuckles and began dabbing at them. He dared not to speak as she took her hand in his and turned it this way and that to clean away his skin. The cloth came away bright red. She moved to his other hand and added more of the clear liquid to the cloth. He sucked in a breath as she ran the cloth across his knuckles. Her hands worked quickly then to wrap his hand in gauze.

When he thought she was done she grabbed a fresh cloth and sat close to him. Closer than she ever had before. He could count her freckles against her tan skin, smell the warm earthy scent coming off of her, feel the heat of her against him. He was too dumbstruck to move and was fighting a losing battle against his desire to look at her lips. To taste her just one time. Rey brought the cloth to his lips. Her fingers gently guided him to look at her, to tilt his chin down to her reach. The throbbing in his face slowly came to the front of his mind. It seemed Kuruk had gotten a couple hits in after all.

She cleaned his skin carefully, working up the side of his face. He closes his eyes as she gets to his brow, letting her soft touch consume him. She had seen him at his worst and yet she was still here. She wasn’t flinching away.

“Rey.” Her name came out as a soft whisper that hung in the air between them. She had to come to him, he knew that much. He couldn’t open his eyes. He could only hope that she understood. The cloth dropped away from his eye. Soft lips pressed against the corner of his own. Ben opened his eyes to see her looking up at him. Hopeful. Hungry.

The door to the apartment swung open and the rest of the knights piled into the apartment. Trudge carried a half-conscious Kuruk over his shoulders. Ben cursed under his breath as Rey moved away from him and made room for Trudge to set Kuruk on the couch. The man moaned pitifully and Ben bit back a smirk.

“Cops got called.” AP moved through the room quickly, clearing off the coffee table and locking everything away in the safe built into the wall.

“Warrant?” Ben asked.

“Not likely. Unless they’ve been sitting on it.” Vik shut the door after Cardo slipped in and locked it. Cardo had been at the front door taking entrance fees. He was probably the one to sound the alarm.

“You need to take off?” Ben asked Vik. The dude had a kid now. He couldn’t get caught up in petty shit.

Vik shrugged and moved through the room, picking up a warm, unopened beer. “I’ll just hide in the back. Jenny and Ambrose weren’t expecting me.”

The man tossed him the lock's key and disappeared through the hole in the wall. Trudge and Ushar moved the one giant bookcase over the hole.

“You shouldn’t be here either.” Ben turned his focus back to Rey. She was kneeling beside Kuruk and cleaning him up with a fresh cloth, though she wasn’t being half as gentle with Kuruk as she had with him.

“I’ll just hide under the spare bed. The cops don’t give two shits about me.”

Spare bed?

Ben was about to argue the point until he saw the look AP gave him. Rey could take care of herself.

Ben let it go. “Take Kuruk to his room. Don’t need cops coming in ‘cause there’s a half-dead dude on the couch.”

Trudge and Ushar pull Kuruk off the couch and Rey packs up the medical supplies. A few minutes later, the loft looked like almost any other night. Trudge and Ushar argued over what game to play and AP took up his spot on the couch, scrolling on his phone. Rey, however, was the one to go back to the projector to turn it on. He watched as she opened up the projector and blew inside. The projector came seamlessly to life. She turned on the Wii and tossed two of the remotes to the twins. “Mario Kart.”

They groaned as she smiled wickedly.

“Fucking fine. I want Moo Moo Meadows this time though.” Ushar pouted. Rey hesitated as she picked up the fourth remote. He guessed that was the one Kuruk usually got. Her hesitation only lasted a second before she lobbed it across the room to his hands. Ben caught it and held his breath as she slipped over the back of the couch to sit beside him. She was careful to not touch him and he was careful to do the same.

She picked out Moo Moo Meadows, Wario’s Gold Mine, and Rainbow Road. Ben barely tried as he watched her easily beat them as Daisy. Trudge always gave up halfway through and would start going the wrong way for fun. Ushar spent more time dying than racing. Ben managed to finish in a solid sixth place twice. She had no competition here. As she crossed the rainbow road finish line in first (a feat even he considered almost impossible), there was a loud knock at the door.

“CPD! Open up.”

Rey was gone before Ben could say anything. The door to his old room swung shut. So, that was the spare bedroom. He spared a glance at AP before standing up to open the door. He held his hand on the lock.

“This is a private residence. You got a warrant?”

“No, sir. Just a few questions.” Ben undid the heavy U lock and slid the heavy metal door open slowly. Two uniforms stood in the hall, their eyes hard and their hands near the guns on their hips. He didn’t recognize either of them. Newbies. Ben placed his hand against the door frame and the door, his body blocking most of the view inside.

“What’d you want?”

The guy cop's eyes went wide as he looked up and down Ben. “Are you in need of medical attention, sir?”

Ben glanced at the bandages on his hands. “Nah, I’m good. Just took a tumble down the stairs. Bit of a clutz.”

Neither of them believed him but that didn’t matter.

“Is there anyone in the house with you?”

Ben shrugged as the sounds of Mario Kart started up again. “Just my roommates.”

“Were you aware that there was an illegal event happening in the basement of this building?” The woman cop took over. She gave him a look like she would never believe anything that came out of his mouth.

“Illegal Event? No. I’ve been kicking their asses at Mario Kart all night.”

“Mario Kart.” The woman raised her eyebrows.

“That it?”

The cops didn’t reply.

“Great.” He said gruffly. “Have a good night officers.”

Ben slid the door shut and snapped the lock back on. He waited for another knock but it never came. He went to the kitchen to make an old-fashioned. It wasn’t as smooth as usual with bandaged hands that were beginning to shake. The fresh cut on his face was beginning to burn and tingle against the open air.

The twins moved the bookshelf away from the hole in the wall to let Vik back in. They switched from Mario Kart to COD. The door to his room stayed shut. Ben crossed the room and knocked softly. No reply. He pushed the door open slowly, letting the light shine in but not entering himself. The light landed on the black sheets of his old bed. Rey had curled in a ball in the center of it underneath the comforter. Her ribs moved up and down ever so slightly. She had fallen asleep. Ben shut the door softly.

He guessed he’d be sleeping on the couch tonight.

AP retired to take care of Kuruk not long after Ben sat down, drink in hand. He mindlessly watched the twins play COD. Vik took off once the cops had cleared out and Cardo followed soon after. Ben couldn’t fall asleep even with the pull of alcohol and his mindless staring. The twins cleared out, disappearing to their rooms in the back. Ben shifted out of his shoes and jeans. His shirt had turned almost solid with dried blood at the neck so he shed that too. Ben turned on the Wii. Alone in the glow of the projector, he thought about the touch of her lips against his skin. What would it feel like if she dared to touch him? What he would do to her if she let him touch her back? He was going to need to take a very very very cold shower. He tried to focus on Mario Kart instead.

Night passed into the wee hours of the morning. A cry echoed through the loft and Ben paused his failed attempt at Rainbow Road.

“No!”

The cry came from his room. Rey. Ben’s heart pounded as he leaped over the couch and opened the door to his room. Rey laid where he had left her, still curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed. She twitched, her head rolling back and forth as if she were trying to escape from something invisible. She cried out again at her nightmare.

“Rey.” His voice was hoarse from not speaking for hours. She twitched again, not waking up. “Rey- Rey, wake up. It’s only a nightmare.”

She whimpered and Ben crossed the room. He’d have to touch her to wake her up. He tried again. “Rey, wake up.”

She cried out again, a painful whimper that sent an ache shooting through his chest. He reached his hand out, prepared to snatch it away the moment he touched her. He touched her shoulder and she sprung awake, pushing herself to the far side of the bed so her back was against the wall. Ben backed up two steps, his hands in the air. “It’s just me. You were having a nightmare.”

“Ben?” Rey swallowed trying to hide the panic in her voice.

“Yeah. Just me. I tried calling your name but it didn’t work.”

Rey nodded slowly as she caught her breath. “I heard you. I think. I just couldn’t… get out of it. Did I wake you up?”

Ben shook his head. “Nah. I was practicing Mario Kart so you can have some actual competition.”

Her lips quirked up in an actual smile. “Well, at least someone has the balls to challenge me.”

Rey’s hair had fallen half-way out of her three buns. Her eyes were soft with sleep and there was an imprint of his pillow across her face. Her mind drifted to something else and she frowned. “Are you sleeping on the couch?”

“You were in my bed.” Ben shrugged. “Didn’t want to wake you up. Seemed like you needed it more than I did.”

“I can move to the couch.” Rey offered sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to steal your bed.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ben moved to go back out to the living room.

“Wait.”

Ben froze in his tracks trying not to get his hopes up too high. He turned back to her and found her eyes unabashedly looking over his bare chest.

“There’s room for two.”

“Are you sure?” He asked slowly.

The girl nodded. “Yeah.”

She shifted as he crossed the room and laid down on his back across the edge farthest from her. He risked a glance at her. She hadn’t moved from her spot against the wall. He said nothing beyond his silent plea.

Come to me. Before I break. Before I redesign myself to loneliness for the rest of my life.

He could feel her watching him. Evaluating. Fighting. She slowly lowered herself away from the wall and curled up beside him, not quite touching him but close enough that she might. Ben closed his eyes and let a new calm darkness wash over him.

I know it's warmer where you are And it's safer by your side But right now I can't be what you want Just give it time...

Well it's cold when we're apart And I hate to feel this die But you can't give me what I want Just give it time...

But for now we stay so far 'Til our lonely limbs connect I can't keep you in these arms So I'll keep you in my mind...

Can we meet in the middle Bodies and souls collide Dance in the moonlight Where all the stars align Oh you and I, oh you and I, oh

- You and I, PVRIS

[elisaphoenix13]

Magical Impossibilities

Oh.

Oh no.

This was not supposed to happen. His stupid mouth read a spell out loud (He was actually mumbling to himself again) and he didn't realize what the spell was until after a  flash temporarily blinded him. When he blinked the black spots out of his vision, a tiny creature was squirming in his lap and he froze.

The creature was a newborn baby girl...and he knew instantly that she was biologically his and Tony's. While Stephen was still trying to process what had happened, Mama Bear was clawing to the surface and that was another problem.

He was already in love.

He had no idea how Tony and Peter would react. Okay, maybe he had an idea about the teen. At worst, he would be both jealous and worried that Tony and Stephen would cast him aside, at best...he would just scoop her up into a hug and probably give his parents a heart attack. Tony? He had no clue. He made a joke about birth control for Vishanti's sake! A baby wasn't exactly something he could take back either, whether she was made by a spell or not. Looking ahead in the book he was reading from, there wasn't a reversal spell anyway. He was kind of glad. Magicking a child out of existence seemed cruel.

The sorcerer was still staring at the baby in his lap when Wong entered the library in the Sanctum, and he sighs when he notices the little girl.

"Who is it this time?"

Stephen looks up at him and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He repeats the motion of opening and closing his mouth like a fool until the other sorcerer finally gets fed up and takes the book out if his hands. Two seconds later, he was looking at the sorcerer supreme in bewilderment.

"Stephen!"

"It was an accident." The doctor says meekly.

"You were mumbling to yourself again weren't you? You can't take this back!"

"I know that!" Stephen's shout startles the infant into actual crying, and Mama Bear finally breaks his mental surface and scoops up the infant as he rises to his feet.

Wong watches him as he holds the baby girl up to his shoulder with one hand, and rubs his eyes with the other as he paces. There would really be no way to approach this gently with his family. He would just have to...wing it.

He really hated not having control over a situation.

"I suppose I have no choice but to face the music." Stephen finally sighs out after the baby finally calms her cries into whimpers again.

"It was nice knowing you."

"Shut up. They won't kill me...maybe." The doctor opens a portal to the tower and steps through, leaving behind a smirking Wong, and it closes behind him with a crackle.

For once, the family floor was completely silent. No Avengers (and he really wasn't looking forward to telling them), Tony was probably in a meeting in an office he barely used or in his lab tinkering, and Peter was probably on his way home from school.

The whimpers from the newborn turn into curious coos, and Stephen looks down at her to find matching blue eyes staring back. Shit. Food. He probably should have stopped by the store first. He only had supplies for toddlers from the couple of incidents that Peter (and Tony at one) was turned into a baby, but those wouldn't work for a newborn. She needed formula.

He was so glad Mama Bear and the doctor sides were out because the rest of him was screaming in panic in the back of his mind. Just thinking about the fact that he had different sides to his personality made him feel crazy.

"F-FRIDAY." Stephen clears his throat to keep himself from stammering. "Place an order for anything a newborn will need. Have it delivered as soon as possible."

"Yes Doctor."

Okay. One problem down. It was the simplest one, but it helped calm the mania currently wreaking havoc in his head. It was only a small assurance though. Telling Tony and Peter was a much bigger problem. Stephen groans and rubs his eyes again as he looks around the kitchen for some tea and a clean mug, and uses his magic to brew some tea as he resituates the infant against his shoulder. She wasn't necessarily heavy, but his hands could only carry her for so long and he was starting to fear he would drop her. She didn't have the spider grip Peter had so he actually had to hold her.

Thank god he had Levi, because it lifted part of itself to help support the tiny creature.

She really was tiny too. She fit snuggly in both of his hands and that was terrifying.

"Stephanie...what the hell are you holding?"

Stephen freezes for the second time that day and he looks to the side to find Tony staring at the newborn girl. He hadn't even heard the man walk into the kitchen. He figured he would have some kind of warning like the elevator or shuffling feet, but of course Tony chose today to be absolutely silent.

Tea set aside and forgotten, excuses and ideas fly around Stephen's head, but he eventually settles on just being blunt.

"Our daughter?" Calling the newborn their daughter was the icing on the cake for Stephen. It made things very, very real. He had no idea why he turned it into a question. Maybe he was bracing himself for a rant.

Nothing happened for a couple of minutes though as Tony stared and Stephen squirmed, until finally their daughter sneezes and breaks the engineer's trance. To the sorcerer's surprise, Tony throws his cell phone onto the counter and holds out his hands, wiggling his fingers.

"Gimme."

With some help from Levi, Stephen carefully hands the baby girl over to his husband, and damn near explodes where he's standing when Tony coos at her. It made him fall in love all over again.

"So I'm going to take a wild guess here." Tony says after a couple of minutes and Stephen looks at him nervously. "You read a spell, trying to figure out what it was, and didn't realize you were mumbling so you invoked it by accident. Discovered seconds later it was a baby spell and now we have a daughter?"

"You're taking this...rather well I have to admit."

Tony shrugs. "After making that joke when Harley was here, I think I mentally prepared myself for the possibility. We're not hurting for money, and finding someone to watch her if something comes up shouldn't be a problem. Now I have two kids to spoil rotten."

Tony then looks up from their new bundle of joy and gives Stephen a cautious look.

"Peter doesn't know yet does he?"

The sorcerer winces at that little reminder. "He's not home yet. He should be any min--"

The elevator hisses open and Peter walks out, throwing his backpack in the direction of his room. "Mom! Dad! I think there was a mix up! There some people outside with a ton of baby stuff! Unless some--" Peter stops in his tracks when he reaches the kitchen and his gaze instantly centers on the new family member in Tony's arms. "Who's that?"

"Uhh..." Both men respond stupidly.

That was a good question. The baby didn't exactly have a name yet. Peter looks between them with confusion evident on his face as his parents scramble for an answer, Tony finally coming up with a vague one.

"Your little sister."

Brown eyes widen as he points to the newborn and looks at Stephen. "Is she a magic baby?"

Stephen actually chuckles at the question. "An accidental magic baby but yes. She is biologically mine and Tony's."

The sorcerer's heart plummets to the floor when an insecure frown forms on Peter's face, and he rushes forward to envelop the boy in a strong embrace.

