#((i always was ENCHANTED by the idea of an au where she survives and somehow meets soris and marries him bc they would have been ADORABLE))

[tabriscadash]

PLAYER-CHARS HEIGHTS:

Kallian Tabris: 5′0″

Nika Kader: 4′1″

Marian Hawke: 6′0″ (Carver insists she’s 5′11″)

Malika Cadash: 4′5″

[xlehukax]

Thank You For The Music

Foreword: This is for the Sanders Sides Gift Exchange! Analogical Soulmate Au, as requested by @romantichopelessly! Happy holidays. And there’s also a playlist!  @sanderssidesgiftxchange! 

Ships: Logan x Virgil, (Background) Patton x Janus 

Word Count: 8374 

Warnings: SelectiveMute!Virgil, like one fight scene, Cursing, Logan’s ignoring feelings, it’s mainly the Logan and Virgil show... I don’t think there’s really anything! 

Summary: Logan’s been asked to assist a local student on campus. Having nothing else to do, he agrees: and so starts a connection that he would’ve never expected, and one that flowers more beautifully than he could ever imagine. (Soulmates can hear each other sing in their heads: Italics are either singing or sign language) 

~~~~~

Somehow, Logan thought his fourth year in College would feel different. Like he’s gone on some sort of journey: like he’s learned in the education manner but also in the lifestyle sort of way. 

It doesn’t appear that way. It seems like Logan’s the same. 

No friends. 

No challenges. 

Nothing to be excited about whatsoever. He’s going to college for the degree at this point, and the title alone. It’s why when the professor for his Microbiology class asks him to stay after, it shocks him. Especially so close to the end of the semester. 

Is he not doing enough? A quick inventory of his mind ensures that he hasn’t forgotten anything. The professor must need something: she’s taken a shine to him anyway, it probably isn’t bad. Logan gathers his things and then places them carefully in their individual places in his bag: once everything is where it belongs, in pockets and folders and sections, Logan presents himself to the professor. She smiles at him over the top of her laptop, eyes sparkling with mirth before shutting the lid of the machine. 

“Thank you for seeing me, Logan,” she grins. 

“I’m going to be blunt here: why have you asked me to stay? I assume that there is nothing out of order.” 

“No, no… your grades are impeccable, participation is great, and you’ve been fantastic. It’s simply that you’re so outstanding that I want to ask a favor,” his professor asks shrewdly. Logan hums for a moment, debating, before wincing in pain and clutching his temple. 

“Logan! Are you alright, dear?” 

“Ah, yes. It’s merely my soulmate,” he says by way of explanation. The professor smiles broadly. 

“How fantastic! Anything good?”

Logan quickly takes stock of the song: his mystery mate sang Overkill yesterday during Office Hours, and Sally’s Song the day before that while he was at his college apartment. He only knew because a) these were repeating songs, and b) he’d looked them up right away. Listened to them after the music fades to hold them close. 

It’s funny that he never once thinks that the original is better in any sense than the sweet song of his soulmate. His (Logan’s assumed it’s a he, based on his own sexuality and interests) music is so sweet: his voice is lilting and beautiful and it makes Logan feel so guilty. So