"You're still just as much our child as she is."

"Speaking of..." Tony pipes up when Peter returns Stephen's hug. "This little rugrat needs a name."

Peter looks over his shoulder to study the newborn. "What about Diana?"

Stephen hums his agreement. "Diana Marie Stark-Strange."

Tony smiles at the middle name and voices his agreement as Peter finally pulls away from Stephen and motions for the baby.

"My turn!"

"You can wait Underoos! I've barely had her for five minutes!"

"That's five more minutes than me! Come on Dad!"

Stephen sighs as the two continue to argue over who gets to hold the new addition to their family. Now that that was over, he really needed a nap. He had stressed himself out over their potential reactions, and felt sluggish now that the adrenaline was wearing off. A nap, some tea, and some cuddles with both of his cubs was sorely needed. Not exactly in that order or separately though. Maybe some tea, then a nap with his kids. They both looked like they could use one anyway.

The sorcerer warms up his forgotten tea and drinks it as Tony and Peter fight over the baby, and when he finishes, he wordlessly takes Diana from Tony and pulls Peter with him by the collar of his shirt.

"Nap time cubs. Dad can go downstairs and bring up the baby stuff before he joins us."

"Mama Bear is out." Tony sighs.

Stephen turns and winks at him. "Been out for a while actually."

Tony grumbles as Stephen takes the kids into the master bedroom and takes the elevator down to retrieve the baby goods. After the workers take the things up to the family floor, Tony joins his grown family after making a bottle for Diana for when she got hungry, and finds all three of them already conked out. Stephen not only had a protective arm around their daughter, but it was also around Peter. A silent reassurance that the teen was still wanted and loved. Little Dia safely snuggled between her big brother and mother.

The engineer quietly sets the bottle on a nightstand and carefully lays on the bed next to Peter, throwing his own arm over his children.

Tony was so damn lucky to have them.

[thejollyroger-writer]

What Happened in Berkshire {{2/3}}

OKAY, ALRIGHT, this is now a THREE-shot, because I don’t know how to write short stories, apparently. In this installation, we meet some more key characters, learn a bit about everyone, and have an excellent aesthetic that @captainsjedi somehow captured perfectly AGAIN in her incredible artwork. Once again, I want to sincerely thank @thisonesatellite for helping me get my thoughts in order and finding ideas inside my head that I didn’t know were there and @profdanglaisstuff for coming in clutch multiple times with historical curse words and Aussie slang. 

PART ONE: tumblr // AO3 ; PART TWO on AO3

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The next morning, with Ruby and Mary Margaret on either side of Emma's duffel bag on the backseat of her newly-acquired worn-down yellow Bug, she drops them off at the airport, hugging each of her friends until the security guards head over to ask her to leave — and then she and Killian are on their own adventure. 

Emma follows the GPS towards the spot they decided the night before would be their starting point, a walking trail into the woods around the far edge of the town, whose relation to mountains and streams made Killian believe was part of his old map, and a good starting point for their journey. 

"So, let me get this straight, love," he says, his eyes still set on her phone in the holder connected to the dashboard. "On this little device, you can access any map with just the press of a button?" 

Emma smiles, looking towards him out of the corner of her eye. She found him the night before with the books from the library spread out on the table in front of him, but with his attention focused instead on the owner's manual for the fridge, which he found going through the drawers in the kitchen. It was then she was able to really look at the pile of books he got from the library: a collection of history textbooks, a few books on transportation, some on scientific advancement, and a large book titled "Medicine Since the Middle Ages." 

"It can do much more than that," she says, then pauses before shaking her head. "But I'm not sure that you're quite ready for that quite yet." 

When she glances at him again, she notices his eyes have gone wide. 

“Another day, Killian.” He nods, but does not stop staring at the screen as it changes, informing them they have reached the destination. “For now, it’s time to walk.” She puts the car in park, somewhat surprised how quickly they got to the end of the GPS’ directions. 

“Right.” 

He climbs out of the car as she does, holding his old map in his hand while Emma stares down at her own piece of parchment: the spell the witch gave Killian that turned him into a statue in the first place. 

It’s a foolproof plan, really: Killian with a four-hundred-year old map and Emma with a location spell for a woman that might not even be alive anymore. She’s almost afraid to look at the parchment after she casts the spell on it, but she does anyway — though that does not make her less surprised when it works, the parchment shimmering as it floats in front of them. 

Eyes wide with surprise, Killian tucks the map back in his satchel and turns to her. “Ready?” 

She nods, reaching out to take his hand before she overthinks exactly what that means. 

“Let’s go find a witch.” 

As the parchment begins to lead them into the woods, one of Emma’s hands wrapped around Killian’s as the other emits a warm magical glow, suspending the parchment before them, she realizes that she has never felt as confident with her magic as she seems to when she is near him — though she tries to avoid what that means about them, as well. 

For a few minutes, they stay as silent as the woods around them, Killian’s thumb moving in soft circles against the back of her hand, and he can swear that he can feel her magic moving through him. It is unlike any other feeling he has ever experienced, and only makes him more drawn to her, though he did not think it possible. 

And the connection brewing between them only makes him want to recall his tale to her even more. 

“I convinced Milah that coming with me was the only way to save her from the vile, cowardly man she had married,” he says, his voice soft, and he can feel the emotion that rises through her, the surprise and the confusion.

“Killian, you don’t have to,” she interjects, her words coming quickly, but he shakes his head.  

“I want to, though, love,” he says, squeezing her hand, “He was a monster, with a heart we all believed incapable of love. And it didn’t take much convincing, because she loved me just as much as I loved her, so we ran. Ran from him and all his terror. For a while, we were happy, far from his reach and able to live in harmony as we sailed the seas together. Time passed, more than a year, and I thought her husband had forgotten about us, until one day, he appeared on my ship, just like magic, and said he could not stand that she chose to stay with me over returning to him. Over the time Milah and I had spent happily aboard the Jolly Roger, he had convinced himself that I — because how could I be anything but a cruel, heartless pirate — had stolen her away; but I loved her with everything I had, and she loved me in return, and that was a fact he could not live with.”

He stops, Emma stopping right beside him, and takes a deep, shaky breath. It’s almost too much to handle, so much sadness and grief, and the feelings he has not been able to feel over the last four hundred years suddenly come flooding back to him. He tries his best to bite them down, and the tears that fill his eyes go no further. “Or, perhaps more fittingly,” he continues, trying to cover his grief with anger, “a fact that he could not have her live with, because he tore her heart from her chest so there was nothing I could do to save her and watched, laughing like a maniac, as she died in my arms.”

Emma says nothing, but she does not have to. Everything she could say, he can find in her eyes as she stares up at him, in the hum of her magic that he feels in his bones through their still-connected hands, in the tears that she does not manage to hold back as well as he does. But the sadness that fills her bright green eyes is almost too much for him to handle, and he turns his eyes back down to the forest floor, softly pulling them back on their way ahead. 

“He and I sparred on the deck for a while, and I was a much better swordsman than he ever could have been, but when he added his dark magic into the mix, he found his advantage and took the upper hand. He disarmed me, so I found a rigging hook on the deck and stabbed him in the chest with it before he chopped off my hand and they both fell to the deck, but he picked up my hand before he disappeared. When the ship’s doctor fixed up my arm, I asked that he build a brace that I could put the hook in, a constant reminder of everything he took from me when he killed Milah. 

“I sought vengeance against the man for a few years, longing to hurt him the way he hurt me, and I searched all of the known lands to try to find a way to defeat him. But I never found anything, until one day, one of the men who found a place on my ship told of a story he heard once, a story of a witch that knew how to defeat the darkness that took Milah from me, though I realized too late that it was a trick. He led me here, through this very forest, and to the witch, who gave me a potion and marked a spot on my map for me to find. I followed through with her instructions, drank the potion, and when I went to read the spell from the parchment, it turned out not to be a spell, but a curse. I didn’t realize until it was too late, and I was turned into a statue in mere moments.”

Even after he finishes the story, Emma remains silent. But he can still feel what she is feeling, the anguish and sadness that makes her heart pound. 

He wonders if she can feel his, too, if this connection between them goes in both directions. 

He definitely hopes it does. 

“Wait,” she says suddenly, stopping exactly where she is and pulling her hand away from his. He immediately misses the warmth of her hand in his, misses the connection it gave them, but she holds her hands up in front of them, a warm light radiating from them as she takes a cautious step forward with her eyes squeezed shut. He watches closely, unmoving, as she slowly opens her eyes, then sees them widen.

“What is it, love?” he asks, almost afraid to hear the answer, but then she reaches behind her to find his hand, pulling him the half-step forward to stand beside her — and he sees it, too: the thick layer of fog that has suddenly appeared around them, coming from nowhere. 

He turns around, trying to figure out exactly what they’ve gotten themselves into, only to find that the fog now extends as far as he can see in every direction. 

“Weird,” she says, breaking the thick silence that has settled between them with the fog. “That wasn’t there a moment ago.” 

But even in the fog, she can see the smile that lights up Killian’s face as they begin to take quick steps in the same direction they had been travelling. 

“We’re almost there.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Because this happened the last time I was here. And if a witch’s spells really do die with them, it must mean she is still alive.” 

She is about to comment her agreement, but the words get stuck in her throat after they take another step, the fog disappearing as quickly as it appeared, a chill running down her spine, and a small cottage appearing where there were only trees just moments before. It’s quaint, can’t have more than a few rooms, and has a billow of smoke coming from the chimney. 

Purple smoke.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes. “It — did it work? Is that it?” 

Killian’s eyes are wide in disbelief, but he still manages to nod his head. 

“That’s her.” 

“What should we do?” she whispers, terrified to move. She’s seen many things in her years, especially since she has become a magic-wielder, but some things in this world still manage to surprise her. 

And the fact that the locator spell worked on a four-hundred year old piece of parchment and led them to a cottage in the middle of the English woods is one of these surprises. 

So was bringing a statue to life by kissing it, but she’s at least starting to get used to having him around — not that she would admit it to anyone. 

Killian, however, does not seem as surprised by this turn of events, smirking at her even as he squeezes her hand. “Well, love, I suggest we knock, or is that no longer the custom in this world?” 

She knows that he is right, but that doesn’t keep her from rolling her eyes at his sarcasm. 

“Yes, okay, we knock,” she says, taking careful steps towards the cottage. If she weren’t so freaked out, she would be impressed by the small garden that they walk through, which seems to have fruits and vegetables on one side and herbs on the other; would think the stone and wood architecture is adorable. 

But, yeah, she’s freaked out instead. 

Killian knocks on the large wooden door with the curve of his hook, refusing to release his grip on her hand — the only sign that he is anywhere near as apprehensive as she is. It swings open almost immediately, and they both take a careful look around them before walking through it together, which Emma is almost thankful for. 

Almost, save the part of her that is still terrified of this whole adventure, scared to learn what it might mean about her. 

The room is about what she expected: open, with a wooden table and updated kitchen to her right, the walls going up to the angled ceiling everywhere except the loft. The interior is an odd mix of almost every style of decor, from rustic wooden bookshelves to a bright red retro refrigerator to a large wall-mounted television that takes up most of the wall it’s on. 

But the weirdest part is definitely what she finds in the center of the room: a woman that does not look much older than she does, in a beige pantsuit, her dark hair pulled into a high bun, standing over a smoking cauldron. 

Purple smoke. 

"Captain Jones," she says, not even bothering to look up from her cauldron. "I've been expecting you." 

Emma's eyes snap to Killian, who is staring at the witch in disbelief. "Beg your pardon?" 

This makes the woman turn her attention towards them, taking a long moment to very obviously look over the two of them from head to toe and back before turning back down to the cauldron. "I've been waiting for you to show up here. I could sense your curse had been broken, and I was wondering how long it would take you to decide to test your luck and see if I'm still here." 

"Well, it must be my lucky day then," he says, his voice just short of a growl, and Emma can see the muscles of his jaw ticking in anger as he stares at the witch. 

This finally gets her full attention, and she moves a few steps closer to them, leaving the cauldron behind, though Emma notices the spoon she was using continuing to stir, not slowing. "It really is your lucky day, Captain," she says, stopping a few feet from them. "I've been waiting for a very long time to help you." 

Her words seem to cause some of his anger to dissipate, the tension in the air lessening slightly. 

“Excuse me?" 

Her features soften, the hardness in her dark brown eyes almost disappearing. "I've regretted what I did to you for over three hundred years." 

Her words seem to catch Killian off guard — and Emma, too, though not nearly as much. 

"And you didn't do anything about it?" 

"There was nothing I could do," she answers quickly, wringing her hands in front of her. "Only your True Love could break the curse, that's how he made me write it, so even after I came to regret all of the things I did for that monster, all I could do was wait for your curse to be broken in order for me to help you." 

It's Emma's turn to speak up. "I'm afraid I'm going to need more of an explanation than that, and I'm sure Killian agrees." 

They both turn towards him, but he just nods. 

"Of course," she says, walking around them and into the kitchen. "Would you like some tea? It's a rather long story." 

Killian, of course, accepts her offer for tea, though Emma instead requests a glass of water. Once they're all settled around the small wooden table, the witch starts her story: 

"I was young and naive when I was a student of Rumpelstiltskin's —" 

"Wait, wait, I'm going to need to stop you right there, witch," Emma says, holding her hands up, and while the witch rolls her eyes, she lets Emma interrupt. “You can’t mean, like, Rumpelstiltskin Rumpelstiltskin, right? Spins straw into gold? Makes deals for people’s firstborns?” 

Both the witch and Killian nod. 

“That’s how I came to be a student of his in the first place, because of a deal he made with my mother.” 

“Because he saved her from an unhappy arranged marriage by turning straw into gold?” Emma asks, completely joking, but the witch’s face stays emotionless. 

“Yes.” 

Emma sets her head in her hands for a moment, and the other two do her the favor to staying silent as she tries to wrap her head around all she’s hearing. 

“Also, my name is Regina, not witch,” she says, obvious annoyance in her voice. 

“Sorry,” Emma mumbles. “I honestly hadn’t even thought about it, so I am — I really am sorry.” 

Regina just nods. 

In the silence around her, pieces start clicking into place, but they only seem to lead to more questions. “Okay, so, you were a student of… Rumpelstiltskin’s.” The words still feel weird on her tongue, even if Regina is claiming them to be the truth. She turns to Killian. “You said that Regina’s teacher was the man whose wife you stole—” 

“I didn’t steal anyone, love,” he argues, a bite to his voice that she hadn’t heard before that almost makes her cringe. “Milah chose to come with me.” 

Her eyes falling to the table, Emma nods, wishing she hadn’t just made that mistake. “Right, sorry.” 

Another terribly awkward beat passes. “But yes, you’re right,” he says finally, his voice much softer. “Milah was Rumple’s wife.” 

This is just as unbelievable as the existence of Rumplestiltskin in the first place, but she’s trying to keep an open mind. 

“Can I get back to my story now?” 

For a witch that’s waited four hundred years to help Killian, Regina sure is impatient. 

Emma nods. 

“Thank you,” she says in a huff. “As I was saying, when I was younger, I was young and stupid and wanted to do anything to prove to him that I was a worthy student, and at that time, it included cursing all those he asked me to. But I’ve — well, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I’ve realized since then that Rumple was simply using me as a means to an end, a pawn to accomplish what he would not be able to alone.” She pauses, takes a sip from her cup of tea, and then turns her attention towards Killian. “So, yes, Captain, if I could have broken your curse on my own, I would have, but since only your True Love could break the curse, I’ve just been waiting for you to find me so I can help acclimate in your new life here, if you’ll allow me that.” 

Killian leans back on his chair, stretching his arm out behind her shoulders, obviously contemplating everything Regina has told them. 

“What became of Rumpelstiltskin?” he asks after a moment. 

Regina’s posture straightens, her eyes widening for a moment before they turn down to the table. 

“He, uh,” she starts, then takes a deep breath and looks back up at Killian. “No one knows, honestly. He continued to wreak havoc around the area for a while with curses and deals and — you know, magic always comes with a price’ing everyone he comes in contact with, but then the stories… they just stopped. Some said he got involved in one of the wars, got killed in battle, traveled to a different realm and never returned, or made a deal with someone whose magic was stronger than his, darker than his. I tried my best to keep up with the stories, to keep tabs on where he was — if you’re interested, I still have the book I used to keep all my notes about it — but then the rumors stopped.”

“When?” 

“About a hundred years after you were cursed.” 

Killian softly hits his closed fist against the table a few times, his eyes squeezed shut. 

The room sits in silence, save the steady, unceasing thump thump thump of Killian’s fist. 

Until: “And no one has spoken of him for almost three hundred years?” Killian’s voice is soft, almost trembling, and Emma surprises herself by reaching out to rest her hand on Killian’s arm, ceasing his movements, but even as she trails her hand up his forearm to lace her fingers through his, his eyes remain on the table and hers remain on Regina. 

And then she feels what he feels, and it is almost too much: fear. Paralyzing, debilitating, bone-chilling fear that chills her much deeper than her bones, and she turns to see how it is written over his features.

It’s not. Of all the expressions that she has seen cross his face since he came to life, she’s pretty sure she has yet to see his face as emotionless, as stoic, as it is in this moment. This fear is unlike anything she has ever felt, and Killian doesn’t even look afraid.

She wishes she knew what she could do to help him, to calm him — and that scares her. 

They both seem to realize that Regina has not answered his question at the same time, and when they raise their eyes to her, she is watching Killian, brown eyes filled with uneasiness, as she worries the edge of her thumbnail between her teeth.

She practically feels the angry, worried grind of his jaw. The way his heart races, pounding in time with hers. 

“Regina?” she asks, knowing that, while Killian may look emotionless, he definitely does not feel the same. 

She shakes her head. “No. Nothing. No one has seen him, heard about him, or spoken of him for three hundred years. The name ‘Rumpelstiltskin’ is not one that people still discuss.” She gestures to Emma, though her eyes never leave Killian’s face. “Not beyond children’s stories, fairy tales.” 

Slowly, she feels him start to calm. There is still a nagging fear pushed behind everything else, a fear that perhaps this man could have managed the impossible and remained alive and well for three hundred years without anyone knowing about it, however unlikely it may be. 

“We would know,” she says finally, her voice much softer, soothing, even. It’s not something Emma thinks fits her demeanor that well, trying to soothe Killian, but it seems to do the trick, his pounding heart returning to a normal pace, until he releases her hand to wrap his around the almost-empty tea cup. 

Finally, Killian nods, content with all Regina has told him, and finishes his cup of tea. 

But Emma is not as content, and is perhaps more confused than she was when they got here, and she runs her finger along the rim of the almost-empty glass of water, needing something to focus on as she asks the question at the forefront of her mind. 

“So, uh… how do we undo all this?” 

Her question is only met with silence and incredulous stares. 

“Excuse me?” Regina scoffs, but it is Killian’s hurt “I beg your pardon?” that really gets to her. 

She cannot even respond. 

“You’ve already undone it,” Regina says, and Emma practically hears her roll her eyes, since she still cannot bring herself to move her eyes from the glass. “You broke the curse. You freed him. That’s the end of it.” 

The words Belle said the day before rattle around her head once more: “... he has nowhere, no one, no home. Nothing except us, the people that were there when the curse was broken.”  Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries to stop her mind from reeling around exactly what these words might mean.

She doesn’t want to think any more about what that means for their relationship, what it means for her. While she had to have known deep down it was never going to happen, a small piece of her clung to the hope that the witch was going to offer them an easy answer, another explanation for everything that has happened to them. Alas, all Regina has done is confirm what she’s still too afraid to admit to herself. 

She and Killian are True Loves. There’s really no denying it anymore, as much as that scares her. And she doesn’t know what to do about it. 

So she just stays silent. They do not spend much longer in Regina’s cottage, though Emma is a little amazed when Regina conjures a full set of paperwork for Killian from thin air: British passport, birth certificate, driver’s license, Naval papers, and who knows what else. Killian’s not entirely sure what all of them mean, but he takes the whole stack, plus a few stacks of money, and drops it all in his satchel nonetheless. 

“Thank you again,” he says, shaking her hand as they stand on the stoop outside the cabin. 

She smiles warmly at them, not quite fitting with the rest of the demeanor she’s shown them, but Emma appreciates it nonetheless. 

“Of course,” Regina says. “And really, if there is anything else I can do for you, don’t hesitate to reach out.” 

There is, of course, so much Emma wants to ask Regina. About practicing magic. About communities of witches. About all of these things that Ingrid barred her from, or perhaps simply did not know about herself. But the part of her that longs for these answers is drowned out by the realization that she has to get back to her life, back to some semblance of normalcy that she had before all this happened — before moving, before Neal’s heartache, before befriending and then bringing to life a damn statue with the bluest eyes and the brightest smile she has ever seen. 

For a moment, it helps still the pounding of her heart, knowing that there is someone who can help them — 

Until she realizes this means she now has to walk back through the woods with him. 

Drive him back into the city. 

She’s all he has in the world — the fact that scares her the most — and she now has a responsibility to help him live in a world vastly different than the one he last knew four hundred years before.

Most of their walk back through the woods is silent, Emma’s arms crossed over her chest. She has never felt more lost in her life, and she just packed up her life and moved to a different continent. She can’t have a True Love — there’s no such thing, of course. She still believes that one of these times, she’ll blink, open her eyes, and find that it’s all been a dream. 

She’s not entirely sure how much of it she wants to be a dream, where she wishes it would have started. 

Anything is better than this being her reality. 

“Why are you so desperate to get rid of me?” he asks finally, breaking the silence between them with an obvious anger in his voice, though she also senses a hint of sadness. 

Both of which she understands.

She can’t even bring herself to look at him. But she stops, her eyes squeezed shut and her head turned down to the forest floor. She doesn’t even know where to start. 

“Do you know that I was ready to marry him?” she says quickly, spilling the secret that she hadn’t told anyone. 

“What?” he asks, his eyes snapping to her. “Who?” 

“Neal. I decided that I was ready to commit to him, and then he breaks up with me not even three days later. And then it all comes unraveled — his cheating, his lying, everything. He tossed me aside, deciding that maybe I wasn’t actually good enough, trading me in for the next great thing. And it — Jesus, Killian, it broke me.” Finally, she looks up at him, still afraid of what she knows she’s going to find in those damned blue eyes of his: sincerity. She’s not ready for that. “That’s part of why I came over here in the first place, was to start over, closing my heart to the world so that no one can ever hurt me like that again. 

“And then I’m over here for a few weeks, still trying to… recover from everything that’s happened to me, and this whole thing between us comes up, and I — I’m just not ready for this. I can’t deal with this.” 

For a moment, he is silent; and then, he places his index finger under her chin and pulls her gaze back to his. “Emma,” he whispers. “You broke my curse, and that must have a meaning. But if it’s time you need, then time is what I will give you. I waited four hundred years for you to come into my life, my love. If I have to wait a bit longer for your heart to heal, then I will stand aside and let you heal.”

She's moved by his words and reaches out to rest her hand against his cheek, but before she can make contact, she realizes that the mere thought of wanting to do that scares her, and she backs away, wide-eyed, before taking off through the forest without another word. 

What the hell is she doing? What the hell is she thinking? 

But at the same time:

Why is she still questioning all of this? What more evidence does she need to prove that this is her reality now? 

Killian’s story? Check. 

Historical evidence, found at a research library? Check. 

The Captain’s Log from the ship, confirming Killian’s story? Check. 

The damn witch that cast his curse in the first place? Check. 

But somehow, she’s still trying to convince herself that it’s not real. 

That he, for some reason, isn’t real. Killian, who, through a thick layer of innuendos and leather, is soft and kind and funny; who seems to wholeheartedly believe that they really are True Love’s. And she… well, she doesn’t blame him. 

Even as she thinks it, she’s not sure what it means. 

Okay, that’s not true. She knows what it means: that she is coming to terms with… whatever is happening between them. But, at the same time, she knows that she’s fighting with it, as well. 

“Swan, wait up,” Killian calls from behind her, and for the briefest moment, she debates not waiting for him. But he did her the service of giving her some time alone with her thoughts, and for that she is thankful. 

So she stops. She doesn’t turn to see how far behind he is, though she can hear the crunching of the leaves beneath his boots. She doesn’t turn towards him when he reaches her side. She even pauses for a moment and lets him walk ahead before she follows. 

A part of her is afraid to walk beside him, worried that he will try and take her hand as he did on their first time through the forest — worried that he will rely on whatever weird-ass connection they have to figure out what is going through her head right now. 

Honestly, she wouldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t blame him, but she also doesn’t want that right now. 

Instead, she wants… 

Okay, she doesn’t know what she wants. 

That’s not exactly the truth, either. She wants normalcy, something from the past thirty years to remain as it always has. Everything has changed, everything at once, and she realizes as she watches him walk a few steps in front of her that perhaps that is what is keeping her from accepting what has become her new normal. She is no longer able to deny what is between them — she brought him back to life, broke his curse, her, not her magic. Somehow, she is his True Love. Really, she has no idea what that is supposed to mean, and it doesn’t allow her to take back any of the hurt and the anguish that she voiced to him earlier, but it’s a start. 

She still needs time to heal, time to find her way in this new lifestyle of hers. But she can do it with Killian beside her. They can find their way together. 

She picks up her pace for a moment, moving to walk beside him again. They can get through this, can figure out what the hell they’re supposed to be doing — together. 

  “Alright, so,” she says, turning down the music and breaking the silence for the first time since he caught up with her in the forest. “Since Ruby and Mary Margaret went back home, I was thinking you could just take the spare bedroom in my apartment where Ruby was staying—” 

“Swan, really, that’s not necessary.” 

She pulls her eyes off the road for a moment to glance at him. “Of course it’s necessary, Killian. What else are you going to do? I broke this damn curse, the least I can do now is give you a place to stay.” 

Mulling over her words, he remains silent in the seat next to her. He has never met a more frustrating woman than Emma Swan, he knows that for sure. A brilliant, beautiful, headstrong woman that broke a four-hundred-year old curse and still doesn’t believe that they are meant to be together. That they are True Loves. She still wants to get rid of him, to solve all of this by making everything go back to normal, while he falls deeper in love with her. 

Liam would have called him a right idiot for starting to fall for this woman so quickly, but he really can’t be blamed for it. He meant everything he said to her in the forest. Technically, looking back, he realizes that he has never said anything to her that he did not mean wholeheartedly, from I was hoping it would be you to when he told her that he will wait for her heart to heal. 

He knows all about that. 

The weirdest part of the last four hundred years wasn’t that he spent them as a statue, but that he spent them with a conscience, that he could watch over the people passing him and slowly take in the changes that took place right before his eyes. 

That he could think, even though he couldn't move. 

He spent four hundred years in his own head, and if there is one thing he knows about after going through that, it is the time required to heal. Half the time he spent as a statue was spent broken-hearted, thinking back on his time with Milah, on how much he loved her. 

In the moments he has spent watching Emma, he notices the same sad look in her eyes that he is sure he would have found in his own had they not been lifeless. Sadness, despair, and perhaps even a touch of regret. Regret for putting hope into something that should have been hopeless — a married woman, a cheating man — and having everything fall to pieces around you. 

But he has to break the silence between them, silence that may just shatter him if it continues to grow. 

“I think I should find myself a job,” he says, quieting the voices in his head by speaking what’s on his mind. 

“Killian, it’s a very different world now—”

“You don’t think I am aware of that?” he asks, a bite to his voice that he almost didn’t mean for there to be. “But I promise you, I will do anything to prove I’m not useless.” 

A beat passes between them, before she speaks softly. “I don’t think you’re useless.” 

It’s just about the nicest thing she has ever said to him, spoken barely loud enough to be heard over the engine, but it’s a start, aided by her soft fingers wrapping around his hand where it rests on his knee. 

He won’t rush her, will not do anything to try and get her to admit to anything she is not ready for, but this is a good start, especially after losing so much ground during their conversation with the witch. 

 ▫️��️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️ 

 The most distressing thing about sharing her apartment with seventeenth-century Killian Jones proves not to be his unfamiliarity of technology or his inability to fit in well in the modern day, which, though it seems to be getting better and better with each day, frustrates him to no end — no, instead, Emma finds most of her stress around her new roommate to be centered around just how immaculate he keeps everything. For the first time in her life, Emma finds every item within her apartment to suddenly have a "spot," somewhere deemed specifically for each thing to belong. Her bathroom is more organized than she ever felt it needed to be, from the medicine cabinet to the bottom of the vanity to the damn shower; her cups and mugs now have a specific order within the cabinet; even each of the remotes and magazines on the coffee table now have a designated placement. 

Everything is clean. Emma almost doesn't know how to function — but given that he is struggling so much with everything else related to his new twenty-first century life, Emma tries her best to straighten up her life, too, making sure that she is doing what she can. 

It's not the easiest task, of course, but she assumes that putting her shoes away after taking them off and doing the dishes instead of leaving them in the sink is much easier than waking up after 400 years. 

But as her schedule changes, begins taking up more of her time, Killian finds himself alone in the apartment more often. 

Which is how he finds Will's, the bar only two blocks from the apartment. 

He quickly becomes a regular, finding a barstool of his own in the darkened corner, a spot which allows him to watch over the crowd that fills the bar each evening. He minds his own business, sometimes even bringing a book down with him, but usually he passes the time on his smart phone, reading articles, books, as much information as he can get his hands on. 

He tries to mind his own business, at least — until one night, when it becomes impossible. 

“You’re making — a huge mistake, you know,” the man a few seats down from him slurs, slamming his fist down on the dark granite of the bar. 

He’s been watching the man all night, immediately off-put by his demeanor as soon as he showed up. By Killian’s count, he’s on his fifth beer, and has been slowly making his way closer to Belle, sitting a few seats down from him and waiting for Will to finish his duties. 

(Killian has very much enjoyed watching the dalliance that has been brewing between them, still relatively new since he just introduced them only a few weeks before.) 

“I can assure you that I’m not the one making a mistake here,” Belle says, almost huffed under her breath, and he’s fairly sure that she specifically said it so that only he and the man beside her can hear it. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he yells, whipping his head to face her, and even with all the space between them, Killian can see the drunken madness that fills his whole expression, from his dark brown eyes to the ticking of his stubble-covered jaw. 

“Take a hint, ya derro, and leave me alone.” Her voice is calm, almost too quiet, but she still seems to be holding her ground, so Killian just takes another sip from his glass of rum and remains quiet. 

But he stands up, his barstool sliding out from beneath him, and for a moment Killian can swear that he sees the flash of violence cross the man’s face, the look he has seen for too many times just before the start of a fight. Killian almost jumps to his feet, ready to defend his friend, but before he can, the flash is gone, his expression turned to the anger from moments before. “How dare you talk to me like that, you bitch!” 

Belle just scoffs, somehow not as angered by this whole situation as Killian is — or, if she is, she is much better at hiding it, not even turning to face him, her eyes set on the pint of beer in front of her. 

But when Killian watches him take a step in her direction, his hands squeezed into fists at his side, he can sit aside and watch no longer. 

Staying in his seat, he yells, “Oi, mate, I’d suggest leaving the lass alone if I were you.” Both sets of eyes whip towards him, Belle’s wide with surprise until they soften to an expression of gratitude. 

“This is none of your business, mate,” the man spits, taking two quick strides towards him, his back now to Belle. “So if I were you, I would suggest not eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.” 

“If you’re going to speak to her like that, I’m going to make it my business.” He still has not stood, but when the man takes another step in his direction, now within arm’s reach, he almost does. 

“Are you really going to stand up for her? To take her side in all this? All I wanted her to do is answer my fucking question, because I know that she knows where she is!” 

This statement catches Killian off-guard, his eyes flicking towards Belle, who is watching him, wide-eyed, and shaking her head. 

“That doesn’t give you the right to be a fustilarian.” 

The man’s eyes narrow, much of the anger on his face now replaced with confusion. “Excuse me?” 

Killian chuckles. “Your not knowing is half of the fun.” 

This doesn’t make him any less angry, though he turns his attention back to Belle to let some of it out. "Do you know this jackass? What's his deal?" 

At this, Belle smiles, and when she turns back to share a glance with Killian, he doesn't quite understand what it was supposed to mean until she speaks again: "I do, in fact, know this jackass. This is Killian, he's a colleague of mine. Killian, meet Neal Cassidy." 

He feels a few emotions rush through him simultaneously: surprise, anger, violent rage. Instead of acting on any of them, however, he reaches his hand out in an attempt for Neal to do the same, though his only response is to glare down at his outstretched hand, so Killian retracts the nicety. 

"A fustilarian and a bespawler." 

"Christ, Belle, you're friends with this bastard?" 

"Yeah, actually, I am, and he's a much better man than you will ever be." Pride surges through Killian — a good man is all he ever wanted to be, and if he were in a better scenario to thank Belle for her kind words, he would. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" 

He speaks up again: "It means you're a right wandought. How Emma ever loved you is a mystery to me." 

He doesn't realize quite what he's said — or, especially, what it reveals — until the expression on Neal's face changes to something much lighter than anger, and Belle whips around on her stool to stare at him, eyes wide with incredulity, since he has gone and done what she warned him not to before introducing them.  

"You — you know Emma?" Neal asks, all of his previous anger disappeared, replaced instead with something Killian can only describe as hope. 

He jumps to a quick decision: "Aye, that I do. And I also know that you are the last person on Earth that she wants to see, so there is no use further inquiring about her." 

At this, Neal is no longer hopeful — instead, his anger returns, his dark eyes narrowed at him, though they flash to Belle for a moment when she chuckles in agreement. 

"Do you think you know what's best for her?" he asks, his voice much louder than it really needs to be in the practically-empty bar. 

Every response that comes to Killian's head is about their relationship, about the fact that he is her True Love, that he perhaps has a sense of what is good for her because of their connection — but he has a feeling that Neal would take to that idea about as nicely as Emma did, so he does not respond. Belle, however, is quick to jump in, instead. 

"We know that it bloody well isn't you, that's for damn sure." 

This time when he narrows his eyes, it is in Belle's direction, though it only lasts a moment before his expression softens again, this time into one of sadness, as he changes his strategy so obviously that it almost pains Killian. 

"I just…" he starts, then lowers his eyes to the floor, running his fingers through his sandy hair as he lets out a long breath. "I need to apologize to her. For everything I've done to her, I was — fuck, I'm just an idiot, okay? I want her to know that I realized that, and that I still love her. I'm stupid not to, I've realized that, and I… I just need her to know that." 

Killian has no sympathy for the man, and he assumes the same is true for Belle, until he turns to gauge her reaction and see that she is nodding softly at him. "I'm still not going to tell you where she is, but I can — the least I can do is pass on the message." 

"Can you tell her that I want to talk to her? It would…" — he even has the nerve to smile — "It would mean a lot to me, Belle." 

Belle nods, a soft smile across her face to match Neal's. "Yeah, Neal, I'll do that." 

"Thank you," he replies, pulling money out of his wallet and setting it on the bar. "Thanks a lot." And then, he's gone. 

Killian is astounded, dumbfounded, beyond words, and just stares at Belle for a moment, agape. 

However, when she smiles, takes a small sip from the glass in front of her, and mumbles, "Get stuffed" just loud enough for Killian to hear, he feels a bit better. 

But has a plan nonetheless. 

 ▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️

 The nights Emma is the most grateful for her new roommate are nights like this one, where she comes home from her shift after dark, exhausted and starving, to find Killian in the kitchen, working on one of the many recipes he has discovered through extensive internet usage and watching Food Network. 

Today was one of the worst, the hospital busier than it should be for a November night, and she was stretched thin for the last ten of her twelve-hour shift. The bright smile that spreads across his face as he turns to greet her almost makes up for some of it. 

Maybe, like, six hours of it. So, not completely, but maybe a little more than half. 

Because, she's come to realize, she likes him. She likes living with him, likes spending time with him, likes having him there to greet her after a long day (and, yes, okay, she even likes how clean her apartment has been, likes the nights that they accidentally fall asleep on the couch together, likes how he always seems to have a small breakfast and a pot of coffee hot and ready for her when she wakes up, whether before dawn or in the middle of the day.) 

Part of her maybe even likes him, in the way the universe wants her to. He's caring, protective, and sweet, seems to actually care about her as a person — all of which are things Neal definitely wasn't. And, on top of all that, he understands her in ways other people don't — ways that she never expected another person to understand her. He can almost sense her moods, can tell when she needs to be left alone, when she needs a mug of hot chocolate, when she really just needs to eat. Every time she has gone to explain herself, to apologize — which she feels she's done more in the past month than before — Killian just smiles sweetly, usually setting his hand on hers or on her shoulder, and tells her it's unnecessary, that he somehow understands without her explanation. 

No matter how hard it is for her to admit it, their being True Loves would explain a lot of that. It would explain how he seems to know what she's going to say before she starts to say it, or how he's started to know things about her that she hasn't told him, about her childhood and her food preferences and her magic. 

She's assuming this is why Killian is not alone in the kitchen when she gets home, and why his guest is one of the last she would have expected, even if she has been thinking a lot about the last time they spoke. 

"Regina," she says, partially meaning it as a question. 

The woman just smiles, taking a sip from the wine glass sitting in front of her. "Hello, Emma. It's nice to see you again." 

Emma tries to return her smile, but she's fairly certain her face instead becomes something a lot more confused. "Yeah, uh, hi. Nice — nice to see you, too." 

Though it only lasts a moment, the silence that hangs between them is a heavy one. 

So Emma breaks it. "What, uh, are you doing here?" 

"Oh," she says, setting her wine glass down on the table. "I'm here to help you with your magic so you can hex away your ex-boyfriend." 

Emma truly has no response to this. She blinks. She blinks again. 

"In hindsight," Killian says finally, emerging from the kitchen with one of her kitchen towels slung over his shoulder, a look he absolutely stole from Queer Eye's Antoni. "I probably should have warned you about all of this." 

"Killian," Emma groans, dropping her backpack just inside the door, even though she knows Killian will either yell at her for it later, or just put it away himself. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asks, taking a seat next to Regina at the table, reaching across for what is left of the bottle of red wine. 

"I met Neal last night," Killian says, taking the seat on the opposite side of Regina. 

Again, Emma has no response to this. She think her mouth might actually be hanging open as she looks over at Killian. She takes a sip straight from the bottle of wine. 

"At the bar with Belle. He was looking for you, with some cockamamie story about how sorry he is and how he's realized his mistake. And I knew that you've been wondering about Regina's magic, so I took the liberty of reaching out to her for some assistance with Neal, so that you could be sure that he didn't become a problem." 

At first, the main thing she feels is anger — not only at Neal for coming all the way here, for chasing after her after everything he's done to her; but, for just a few moments, she's also mad at Killian for taking the liberty of reaching out to Regina, for not telling her about Neal. 

Until she realizes just how stupid it is to be mad at Killian. She has never met anyone like him, though she's not sure if it's because he's from four hundred years in the past and is just very old fashioned, or just because she's only ever known men to be assholes. Either way, in the weeks that have passed, since the night  she broke a curse and brought a statue back to life (both of which are still a little mind-boggling to her, if she's being honest with herself), she has learned that Killian is nothing if not caring, honest, and always looking out for her best interests. 

Because he's in love with her. She knows that, and every time she asks herself what's keeping her from reciprocating, she can't quite answer. 

So, as quickly as it rolled through her body, her anger towards Killian disappears, leaving behind only anger towards Neal — an emotion has been simmering just below the surface for the last few months (years). 

He must see all of this cross her face over just a few moments, because when she raises her eyes to meet his again, he is watching her intently, picking up every small change in her features. 

She tries her hardest to smile, to show some sort of gratitude for what he has done, but she's fairly sure she has not convinced him. She turns to Regina, who has one eyebrow raised at her, waiting for her response. 

"Okay," is all she says for a moment, the room remaining silent and still, so she takes another sip from the bottle of wine. “So, where do we start?” 

Regina’s face lights up, something Emma didn’t even think was possible, and she sets down her glass of wine before turning her hands palm-up in front of her. Without even so much as flinching, she summons a sphere of white light in her left hand, and a small flame in her right. “First, we have to gauge where your magic skills are already.” 

Emma gulps, suddenly realizing that learning more about her magic means practicing her magic — something she hasn’t done for almost ten years, since Ingrid warned her that just using it to practice would be dangerous enough. 

Yet another lie. 

“There’s no need to be nervous, love,” Killian says, his voice as gentle as the hand that he places on top of hers on the table. “I’m living proof that you can do amazing things with your magic.” 

She’s thankful for him, for his calm and his kindness, but she’s still not sure. “I wasn’t trying to use my magic when I broke your curse, Killian. I haven’t tried to use my magic for years, after being told it was something I should hide away from the world.”

“If this isn’t what you want to do, Emma—” Regina starts, but Emma holds her hand up between them. 

“No, no, this… This is what I want, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.” 

Regina nods, her lips pinched into a thin line, and she turns both of her palms against the table after the magic in them disappears. “Alright,” she says, and nods again. “I think what we need to start with is maybe a bit of a conversation instead of just jumping right into the magic.” 

Emma takes a deep breath, obvious in the rise and fall of her shoulders. “Where do you want to start? My twenty-first birthday, where I lit the candle on my cupcake with a small fire I summoned without even knowing I did it? The list of accidents from the apartments I lived in after college? Meeting Ingrid by accident at the library, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me?”

Regina sucks her breath in through her teeth, tapping the nails of her perfectly-manicured fingers against the table. 

Killian’s hand covering hers squeezes gently. 

“No,” Regina says, hitting her hand against the table. “I don’t want to know that. I don’t want to know any of that.” 

“Then what do you want?” She doesn’t mean to snap, but it’s already been a long-ass day, and it’s apparently not over yet. 

Regina blinks at her twice, her mouth slightly agape, as if taken aback by her tone. Which she doesn’t blame her for, because she’s a bit taken aback by her own tone. 

“What does it feel like?” Regina asks finally, her voice soft, though her eyes are still shooting daggers. 

Emma really doesn’t know how to respond, her breath taken from her lungs. This day has almost become too much. “What?” 

“When you use your magic, what does it feel like?” 

She squeezes her eyes shut, both hoping that she can conjure some memory that can answer Regina’s question, and that, once she opens them, Regina will be gone and this will all be a dream. She doesn’t manage the second, but she does manage the first. 

“It’s been — when l used it to find you in the woods, that was the first time in a while that I used it on purpose, but it’s always been… warm. Comforting, almost, like it was telling me that it would be okay.” Emma feels the warmth rush to her cheeks, hoping that what she is saying is the right answer — if there even is a right answer when it comes to all this — and the large smile that slowly grows across Regina’s face makes her feel a bit better. 

“That’s an excellent start, Emma,” Regina says, her voice warm to match her smile, and Emma begins to feel a bit better, the weight that has been on her shoulders since her twenty-first birthday begins to lighten. 

She can only stay awake enough to be helpful for another forty-five minutes, but in that time, she’s made some progress, both mentally and magically, and when she finally makes it to her bed, thankful that she doesn’t work until the next afternoon, she falls asleep with the growing warmth of her ever-present magic fighting to make itself known — and she does nothing to fight it.

TAGGING: @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kmomof4 @cssns @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @teamhook @gingerchangeling @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke @jonirobinson64 @nikkiemms @bmbbcs4evr @spartanguard @stahlop @jennjenn615 @xrandomdreamx  @kday426 @courtorderedcake @kingofmyheart14 @aprilqueen84 @pirateherokillian @capswantrue @socmono @jonirobinson64 @facesiousbutton82 @captainkillianswanjones @ultimiflos @singersdd @therooksshiningknight  @cocohook38 @youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat @hitting-her-stride @whatthehell102080 @scientificapricot @hookswan25 @galaxyzstark @carpedzem 

[rigel126]

Lance the Winter Mage

A Shance one-shot for Shance Secret Santa 2018 (unused pinch-hitter fic)

You can also read it on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316854

A belated Xmas prezzie for my fellow Shance hoes @keirdark and @rigb0ner

Check out my other fics on Tumblr here on my Master List.

*

Lance the Winter Mage

by Rigel126

It was the Tenth of December, and a sheet of snow fell gently over the kingdom of Altea. Lance, the Winter Mage, had closed his tower and ventured out to a quiet spot deep in the West Forest as was his habit on the days of the full moon. He was heavily bundled in fur coats, and grumbled bitterly into his muffler, “By God, was I a fool to specialize in ice magic. Of course the Mages’ Senate would send me to the coldest town in the land! Quiznak!”

A strong gust picked up and Lance pulled his overcoat more tightly to his body. “Brr! I’m too gay for this crap! Ugh!”

A noise came from the left, off the pathway. Lance turned his head to scan the trees. He could not see anything, but he felt the unmistakeable resonance of magic being used. Sensing something amiss, Lance dashed into the tree-line, his right hand clenching around the stock of a magically conjured crossbow made of pure ice.

The noises grew louder, and Lance heard people shouting and chains rattling violently. Lance burst out into a clearing and found a pack of poachers in Galran attire attempting to restrain a full-grown, fully-transformed werewolf with a chain snare, long pikes and low-level fire spells. The mixed stench of blood-iron and burnt fur was stomach-churning, and red stained the snow on the ground like macabre winter flowers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” roared Lance, firing his crossbow skywards: the bolt transformed into a flare that exploded high above them, an emergency signal that would summon the Altean Rangers. “Werewolf-hunting is forbidden in Altea without a Senate De- whoa!” Lance dodged a fireball that flew past his head and set a tree on fire.

“Kill that bastard!” shouted the Galran fire mage. Of the six poachers holding down the werewolf, three rushed at Lance, brandishing their weapons.

“Now you’ve done it,” growled Lance, his blue eyes glowing brightly with magic-infused rage.

*

The first Rangers to arrive on the scene were Coran and Keith, and they found Lance in the middle of a circle made from seven towers of ice, littered with broken weapons, blood and a torn metal snare. Lance was on his knees, gently stroking the head of a black-and-white-haired werewolf who was covered in blood, to the astonishment of the Rangers.

“What happened here, Lance? Are you alright?” asked Coran, prudently keeping his distance when he saw Lance’s eyes glowing.

Lance turned his face to Coran, but his shining blue eyes were unfocused like those of a blind man. “Ah, Coran, you’re here. I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“I apologize for being a tad bit late, but we of the Ranger always come when we are needed to defend the peace of the realm.” Coran grabbed Keith’s arm firmly before he could do anything that might provoke Lance while the Winter Mage was in one of his ‘episodes’.

“Excuses, excuses,” retorted Lance airily. “But since you’re here, then all is well.” Lance closed his eyes and tilted his head back, breathed in and let out a long, throaty sigh before sinking onto his back in the blood-stained snow. When he opened his eyes, they looked normal again. Human.

“Sorry about that, Coran, Keith.” Lance turned his head and nodded weakly at the two Rangers, who visibly relaxed and came closer. “I need your help to arrest these criminals.”

With a snap of his fingers, the seven towers of ice crumbled, revealing the Galran poachers and their third-rate mage-for-hire; they all fell on the ground, shivering violently and incapacitated by the biting cold.

“Their offenses include hunting without a permit, inhumane treatment of a Special Rights Beastman, resisting arrest, and especially, attempting to harm the Winter Mage of Altea, the fabulously stylish Lance McClain de la Espada IV!�� Lance announced and then burst into tired laughter.

*

Christmas Eve was the busiest time of the year at Lance’s wizard tower. The queue was some thirty yards long with the denizens of Altea clamouring for charms and potions for the festive season.

In the back room where Lance had his laboratory, the Winter Mage himself was in a mad frenzy preparing his wares. Objects flew through the air, propelled by magic, while miniature ice golems manipulated long ladles to stir the contents of eight cauldrons lined against the walls.

“Lance, we’re running low on Sobering Potions and Cold Wards out here!” Pidge stuck his head into Lance’s laboratory and hollered.

Lance stuck his finger into one bubbling cauldron and tasted it. “Tell ‘em that the Sobering Potion is being bottled right now.” He swished his finger at the ice golem stirring the cauldron; the golem leaped off its stool and began dragging a wooden pellet filled with empty glass vials to be filled with the newly-brewed Sobering Potion.

“Shiro, did you finish checking the Cold Wards?”

Shiro, the black-and-white-haired werewolf who Lance rescued two weeks ago, looked up from his work. “Almost done,” he grunted.

“Then will you be a dear and bring the ones you’ve checked out to the front? I don’t want Pidge to be lynched by a bunch of angry housewives.”

Shiro was about to comply when he suddenly let out a vicious growl. There was the evident sound of an Arusian squeak.

Lance sighed. “No outsiders allowed in… oh!”

“Y-your Magnificence.” The tiny Arusian handmaiden gave Lance a nervous curtsey while keeping a watchful eye on Shiro, who towered over her with bared fangs.

“It’s alright, Shiro.” Lance waved at Shiro to calm him down.

“Princess Allura sent me to collect her order.”

“Ah, yes. Take those wards to Pidge, Shiro, and then I’ll need you to help me with some heavy lifting.”

Shiro huffed in quiet annoyance before hauling a crate out while the Arusian handmaiden scampered out of the way before Shiro could trample on her.

Lance worked into the night, long after he closed his shop and sent Pidge and Hunk home, checking his inventory of magical ingredients and balancing his accounts ledgers.

“Lance,” growled Shiro, all stretched out on his cot. Even in his humanoid form, Shiro still had wolf ears at the top of his head, and his long tail bushy tail swished across his muscular thigh.

No response from Lance.

“La-nce,” Shiro whined.

“Go to sleep, Shiro,” said Lance idly, scratching his quill across his ledger.

Shiro started whimpering and whining like a puppy.

Lance’s quill snapped in his fingers, splattering dots of ink on the page. “Quiznak, will you stop that?!”

When he looked up to glare at Shiro, the big, hulking werewolf was looking at Lance with big, sad, puppy eyes. It defied logic how a ferocious werewolf could make himself look so… adorable. The thought of it made Lance’s head hurt and his squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

Lance let out a surprised ‘oof’ when Shiro came and sat on his lap uninvited, like a big untrained dog, and just slumped bodily against Lance.

“Get off me, you dumb mutt!” Lance half-scolded, half-gasped, wriggling under Shiro, but Shiro was just too heavy. “I can’t breathe!”

“Lance,” Shiro said, happily ignoring Lance’s protests while he nuzzled the wizard’s neck to breathe in his scent. “I missed this. Missed you.”

“What are you talking about, you doofus?” grumbled Lance, blushing red. “We were together all day in my tower, weren’t we?”

“But I couldn’t touch you. Couldn’t smell you.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me? Are you saying I, the magnificent Lance McClain de la Espada IV, world-renowned Winter Mage, smell?”

“Mmhm! Like spring water, milk soap and family.” Shiro was oblivious to Lance’s sarcasm and proceeded to happily scent-mark Lance by rubbing his stubbly cheek along Lance’s lower jaw.

Lance’s face was so hot he could combust like the sun. “Alright, alright. Get off me already so that I can go to sleep.”

“Okay! Sleep!” Lance could barely walk to bed with the way that Shiro clung to him, unwilling to be physically separated. It was annoying, but Lance would be lying if he said that he didn’t not find it a tiny bit endearing. Especially since Shiro in his humanoid form was brawny and handsome the way Lance liked his male companions to be.

No, Lance, you can’t! Lance chastised himself internally when his legs finally gave out and Shiro hauled him over to bed like a sack of potatoes. Shiro’s behaviour is so innocent and childlike, he’s almost like a child. I can’t make a move on-

Lance’s internal struggle died when Shiro plopped Lance on the bed and pounced on him. Shiro giggled and sniffed and nuzzled Lance a bit before spooning Lance against him, Shiro’s nose buried in the wizard’s brown hair.

“Good night, Lance.” Shiro yawned and quickly fell silent and still, save for his soft snoring.

Squirming a bit in Shiro’s warm and muscular embrace, Lance wondered if the gods had granted him a boon or were playing a cruel trick on him. Either way, Lance was not going to be able to sleep well that night.

Merry quiznaking Christmas to me, thought Lance.

END

[mimiplaysgames]

Strength to Protect the Things That Matter (Ch. 23)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua (eventually) Rating: T Word Count: 7,792

AO3        FF.net

A/N: Surprise! So I said that I may have to split this entire “Feckless” section into three parts, but it turns out that I can blend the other two parts together into one. I couldn’t help myself but indulge in some Terra and Riku bro-bonding, and there’s all the plot development you need for now. It has been a hard chapter for sure, and I barely have time to really hash it out. At the moment, I tried my best and I may re-edit when I have the time after the game comes out. For now, I worked very hard on this and I’m tired, y’all. Enjoy the extra word count!

Feckless, pt. 2

The first thing Terra needs to do is organize all of the tea leaves. He is in the kitchen storage, gathering cubby boxes and labeling them – one for each type of herb. Then he hunts for paper and writes down recipes, the vast majority of them medicinal. He defines which herb is good for which symptom, which ones give a magical boost, which ones taste good boiled with fruits, and how one can make even the most vile magical plant tolerant to the tongue. He also mixes some for the most common sicknesses, for easy access. He pins several pages of these instructions onto the wall next to the shelf that houses all of these ingredients, for anyone to see.

Finally, he is of use to these people.

Next on the list is to make a fresh brew for Rydia. With a more potent mix this time, he should be able to give a stronger dose that will be able to quell her fever. The cats have followed him to the kitchen, and Duchess in particular is fond of rubbing herself on his leg. It’s comforting to him, but only barely so. What she cannot ease is dealing with knowing how close he is to Aqua, and yet he is still stuck at the hotel, adhering to his duties to those who are in need.

The life of a Keyblade wielder. How long is he going to keep stalling Aqua just to make sure others are safe, when she needs him just as badly? Or is she expected to suffer longer because it, too, is her responsibility to keep the lives of innocents in check?

He puts a few empty mugs and the steaming teapot onto a tray, and carries it out of the kitchen, the cats following him. In the dining room are Balthier and Fran talking amongst themselves at a table. The pirate has his arm around the backrest, his tall companion right by his side, her jackrabbit ears standing straight out of the helmet she is wearing. Terra manages to catch a few words.

“…grip the hairs that stand on my skin. We cannot stay long. The earth here is sick,” Fran says. The delivery of her tone is flat, and it doesn’t sound at all she’s too pleased.

“Yes, the cobblestones underneath my feet cannot bear the weight of them,” Balthier says, though he nods.

It’s a rather sarcastic sentence, but not one that is meant to dismiss her concerns. The nod, the movement to relax into his chair, the crossing of his legs – he believes her. It’s just his way of coping.

Fran notices Terra as he passes by, frowning at him. The scowl on her face is like an animal on edge, waiting for predator to make its move. “A shadow has befallen this land,” she says.

Terra manages to smile at them in acknowledgment, trying hard to ignore that she knows something isn’t right with him. And she isn’t wrong, exactly. Balthier nods back with a cocked grin. A pleasantry. Or is it suspicion? Will there ever be a day where he won’t feel eyes staring at him or hear a snicker?

Rydia’s room is illuminated by warm sunlight, and he finds her sitting on a lounge chair underneath a painting of a hooded figure wearing a brown cloak, with a damp towel around her neck. The figure holds a lit lantern in a dark cave, his face hidden from the sight of the onlooker.

She tells Terra she won the last game she and Riku played, and dismisses his concerns about being out of bed. She feels better. She can walk. She’s getting bored lying in bed for too long. To Terra, though, she looks the same – ghastly. He also can’t ignore that at times, she clutches her oblique where she has been stabbed.

“You know, this is more delicious than the last one you made me,” she says as she sips the new tea he brewed for her. He’s happy to hear it, though saddened to know that no tea exists for eliminating poison.

“I’ve bought sleeping weed for the batch I’ll make you tonight,” he says. “You’ll need as much bedrest as you can handle.”

Rydia mumbles something about how lame that sounds, hasn’t she had enough rest already? “Is it going to be yucky, then?” she asks.

“No. It’s absolutely tasteless.”

Riku is packing up the board games that are all sprawled out on the bed, and Garnet is sitting on a desk with several files sprawled out. Each one has photos of mages that have gone missing in the past. It’s quite a substantial stack. Once a breathing person, now a pile of papers.

Garnet says that she writes out details of them so they are not forgotten, and so that she can pray for them. Hope’s photo stands out amongst a small pile of the other six that were lost with him that night. Aside from him, it’s difficult to find another male mage in the collection. The rest of the women were of all ages, some who look as young as Hope. Some who look like they could have been new grandmothers. Most were young adult women who were at the prime of their lives, and should have begun their careers or looking for love. Terra can count at least two other male mages, both young adult men.

When Riku is done tidying up, he tells Terra that he’s ready. With a large enough teapot to last Rydia the day, Terra allows himself to relax - if only just a little. It’s time to leave the caretaking in Garnet’s hands and find Aqua with less guilt on his shoulders.

What’s left is to grab the map of the sewers, flashlights, and-

“Gas masks?” Terra asks when Riku tosses one to him.

“I’d like to keep my lunch in this time,” Riku says.

The cats stop following as the Keybearers leave the hotel. Down an alley way not too far, they find a manhole that Terra has marked on the map, and don their masks before they drop inside.

The plan is to search every nook and cranny of the sewage system within the second district. They mark an ‘X’ over every door and room they inspect, and write checks over hallways they have passed through. With the map, the maze isn’t so intimidating. With the gas masks, traversing through the sewers, particularly the really dirty areas, is tolerable – except for the sweat that is trapped underneath them.

Of course, there are Heartless around every corner, lurking right under the streets where so many people are walking around with their groceries and with their friends. Riku is sure to nag Terra about practicing his dark powers – at the very least to build some sort of resistance to them.

But they always bring a headache. Terra forces himself not to drink what little is left of Tifa’s potion, just so that he can start to build a tolerance to the pain.

They talk about Heartless and the nature of darkness. Riku is most interested in hearing about how darkness has been formed in the past, before the Heartless. Terra talks about the Unversed, and decides to trust Riku enough to talk about Vanitas and his connection to Ventus. He talks about darkness before the Unversed – how many worlds, especially magical ones, will develop beings of darkness naturally. Keyblade wielders are tasked with restoring balance when it is threatened.

Some forms of darkness become legendary as they lust after the abyss, and will either haunt a world into oblivion, or will travel in the in-between. For many of them, there is no record of where they come from, but most of them are ancient.

The tale of Chernabog is an example. So is the legend of the Horned King. The Headless Horseman is another, although its existence hasn’t been confirmed. The man who killed Aqua’s parents, Ardyn, is a story that is true, and Terra recalls how terrified he was to meet him face to face. Kefka seems to be on this track to great and terrible power. Riku talks about Heartless Sora has faced before – large, powerful ones that are ethereal and substantially frightening in comparison to the others.  Behemoths and phantoms alike. Sora has faced a man named Sephiroth, who also fits such a description. Maleficent, too, is a possibility.

“Should we consider Xehanort legendary, then?” Riku asks as Terra checks off one more hallway. They have just passed through the waste system – disgusting in its collection of rust and other nasties.

It’s the thought that Terra is carrying Xehanort and is therefore the definition of such a thing that gives him pause. “I would say so, considering how bad the situation has gotten. The worlds haven’t been in this much trouble since the stories of the Great Keyblade War. At least from what I know.”

“It’s just that sometimes I wonder... if I open him up, will I find a heart in there or just some big, black mass,” Riku says.

Terra can’t help but snort. Blass mass, indeed. It’s exactly what it feels like when he gets a headache – like it’s trying to swallow him. The only person who deserves to suffer punishment in the Realm of Darkness is the old, sniveling man who should have been stabbed the day he met Eraqus.

The two wielders will often hear the clock tower bell ring, which sounds muffled underground. It marks every hour that passes by, but with no need to worry about Kefka tonight, Terra dismisses the sound. It’s just background noise tonight.

At first, he doesn’t have much to worry about if they don’t find anything right away. The second district is large, and he is bound to discover something. But they keep rounding corners, and the clock tower keeps ringing, and every room comes up empty.

Up until they reach the final area where they haven’t checked through, and Terra tells himself that perhaps they are unlucky to choose this spot last. There has to be something there.

But there isn’t. It’s just more Heartless and more rooms filled with machinery and large, unused fans. When they get to their last room, Riku caresses Terra’s shoulder, and the latter is grateful that he has a mask on so he doesn’t show just how devastated and angry he is.

I don’t understand.

They stand there in silence. Riku mentions that maybe they are misinterpreting Terra’s dream, and Terra silently hopes that Riku doesn’t bring up plan B – wait until the world finally falls.

The headache is worse and Terra grunts. He grips the map so tightly that he wrinkles it, and barely stops himself from tearing it in half.

“Let’s not ruin the map,” Riku says as he slowly pries it from Terra’s fingers.

With his hands free, Terra summons his Keyblade. She isn’t here. But she has to be. Behind the walls. The headache pounds a little harder, and he swings it against the wall of cement next to him, gashing it so that it shows bits of the stone that keeps it standing.

“Terra.”

Terra grips his Keyblade so hard that his hand shakes. I hate that tone. It’s like he’s scared of me.

“Come on,” Riku continues. “Let’s go over our next steps. We do have all that territory the Heartless inhabit out in the east. It’s not the end of the world.”

There is just too much weight hanging on those last few words, and the room suddenly feels claustrophobic. Terra doesn’t say anything and bolts out, treading up a ladder nearby until he finally can feel the freshness of the late chill air on his skin.

It’s night, and the clock tower reads half past seven. Riku comes up behind him, and the first thing they notice is how everyone around them keep their distance, their fingers clenching their noses.

Riku mumbles that they must stink, but again, Terra doesn’t reply. He briskly starts a walk back toward the direction of the hotel, Riku silently by his side. My dream can’t be wrong. Naminé wouldn’t lie to me. So then what am I misinterpreting?

Even with all the paces up until they reach the hotel, Terra can’t come up with a better explanation. Something in his stomach turns when he considers the thought that he might have to swim in the sewage water, murky in its image and probably hiding many more secrets that it’s letting on. If it’s for Aqua, then so be it.

He mentions it to Riku, who replies with an “ABSOLUTELY NOT. Let’s try to search through the quarantined areas first. It’s a less crazy plan.”

He hears a loud gasp, and sees Garnet standing outside the hotel entrance with both of her hands covering her nose and mouth. She stomps one foot and brings her hands to her hips, telling them that they smell positively toxic. She claps her hands as if to shoo away a dog, leading them through the hotel with pointed fingers, and commands that they leave her their clothes and shoes for cleaning, and that they bathe immediately.

In the spacious bathtub of his hotel room, Terra stands under the cold, clean water gushing out of the showerhead. He leans against the wall, his eyes wandering around the edges of tiles. More time wasted. More pointless adventures. Aqua is in need of her best friend, and he’s doing a terrible job.

He wraps his towel around his waist when he is done and sifts through the closet and drawers. There aren’t any clothes.

Someone knocks on his door. Riku is dressed in pajama shorts and a loose shirt, and has a pile of some comfortable looking garments in his arms.

“I figured you haven’t picked any clothes from the donations pile, so I brought some. I also got some of Lea’s stuff, since you are the same height,” the teenager says as he drops the clothes on Terra’s bed. Behind him come the cats, who chirp as they enter the room and scatter to explore the exciting new territory that is Terra’s bedroom. 

“Lea is a stick,” Terra says.

“And you like to wear your shirts tight anyway. I figured you’d like the silhouette.”

Lea’s shirts are so small that they can’t go past Terra’s shoulders.

Riku flexes his own bicep, already toned. “What does it take to get them that big?”

Terra goes for another shirt – one he is sure doesn’t belong to Lea. “Protein, protein, and more protein. And resistance exercise. Sometimes it’s just genes.”

“Which you don’t seem to lack at all. What do you think it would look like if I started building them like yours?”

For as much confidence Riku likes to flaunt he has, the thought that he would ask such an intimate question about his appearance makes Terra smile warmly. He wonders if Riku ever asked Sora this question. Knowing Sora, he probably will crack a joke.

“I think your muscles look pretty good for your size. You’re quite strong, you know.”

Riku caresses his bicep as a response, his eyes looking over at whatever is faraway and nonexistent, never meeting his friend’s.

Terra tries on the pajama pants in his bathroom. Most are too short. Lea’s are so tight that they scream for attention toward his... personal assets. He figures he may have to keep the towel, until he finds one pair that are of perfect length and pack the comfort of cotton to boot.

Once dressed and back out in his bedroom, Terra and Riku move the furniture up against the walls, and carry curious kittens onto the bed.

They practice their form with their Keyblades. Riku instructs his student to move slowly while purposefully channeling darkness through the Ends of the Earth.

As long as he can focus on a directive, like the dream of obliterating any threat that can ever come close to Aqua and Ventus, darkness will flicker and lick his Keyblade. To use darkness for valiant efforts... What if he is so powerful that Aqua - who must have been fighting this entire time for her life - will never have to defend herself again? He can be her shield. He can swallow any darkness she has absorbed for her, and cure her of nightmares.

To think of using this power for protection makes the darkness manageable, and it hurts the least it has ever been. He swings his Keyblade gently, feeling the darkness seep out of him, resisting the temptation to blast a hole through the wall just to see how powerful he can be. He can protect his family. He can use darkness as light.

And she can rest.

But is that the solution then – to be selfish and tell her to never attempt to fight again so he can play hero all the time? She’ll hate him for that.

It’s so hard not to remember how he left them to fend for themselves that day, when he fought Xehanort atop that tall plateau. Or how stupid he was to believe Xehanort in the first place.

There it is, the pounding headache and the sensation that his hair is being pulled. Xehanort knows and is watching, just waiting for the opportunity. And Eraqus – will he be disappointed, again? Is this the life for Terra, to shun everything his Master has done for him, when he probably should have never been picked up at the orphanage in the first place?

Riku holds his hands to Terra’s right wrist, which is shaking as he grips his Keyblade. “You got this,” the teenager says.

Terra lets his Keyblade drop and exhales. “It takes so much effort to control it. How will I ever wield darkness easily enough to be any use?”

“Cutting out any hard time you’re giving to yourself is a good place to start.”

Easier said than done. Riku’s been forgiven.

Terra rubs his face and runs his hand through his hair. There is a power that is yet to be threatening. “I have to show you something.”

Terra dismisses his Keyblade and takes note of the chairs and lamps scattered around his room. “I’ve tapped into Xemnas’ powers.” He holds both of his palms up on either side of his body. “It’s like a push. I simply need them to move, and I make the particles around them solidify and pick them up. I think Xemnas wanted complete control over anything he wanted.”

Riku snickers, but stops short of saying anything as the lamps and the chairs in the room shake and gently float in the air. With a wave of one hand, Terra can make the objects spin slowly, and with a wave of the other, make them come together. Riku stares, his eyes wide, and approaches one of the lamps hovering in the air.

“Make the particles around them move, huh?” He inspects the underside of the lamp. “I wonder what that means for his offensive magic. He was able to do all sorts of stuff. He had sabers of light, and created explosions and could protect himself – pretty much anything he thought of. Maybe you can crush those same particles?”

It’s worth a shot. Terra focuses on an empty space right in front of him, and brings his palms close together. He contorts his fingers, and mimics a movement that looks as though he is squeezing the space in between. He imagines the space just imploding on itself. A tumbling force of fire appears, combusts, and blows out.

An open smile pulls at Terra’s lips. He and Riku stare at each other and stumble into laughter. It feels good, not having to face pain when acquiring such power.

“Okay, now put these things down,” Riku says, waving towards all the objects that are still suspended in the air.

Terra thinks about gently pushing them down. It only really forces the chairs and the lamps onto the ground, but he can’t let go of them. They fly back up into the air. He tries again, and it creates the same reverb affect.

“Ugh, just let go,” he says shortly.

The lamps and chairs all drop in a vibrating crash. It makes the floor rumble and it’s loud enough to make the two of them jump back in surprise. The kittens run everywhere while a startled Duchess arches her back on the bed.

Riku snickers. “Xemnas did enjoy hurling things at people.”

The sound of footsteps hurrying over makes its way. The door bursts open and in walks Garnet, her face frozen in shock as she pauses to survey the scene.

“Sorry, we were experimenting,” Terra says, immediately beginning to pick up one of the lamps and inspecting it for damage.

Garnet smacks her lips, and slams her hand to heart. “Terra, you gave me a fright!” She goes on to lecture them about the value of silence, and how much she worries over them while she retrieves her cart from the hallway. On it are their clothes, shoes, and the gauntlet and braces that Terra wears on his left arm.

“What took you so long?” Riku asks as he helps Terra re-organize the lamps into their proper places, and straighten out the chairs.

“I happened to make a discovery.” She is delighted, almost as if she has gone through the most intriguing journey. “A contraption called a washing machine.”

Not even Riku can hide a wide smile on his face, even if he tries to shake his head of it.

“Of course, I didn’t have the knowledge to operate it,” Garnet continues, handing Riku his clothes, arm braces, and shoes. “So I’ve requested Noctis’ wisdom on the matter. But he didn’t know how to command it, either.”

“Did you guys not have washing machines in your worlds?” Terra asks, collecting his shoes and armor from her. From the looks of it, she scrubbed and polished them.

“Oh, Noctis knew of them, but they simply weren’t part of his expertise,” she says.

What kind of answer is that?

She hands him the pile of his newly washed clothes. “Thankfully, Cloud was able to help us.”

Riku starts to move the furniture that have been stacked against the wall back into place, scoffing over the idea of Cloud acting like their mother. Garnet thanks Terra for the tea and appreciates his efforts in helping her. Learning to wash his clothes is the least she can do for him in return. She then leaves the men to get dressed, and Riku hurries off into Terra’s bathroom to change.

It’s much more comfortable being dressed in what he considers his uniform. The map is sprawled open on his desk, and he knows he probably shouldn’t look it over. It will only make him feel worse. But he can’t help it, his headaches be damned. He needs to know what he’s done wrong. He traces his fingers on the blueprints of the hallways and doors he has marked notes all over.

Something catches his eye. He traces them over fairly faint lines that are printed alongside the heavily inked illustrations. He has noticed these when he first found the map, but didn’t have an answer for them at the time. There is still no answer for what these are.

“Riku,” Terra calls out when the bathroom door opens, “do you see these?”

Riku looks over his shoulder. “They look like more hallways.”

“But we didn’t see any entrances to them. We’ve searched every room.”

“Maybe they’re not part of the sewers?”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. But look,” Riku points his index finger at a couple of places where these faint lines come close to noted manholes. “We know where these streets are. If we can find a separate entrance that leads underground-”

Terra immediately folds the map up and moves to quickly put on his armor. Impatient, yes, but enough time has passed. He has all night to do this. “Let’s go.”

Back out in the streets, the night air is cooler. Terra feels some slight fatigue, but it’s worth forgoing sleep for the chance to explore more. He opens his map to orient himself, but he suddenly stops. It’s that feeling again. He’s being watched.

People are leisurely spending their evening getting lost in their food and shopping. Parents are distracting their children with desserts. Some are still haunted from the night before, picking at their food like it can never satisfy them– perhaps they are the loved ones of those lost.

There. A man in a black cloak, standing on an intersection of the sidewalk and a narrow alleyway in between a toy store and restaurant. He turns the moment Terra notices him.

“Hey!”

Terra immediately charges, leaving behind a surprised Riku who calls his name. The man runs into the alley, dashing into angled corners the moment he has any opportunity to. Immediately, Terra loses his own sense of direction, unsure where he is among the crossovers of spaces in between tall buildings and past garbage dumps. Riku must be looking for him, too, also probably lost in the fray. But it doesn’t matter. This man will talk, so he can’t lose his target.

Eventually, Terra finds himself in the third district, which still has leftover rubble from the night before. Many of the light posts have been demolished, and some of the former residential homes have been blown open. The man stands in the middle of the square, his arms at his side.

“It sure has been a while, Terra,” the man says. He carries with him an aura as if everything to him is a joke. “I was almost starting to think you weren’t interested in seeing me.“

“Do I know you?” Terra doesn’t move. He simply observes, his right hand flexed for the moment he needs his Keyblade.

“Oh, I’m absolutely crushed you don’t remember me.” The man wraps his arm around Terra’s shoulders, as if greeting a close companion. “After everything I’ve been through - sheesh, do you pack quite a punch. Every time I look at my own face, I get reminded of you.” The man pulls his hood back. He’s older, streaks of gray invading his greasy hair.

He is the man Terra thought kidnapped Xehanort, though he has an eye patch now, his one visible eye a sickly golden yellow.

Terra shudders looking at him. This man has only been a rouse. An object to make a fool out of him. From the looks of it, he is still a tool. With no answer, the man simply pokes at Terra’s chest. “You smell peachy. Being squeaky clean is good for your health, you know. Running ‘round the sewers isn’t really the best-”

Terra grabs the cloak and pulls the man in, their faces so close that their noses almost touch. Terra stares down into the yellow eye, making certain that the pupil is staring back – that this man gets the message. “Tell me what you know of her.”

The man waves his arms back as if giving up. “If you’re asking about your little girlfriend, I don’t know jack squat. She’s not what I’m here for.”

Terra squeezes the leather of the cloak so much that it squeaks in between his fingers. A need to gut the man in the stomach rises in him. “Then I don’t have the time for you,” Terra says, pushing the man so hard that he stumbles to stay on top of his feet.

“Wait just a minute!” the man calls out as Terra walks away. “You gave Saïx, of all people, your undivided attention but you can’t spare a little time for an old friend?”

It takes too much strength to muster the patience to stop himself from summoning his Keyblade and clobbering this yapping idiot, but Terra is once again distracted.

Riku runs up to the area, panting when he comes up to his friend’s side. “Terra, Xigbar’s dangerous,” he says through sighs.

Terra feels himself smile, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t worry about him,” he says, holding a hand up. “The scars on his face are proof he’s no match for me.”

His words are far better weapons than his blade, being that Xigbar’s face contorts from that snarl of a smile to a snarl of contempt. And it’s satisfying. “Why you little brat,” Xigbar starts.

But a soft, low voice interrupts the tension, saying, “Let’s not allow ourselves to get carried away, when we haven’t the time.” A shadow forms beside Xigbar, and out of it steps a young man, barely Terra’s age.

He has a deeper skin color, contrasting so much with his stark white hair and round, yellow eyes that it’s impossible not to know who he is. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, the one that makes him up must be artificial – though he’s practiced in pretending. His voice is detached, yet respectful. It feigns care, yet it is interested enough to make anyone think otherwise.

This young version of Xehanort smiles at Terra. “Hello, Terra,” he nods. “I’ve been quite at work, ever since you’ve decided to wake up.”

Terra has expected to look into these eyes in the face of his own reflection in a mirror, at the very least. The voice is so young that it cannot compare to the raspy nature of the old man’s, though it’s the same. Polite and fake. Like everything else about him. His mentorship, and his friendship with Eraqus. That bastard.

Terra summons his Keyblade and nearly lunges forward when Riku grabs onto his arm. “If you fight, I’ll fight with you,” Riku says to him in a low voice.

Xehanort has his arms slightly open, as if welcoming a fight. A smile braces his face, and it’s eerily familiar. It’s the smile he wears when he’s close to getting something he wants, and Terra has sworn to himself that he would never see it again. He decides to dismiss his Keyblade and try his best to relax back into a neutral posture. Xehanort’s smile weakens, his arms slowly lowering.

“I expected more out of you,” Xehanort says. “You have such an important destiny laid out, yet it’s impossible for you to comprehend what that is.” Almost as if he wills it to happen, he smiles again. “You truly are good-for-nothing.”

Terra steps forward, his throat constricting and his eyes starting to burn. He’s heard this phrase too many times. Never again.

“Every time someone curses their awful situation, they’re cursing at you,” Terra says, trying his best not to allow his voice to get brittle. “Even if they don’t know it. You’re the most hated person in the universe, and that makes you pathetic.”

“It’s amusing how you think that is so significant.” Xehanort cocks his head to lean toward Xigbar, but doesn’t bother to look at him. “You came here to deliver a message.”

Xigbar, jolted out of his silence, holds his hand to his forehead. “What did you guys name that Heartless? Ah, Kefka. I originally came here to tell you that’s it’s dropping a visit tonight.”

It’s Riku’s turn to step forward. “That’s not possible. It comes every two nights, and it never broke that rule.”

“You can say that it didn’t really get the fix it needed.” Xigbar shrugs.

Riku trembles, slowly getting angrier. “Seven people turned into Heartless last night. That isn’t enough?”

Xehanort surveys the scene around him. The debris on the ground. Front doors from buildings that are scattered on the walkways. Burnt flags.

“Kefka is a fascinating case,” he says. “It is a Heartless that has grown beyond our control. Perhaps it was once a sorcerer, who lusted after power and couldn’t stop even beyond being swallowed by darkness. Does it matter, its former identity? Yet the implications of its sentience – it makes me wonder whether people turn into Heartless because they have given up and succumbed to their fright, or if they sought it for themselves.”

“It killed people,” Terra says shortly.

“Yes,” Xehanort nods. “It is messy.” He says this with a slight disgust, as if killing is below him.

Bold words for a man who killed someone who loved him.

“I hate you,” Terra says, hating himself for shaking his own words so much. Hating himself for feeling Riku’s eyes on him, because he simply isn’t strong enough to let the past go.

Xehanort scoffs gently. “Predictable.” A shadow forms behind him, and he turns to make his leave. “Do take care of yourself, Terra. You wouldn’t want to rob yourself a reunion with her.”

Xigbar waves his Adios and his It’s been a nice reunion, before exiting through the shadow. It dissipates, leaving the two Keyblade wielders standing by themselves.

The silence around them is thick and loud. The headache is awful, and Terra wants to wrangle something at the thought of Xehanort even mentioning her existence. Riku gently rubs his back, telling Terra to let the anger out. Aqua... she has to wait again.

“We need to tell the others,” Terra finally says. However, he is unable to regain much of his composure.

“Now hold on,” Riku brings a finger up. “I don’t understand the purpose of giving us this information.”

“They don’t want to see me get hurt.” There is something gross about that statement. To be kept safe, when Aqua isn’t.

“Xehanort looking out for other people? That’s new.”

“I’m still a vessel for the older Xehanort’s heart.” It’s nauseating to say. “They need me.”

Riku’s mouth hangs, agape. “Have you ever considered that maybe he wants you to find her? That he wants to use you to get to her?”

Terra feels his eyes quiver. He shakes any ideas off his head. He will be there to save her, and there is no way Xehanort will get near her. “But Kefka-”

“What if this is a trap? What if he’s planning something to take you back?”

The clock reads just before nine. It’s barely any time for preparations. “Riku, we can’t gamble with their lives over this.”

Riku takes turns looking at the clock tower and back at Terra, muttering something to himself. Defeat looks like frustration on the teenager, and he snarls. “I hate this.”

“Are you saying Kefka has a quota that needs to be filled?” Noctis is standing in Rydia’s room, addressing Riku directly.

Rydia and Garnet are sharing the table, the notes of the fallen mages scattered about. They have moved on from writing details of each person to organizing their names in a chart. The teapot also shares a space on the table surface, a mug of freshly poured tea by its side. Rydia is crying silently, clutching her oblique. Garnet has her hands folded, staring blankly at the wall in front of her.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Riku says.

This only makes Noctis angrier, and his voice raises in volume. “That’s not good enough, Riku. What am I supposed to do?”

Garnet calmly closes her eyes when he yells, and a single tear falls. Terra stands close to Rydia, consistently checking on her to see if she has a bad reaction to any of this. Stress really shouldn’t be added to her list of ailments.

Noctis slams his palm into his forehead and wipes away his bangs as he looks up to the ceiling. “And to top it off, this world is going to fall?” His voice starts to growl into a whisper. “We can’t keep doing this. We can’t fight it every night. I’m calling an emergency meeting. Be there in a few minutes.”

With that, Noctis abruptly leaves the bedroom, Riku immediately following. Terra has to wonder how awful the guilt must be for Noctis, who is the target Kefka is after.

It is under the silent assumption that Rydia isn’t included in that command, which is why Terra and Garnet are surprised when she speaks up.

“I want to go, too,” Rydia says. Her voice cracks a little.

“Are you sure you’re okay to walk?” Terra asks.

“I’m only feeling a little nauseous, that’s all.” She sniffs back her tears, takes the mug of tea and drinks from it. “But I do want to support everyone else. I hate not being able to do anything.”

Garnet attempts to help Rydia stand, but she is dismissed. Rydia stands on her own, the mug in one hand, and walks a few steps.

Then she wobbles and collapses forward, the tea spilling all over the dark green carpet. Garnet shrieks and Terra rushes to carry Rydia onto her bed, her skin hot from the fever.

Under Garnet’s command, Terra takes a metal pail next to the bed, and fills it with clean water from the tub. He isn’t the best at conjuring magical spells, but like any other Keyblade wielder, he knows how to do it. He casts a Blizzard into the pail twice in order to get some ice forming, and dashes it to the bedside table.

Garnet dips a towel into the water and folds it over Rydia’s forehead. Terra goes ahead to pour another cup of tea.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” she says. When he simply looks at her, the teacup suspended in his hand, she almost snaps. “You should attend the meeting. ��I'll be alright.”

The meeting starts in the small employee lounge room that Noctis likes to take naps in, on the first floor. He came out of this room when Terra initially met him. There are random paintings of nature and still life on the walls, a small television set, a coffee table, a long couch, and several chairs. Fran and Balthier sit on the couch, where she is crossing her legs, and he is resting an ankle on his knee. Cloud and Cid stand on either side of the coffee table. Terra takes his place by Riku, who is leaning against the wall.

“This is a disaster,” Cloud says, mostly to Cid. “Now I have to deal with the tempers of two rich kids.”

“Not just any rich kids,” Cid says, licking his teeth. “Royal kids.”

“What are you saying?” Terra asks.

“Didn’t you know?” Cid says. “Noct and Garnet are both castle brats from wherever they come from. Prince and princess.”

“Well,” Cloud interjects, “Noct is a king now.”

“Some king,” Cid scoffs.

“Have a little faith, why don’t you,” Cloud says quietly as Noctis enters and stands in the middle of the room, right in front of the coffee table.

Garnet finally walks through the door, and takes her place in front of Fran and Balthier, directly across the coffee table from Noctis. Terra tries to get a read on her for a silent update on Rydia, but as usual, Garnet is practiced in keeping her emotions distant.

“First things first,” Noctis says, leaning over the coffee table. “Like I told all of you, this world is going to fall.”

Cloud crosses his arms. “We’re going to need to take people to Radiant Garden right away. Fran, how much time do you think we have?”

Fran glances at Terra for a hot second before leaning on the arm rest of the couch, her face scowling in disbelief. “I shall say no more than a day before the earth loses its strength. At most, three.”

Balthier scoffs at the suggestion. “Clearly, you don’t expect me to be able to fly everyone in one trip? I cannot carry a whole city of cargo.”

“You’ll start at the crack of dawn, and take multiple trips,” Noctis says. “I need you tonight in the third district for the fight with Kefka. Fran, can you stand guard here?”

“As you wish,” she says.

Balthier leans on an arm rest of his own. “I’m assuming we’ll be following proper protocol in these situations. The sick, the injured, the children, the families, and everyone here in this staff room?”

Noctis takes a long breath. “No. I’ll be staying with everyone being left behind.”

Garnet widens her eyes. “What do you speak of?”

“If it’s really that short of a time frame, I’ll stay behind to comfort the ones who won’t be able to go.”

She stares hard at Noctis, her lips quivering. “I object to this!” She slams her hands on the coffee table.

“The people who leave need a leader with them. The people who stay behind need the same.”

She shakes her head furiously. “But you haven’t even sought my counsel-”

“And I need you to agree with me.”

Garnet maintains strict eye contact with Noctis. Despite how short she is, the way she holds her head high makes her seem taller than him. “Under one condition.” She stands even straighter, lengthening her appearance. “One of us must endure. If misfortune should befall me, you must be the one to leave with the survivors.”

“What kind of demand is that?” Noctis says with a broken tone, shocked. Cloud takes turns watching the both of them, his lips in a hard line but not pursed.

Garnet closes her eyes, and swallows. But she does not drop her head. She brings her hands together in a prayer stance, and looks earnestly at Noctis. “Rydia will not make the night.”

The silence drops, heavy and suffocating. Noctis is the most expressive, taking a lot of effort to stop himself from reacting harshly. Cloud, perhaps most experienced with these sorts of news, hangs his head. Riku clenches his fists and he, too, hangs his head. Terra is nauseous and feels light, wishing he can run outside into the fresh air, just to avoid vomiting.

“Noctis,” Garnet continues, “we need an elixir.”

He scoffs harshly. “We don’t have any. And it takes two weeks to make one.”

Garnet rubs her hands together, and scatters her eyesight around the room. She catches sight of Terra, and immediately draws it away. It’s so difficult reading what she’s thinking. “We do have elixirs,” she says.

Cloud gasps. “No way. We’re not allowing anyone to go out there.”

Terra steps forward. “What gives?”

“There used to be a hospital ward,” Riku says. “Way out east, where the Heartless have taken over the streets. We left in such a rush that we weren’t able to carry everything. There should be a whole cartridge of them.”

“This is the worst timing,” Noctis says. “Kefka will be coming at eleven, and we need fighters.”

“Then allow me to go,” Garnet says. “I’m useless in battle.”

“You are not,” Noctis snaps. “I need you there.”

“You need her. She can effectively fight with her magic.”

Cloud leans on the coffee table to meet Garnet face to face. “What I’m more interested in is keeping as many people alive. What’s the point of sending you over if that means we have to lose the both of you?”

“Then we all go together,” Noctis says, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Kid, we don’t have the time,” Cid says. “You expect to find Rydia a cure with Kefka and a bunch of nasties chasing you around?”

“If we do it fast enough, we can save her-”

“Can I call that too optimistic?” Cloud says.

“What do you expect me to do?” Noctis straightens his posture and sizes up Cloud.

“Make a rational decision. Is that too difficult for you?” Cloud is only slightly taller, but the way he carries his voice is piercing enough.

Garnet is wide-eyed, gently shaking her head but she doesn’t say anything. It’s as though her thoughts are distant, and she is in denial of what is happening in the room. Again, it’s so difficult to read her face.

Cid breaks the silence. “Let the little lady go. I think it’s much safer out there than fighting Kefka anyway.”

Noctis jumps at this opportunity. “Then one of the Keyblade wielders will escort her.”

It’s just not possible to deduce what she’s thinking. Her eyes shut together, and for a second it seems like she’s ungrateful for the suggestion.

Riku jerks a bit. “You realize that if this is in fact a trap, Xehanort will just turn her into a Heartless.”

“We can’t afford to make the mistake of assuming Kefka isn’t coming,” Cloud says simply.

Riku looks as though as he will start arguing, and Terra squeezes his shoulder. “Riku, it sounds like I’m either fighting Kefka or fighting Xehanort on my own.”

His successor glares at him, and Terra supposes that it’s just a matter of time before he angered or disappointed him.

“All it takes is Xehanort striking you in the chest with his Keyblade,” Riku says. His glare trembles, and he fights back a brittle voice. “Don’t make me choose between losing you and leaving Rydia to die.”

Cloud places his hand on Riku’s other shoulder. “I forgot how young you are,” he says softly. “You really shouldn’t be making such hard decisions now, and I’m sorry you have to.”

Terra nods in agreement. “The sticks, Riku. Shortest escorts Garnet.”

Riku reluctantly takes them out. Two sticks. Terra picks one, and by comparison, his is the shortest.

Terra chuckles a bit, a stupid effort to lighten the mood. “Looks like I may be fighting Xehanort out there.”

Garnet is holding one hand to her chest, as if to stop a heart attack. Her expression is terribly grim, and Terra wonders if she’s disappointed that he will be the one to protect her. Does she not feel safe enough with me?

“Cid,” Noctis says with a commanding tone. “Set up the curfew siren manually.”

Riku also holds his hand out, as if to catch Cid’s attention. “Can you also send a mayday to Yen Sid’s tower? Somebody has to respond.”

Cid mutters his Sure’s and exits the room, leaving behind a room full of tense, quiet people.

“I’ll prepare protection crystals for the rest of you,” Garnet says, struggling to keep her voice even. She attempts to wait for Noctis’ attention, who has his arms crossed and is refusing to look at her. She leaves, still holding her head high.

Cloud glances at Noctis and rolls his eyes.

Riku, too, isn’t happy about the situation. Terra attempts to hold his shoulder again but Riku shrugs it off, bolting out of the room. Holding just a tiny stick that has been broken into its size, Terra twirls it around in his fingers. What is left is an empty feeling. The others leave the room, Balthier and Fran being the last to leave. Fran connects her eye contact with Terra, keeping it until she disappears out of the doorway.

The clock strikes ten.

[t-a-l-i-n-a-l-a-n-i]

How to bind fortune

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter Chapter 1 ___________________________________ Writers note: Hey my lovely friends and welcome to my new Loki Fanfiction :) I really hope you will like it! Feel free to reblog it and please don´t hesitate to give me feedback, so I know how you like it! <3 If you want to be tagged just let me know! :) It starts kind of boring but I promise it will get better! ____________________________________

For almost 3 years Alma is part of the Avengers now. Her powers? She is some kind of a witch. Honestly! Alma can cast simple spells and brew some potions. But her specialty is healing-magic. That's the only thing she's really good at! That's why Tony wanted her for the Avengers. In fights Alma is indeed not useful, but certainly to eliminate the damages afterwards. And she is almost 120 years old! She has done surprisingly well, which is probably part of her abilities. She looks like in her twenties and most importantly: she feels that way, too. It is still pretty early in the morning, she is a morning person ... and a night person ... only in the middle of the day she feels mostly tired. But usually nothing happens in the middle of the day , so it doesn´t really  matter. Alma stands in front of the mirror in her apartment in Stark Tower. Yes. She has a  small apartment here. Just like the other Avengers. Totally awesome! She plucks at her dress and examines herself. Long black hair, slightly wavy, so neither curly nor straight. Gray eyes, who like to change the color, sometimes more green, sometimes more blue and sometimes even a little bit purple. Skin that looks like it has never seen the sun. 'Natural basement tan' Tony had said and laughed. But he is right. Every dead person is more tanned than she is. Besides, she was pretty small. Every other Avenger was taller than her. Alma's gaze wanders further down. Lips. Pretty normal somehow. Not slim, not wide. Just normal lips. Her eyes wander down at herself. She was wearing her favorite dress today. The others always make fun of her a bit and say she looks 'like a real witch', but it was still her favorite dress. Black, to the knees, little neckline, long sleeves up to over the hands. A very pleasant fabric, not so warm. Warm is bad. Alma is pretty heat sensitive. And if we are honest ... Cold is better! When it's cold, you can cuddle up comfortably in a blanket. The other way around ... when it's hot, you can undress, but that usually does not help and at some point you're naked and it's still hot. She laughs at the thought. Her thoughts often wander off and take on absurd features. Once, in the middle of an Avengers meeting, she had to laugh out loud, thinking about what it would be like when pigs could fly, and that made her think about how her scrambled eggs with bacon suddenly grow wings and tried to flee from her. It was a bit embarrassing to explain to the others why she had to laugh suddenly during a rather serious topic (Loki was attacking Earth). But the others had already gotten used to the fact that sometimes she is kind of  strange. 'Old woman' and 'getting senile' are just some of the things Alma hears more often. Then she mostly pouts. Thor is much older and nobody calls him an 'old man'. Just like Loki, who now lives here for almost a year. Thor had brought him a year ago. Apparently, Loki had changed and should now remain as a kind of punishment on Earth and help protect it. He was allegedly forced to attack  earth, thats what Thor said. At first it was kind of strange and the atmosphere was tense, but after a few weeks everybody relaxed a bit. By now, everyone can sit at the same table without the situation escalating. Loki got used to it and the others got used to the fact that maybe he was not as bad as they always thought. Sure, a joke here and there, but nothing dramatic. Much worse was actually Alma's absentmindedness. It usually did much more harm than Loki did with his pranks. Once she had accidentally lit a fire that could not be extinguished or suffocated with water, and three floors of the Stark Tower had burned down until Alma found out that the flames only go out when she sings a lullaby to it. Everyone was mad at the witch for weeks. Or the one time when she wanted to mix a healing potion, which should have made one invincible for some seconds and the whole thing  ended with everyone who came in touch with it got hiccups, which stopped only after a week. And tongues in different colors. But with her latest experiment, she wanted to impress everyone. It was a potion that brought fortune! Or at least it should be, she still had to try it out. The idea was to make a potion like 'Felix Filicis', the fortune potion from Harry Potter. Of course, Alma knew that Harry Potter was not real, but the idea was good in itself and she had spent a lot of time learning how to brew this potion. It had taken her nearly two weeks to finish brewing. Now all it has to do was to cool down. Alma ties her hair into a ponytail and nods to her reflection on the mirror. She scurries quickly to her door and makes her way to the communal kitchen. From a distance she could hear voices. When she enters the large kitchen, she discovers Natasha, Clint, Bruce and Loki. Natasha and Clint are talking, Loki is reading a newspaper, and Bruce is standing at the kitchen counter, making some coffee. "Hey guys, good morning!", Alma waves happily and sits across from Loki, who nods briefly in greeting and 'hm-hm' d.

"Hey little one." You are almost synchronously greeted by Nat and Clint and Bruce waves to her cheerfully. "Do you want coffee, too?" He says pointing to the cups he has already put in front of him. Alma shakes her head, she was never a fan of coffee. "Tea? If it does not matter!" Bruce nods. "Tea would be fine.", Loki grunts without looking up from his newspaper. "Three spoons of honey." He was probably no morning person, very grumpy. But as Alma  knows Bruce, he doesn´t let himself be impressed. "Alma?", Bruce looks at her questioningly. "Honey sounds good, I also take three spoons, please," she smiles softly. She likes Bruce. He is always very polite and the only one who never makes fun of her. "Oh, it looks like we're going to have to buy new honey soon, but it's enough for you." he observes and places the empty container in the sink. Lost in thought, Alma stares at her hands until Bruce puts down a cup in front of her. "Ahh ... thank you!" She twitches. The tea smells delicious. Herbs. Bruce drops the other cup of tea in front of Loki and the cups of coffee are for Nat, Clint and, of course, Bruce, who sits down next to Alma after handing out all the cups. She puffs gently a few times and then takes a small gulp carefully. Unlike Loki who just takes a big sip of scalding hot tea and doesn´t even flinch. Alma blows her tea again and then takes a bigger sip. "Hmm ...." she hummed. Bruce looks at her questioningly. "Everything okay?" "Um ... yes ... just tastes different than usual." she says quietly and knits her eyebrows together. Carefully, she takes another sip and rinses it in her mouth. And suddenly she opens her eyes wide in shock. She swallows hard at the tea in her mouth. Panicking she looks at Bruce. "Bruce .... the honey ...." Alma jumps up and Bruce looks confused after her. She runs to the fridge and tears it open. At the same moment, she hears something big falling to the ground, followed by a "What the ...?!" Panic! She searches something in the fridge. "Bruce !!!", she turns to look at him. Totally breathless. "...?" They all stare at Alma and she realizes that Loki has obviously fallen off the chair. He lies on the ground about two meters away from her and looks confused. "Bruce that was not honey !!"  Alma cries out. It was her 'Felix Felicis', from whom she had put a glass in the fridge to cool down. She runs back to Bruce and grabs him by the shoulders. At the same moment she hears a thud and when she turns around she sees that Loki - who was still on the floor - obviously has his head bumped against the table. Gloomy, but confused, he looks at her. "Witch!" He growled, rubbing his head. "Witch! WHAT was it when it wasn´t honey?" Alma froze. Oh no. "Um .... a potion?", She stammers and tries to breathe calmly. "And WHAT exactly does this potion do?", Loki was obviously busy trying not to explode. "Um ... well ... actually it should bring fortune ..." and the stammering continues, now she also began to sweat. "I would not describe it as very fortunate that I am torn off the chair and then hit my head against the table ..." he really did try to not kill her on the spot. And she appreciates that. "Honestly ... I have not tested it yet." "WITCH!!" "I ... I'm sorry, I put it in the fridge to cool it down!", Alma squints and smiles apologetically. She jumps as Loki suddenly jumps up and walks off. Until she is suddenly torn off her feet and Face-First falls to the ground and is dragged a good meter behind Loki. He stops his steps and looks at Alma, aghast, while she is obviously more than surprised by the sudden fall over her face. The kitchen is very quiet. "Oh shit ..." whispers Alma as she realizes what's going on here. Loki also seems to be thinking and cocking his head before taking two generous steps back and watching Alma pull after him. She squeaks in surprise and tries to hold on to the ground, but it doesn´t work. The power which pulls her to Loki is stronger. She swallows hard. So she had failed again. That was definitely not what she wanted to achieve with the potion.

Alma gets up slowly, her legs are a bit like Jelly. She bows slightly to Loki. "I'm so sorry!" She could only hope that somehow he would take it with humor instead of killing her here and now. "WHAT exactly are you sorry for?", He did not really sound like he would think it funny. "Well ... well ... funny story .... looks like we can not get away from each other Ha..ha ..." Alma explained fake laughing in embarrassment. The look on Loki's face was really difficult to interpret, but obviously he tries to process what the witch just said. Jerkily, he takes two steps back and just as jerky Alma flies two very big steps in Loki's direction and manages just like that to stand on her feet. That was quite surprisingly. But this game can be played the other way round, too. So Alma starts and jumps two big steps in the other direction, whereupon Loki is almost torn off his feet and stumbles in her direction. Two meters seems to be the range. Natasha, Clint and Bruce could not say anything. As if spellbound, the three stare at the other two, half amused, half horrified.

To be continued ......

tags: @drakesfiance @buttercuptea @lividpenguin @btrlover211 @antidiva @fairlightswiftly

[first-person-tales]

Meeting 48

by Mat Ward

Sunday January 13, 2008 - 1 year, 122 days sober

Intergroup meeting, Medical Institute, Salem, Tamil Nadu, India.

When you are standing on a stage, with your heart beating in your throat, talking through a microphone to 200 Tamils about the time you made a distillery out of two syrup tins, the strangest thoughts rush through your mind.

I’d woken at four that morning in a counselling centre in Trichy, 300 km south of Chennai. The previous night I’d rung David, the AA contact for the area. He’d insisted on my checking out of my hotel and sleeping at the centre in order to join him and 30 other drunks and their families on a day trip to Salem, five hours away, for an “intergroup meeting anniversary”.

At 5am I was standing outside the centre, feeling naked, the only guy with an unadorned top lip among a parade of marvellous moustaches which were emitting howls of laughter. Their owners were a joy to be around. All seemed to be overflowing with sunshine, choking with hoarse hilarity, slapping each other on the back, holding hands and jigging around with a loose energy that was plain uncanny for such an early hour. I felt sorry for the counselling centre’s neighbours.

Eventually, we all bundled into two buses − the long-suffering wives, children and non-smokers in one, and myself in the other, with the smokers. All seemed to have Christian names. I was hemmed in by Harry − a man whose face seemed made for smiling since he was unrecognisable in solemnity − and David, who bounced up and down in his seat like an overgrown schoolboy, egging and goading the others on.

“Mat, have you ever tried a snakebite?” asked David, as we drove through sugar cane and banana plantations in the pre-dawn dark.

“Sure,” I said. In my two decades of drinking I'd drunk anything I could get hold of, from distilling my parents’ spirits into a mixture that tasted like soap, to the litres of cheap gutrot vodka mixed with painkillers that had eventually put me in hospital - then rehab.

“I used to make snakebites with the usual blackcurrant, but for the beer I’d use Special Brew, which is like a 10% alcohol beer, and for the cider I’d use Electric White, which is a 12% alcohol white cider, which tastes something like carbonated urine...”

I was faced with a wall of blank looks. The alcoholics in the back of the bus even stopped their card game to stare. David’s head shuddered.

“No, no, no, SNAKEBITE, where you get a snake, put it into a clay pot…” the others joined in reciting the instructions “…cover the top with cloth, put a slit in the cloth and then stick your tongue through the slit. When it bites, you can have the effect − very strong − for three days. Sometimes flat on your back for the whole time.”

“Wha…?” I said. “No…I’ve never…tried that. Have you?”

I looked around the bus. There were enigmatic shrugs all round.

“What snake is it?” I asked.

“I don’t know the name of it in English," said David. "But in Tamil it is called suru tai.”

Venomous snakes kill 50,000 Indians a year - more than in the rest of the world put together. They are preventable deaths - India has plenty of anti-venom, most of which is gathered by Tamil Nadu’s Irula tribe − but, ridiculously, most hospitals don’t know how to use it.

At that point I felt a hand grab my right arm. “Mat,” said the hand’s owner. “My name is Michael. I have many…” he flicked open the palm of his free hand for emphasis “…girlfriends.”

David nudged me. “Not girlfriends, Mat,” said David. “Old ladies.”

The bus erupted into wild laughter, heads wobbling all round in agreement.

“We call them AUNTIES,” said David, widening his eyes.

I looked at Michael. This ex-soldier was grinning, and his military-moulded moustache, which curled upwards on either side, seemed to form a second grin, giving him a proud double beam. His eyes twinkled back at me.

“I have four!” he said, and the rest of the bus groaned in mock disgust.

“He is not an alcoholic,” said one of the card gamblers at the back.

“He is an AUNTIE-HOLIC.”

“It’s a terrible disease,” said a second, warming to the theme. “A progressive disease, it gets worse with age…”

“You should check out his website,” said a third. “It’s called auntie.com!”

I involuntarily shook my head while holding it in my hands and letting out a low moan. My face was aching with laughter.

Salem was a sun-baked Shangri-la amid oversize sandstone boulders and gorgeous green groves. I'd made sure my round-the-world trip took me nowhere under 30 degrees Celsius. The intergroup meeting was at a large, whitewashed, medical institute that looked like a classy hotel.

Inside, the stage of the large central hall was backed with AA banners, and the side walls were decorated with badly translated AA slogans.

“Lets go and led God,” read one that should have said, “Let go and let God”. “Action is the magic world,” read another that should have said, “Action is the magic word”.

"Alcoholic: cunning, baffling, powerful," read another. It should have read, “Alcohol: Cunning, baffling, powerful”, but somehow, that one worked.

Harry led me into a kitchen at the back, where women were stirring huge steel pots the size of small cars. We wolfed down snatched handfuls of kesera − an orange-coloured semolina dessert − then made our way back into the hall, where about 200 drunks had taken their seats to listen to the opening preamble for this, the 13th anniversary of Salem AA.

The meeting had brought all the town’s separate groups together in one “intergroup”, along with visiting neighbours such as us. Amid the jelly-gobbling sounds of Tamil, I suddenly heard the words “New Zealander”. The founder of Salem AA, a huge, mirthful Toad of Toad Hall, who had hugged me warmly in greeting, was nodding at me from the stage. “Stand up,” said a voice behind me. I stood up, turned to the crowd and gave a small − appropriately sheepish − wave. Seeing those 200 faces staring back shook me; I prayed that I wouldn’t have to share later.

Then the sharing began. Each man − for they were all men − walked to the stage and tried, amateurishly, to talk into the microphone with varying degrees of success, most eventually talking above, to the side or below and failing to be entirely heard. A guy sitting on my right had a greasy side parting and an ill-fitting dental bridge that gave him a Hammer House of Horrors look. He insisted on translating everything into English for me at a volume louder than the poorly-heard speakers, much to the annoyance of those around us.

To make things worse, he laughed heartily after each unfunny translation, as if I was supposed to join in. I joined in, weakly.

Then, after an interminable hour of Tamil translation, I suddenly heard the words “Mathews, from NEW ZEALAND!” The chairman was holding out his hand and beckoning me up onto the stage. I tried a few “who, me?” looks, in a vain bid to get out of it, but it was clearly futile.

There were words of encouragement and pats on the back. I walked up on stage and nervously shook the chairman’s hand. (I later noticed that other members touched his feet in respect.) I turned to face the crowd. It seemed to have swollen − a sea of dark skin − and my heart leapt into my throat.

“Hello?” I ventured, and the word exploded shakily out from the microphone and echoed in my ears. I resolved not to look at the crowd.

I would look solely at the microphone. I hadn’t realised at the time that this made me look cross-eyed.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Tamil…”

I knew only one word in Tamil - “nandri”, or thank you. Suddenly, a man burst from the crowd. “I will translate,” he said, waving a hand in the air. It was the perpetually ecstatic Harry. I felt some degree of relief as he took up position by my side, holding a cordless microphone. I began by telling how I had been travelling to AA meetings in every country I’d visited: Australia, Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia and now India.

Slowly, the room broke into wide grins and then applause.

“Do you want me to tell my story?” I asked Harry, away from the microphone. His wide grin got impossibly wider, almost eating his moustache, and he seemed to jump up and down on the spot.

“OK, er, OK, I’ll just tell a five-minute version,” I stammered. But as I began to talk into that microphone, my plosives occasionally exploding and causing wild feedback, the strangest thoughts began rushing through my mind. It started with: “This is insane.” Then escalated to: “What am I doing here? How did I get here? Does this qualify as some sort of religious f---ing rally? Have I turned into some kind of evangelist?” Then, finally, inexplicably: “Am I wearing ladies’ underwear?” and “What is three multiplied by 286?”

Somehow, in a trance, I managed to complete my story. “Thank you,” I concluded - forgetting the single word of Tamil that I knew - and retook my seat to applause. I feared people were really feeling that I was just another rich, spoilt westerner with money and time to burn.

The meeting moved into its second and final stage as the Alanon families of the drunks entered the hall, boosting the gathering to more than 500. A beautiful, tall, teenage girl with slightly bucked teeth got up and spoke into the microphone with a confidence and professionalism that put all us drunks to shame.

She was followed by a 10-year-old, who shouted painfully, flinchingly, over the PA that her drunk parents had refused to come down with her to the meeting. She had come down with the wife of her AA neighbour.

Her parents were still fighting at home. They fought every night. She begged and begged for them to go to an AA meeting but they refused.

Her presence was a powerful gesture.

The dean of the medical institute, an elderly and elegant woman in a sky blue sari, then spoke at length about the need for ego deflation and surrendering to God’s will. To conclude, a fat, sweating South Indian spiritual leader sang beautifully, plaintively into the microphone in an opening prayer, then seemed to perform a stand-up comedy act for half an hour, reducing the perpetually gleeful Tamils into tears of laughter.

Then, three and a half hours after the meeting had begun, it was over, and I dreaded the awkwardness of having to face those to whom I’d told my story.

Within seconds, I was grabbed by more than 30 drunks, all of whom wanted me to pose for photos with them, each wrapping their arms around me as we froze for the shot. I felt embarrassed, but flattered and honoured.

I was presented with a silver platter of mutton, chicken and egg biryani that had been brought from the front of the long dinner queue for me. I sat and tried to absorb its fiery spiciness, scooped up to my mouth with my fingers, while answering questions about my marital status, age, marital status, age, and age, and marital status.

Back in the bus, Harry wrapped his arms around me, laughing. “Everybody is saying you were the highlight of the meeting,” he said, slapping me about the body with glee. “Everybody is telling me how much they enjoyed your sharing.

"Really, Mathews, you should get married. When are you going to settle down and get married?”

As we drove back under a sunset that bled through banana leaves, dripping orange down into the green-trunked shadows, I thought only one thing: “Eight hundred and fifty-eight. Three multiplied by 280 is 840. Three sixes are eighteen. Three times 286 is 858.”

And I’ve never worn ladies’ underwear.

 ©2017 by Mat Ward. All rights reserved.

Mat Ward is an Australian-based writer who was born in Manchester, England, but holds dual New Zealand citizenship from half a decade working in Auckland. He now lives in Sydney with his Tamil wife, who moved to Australia from Delhi 35 years ago, and their young Australian-born son. Mat has travelled through 46 countries, but one of his favourite, never-ending odysseys is exploring sweltering Sydney by bicycle at a slow 14 kilometres an hour. As well as "Around The World In 80 AA's", he is also the author of the book "Real Talk: Aboriginal Rappers Talk About Their Music And Country", which has been called "a must-read" by Britain's "I Am Hip-Hop" magazine. Radio show host Tommy Rock says of "Real Talk": "I was blown away by the book in that these aren't just straight up interviews, there are so many geographical points and histories. Incredible book. Can't big it up enough. Everyone should go out and get this book." It can be read online for free at www.realtalkthebook.com.

Buy “Around the World in 80 AA’s” here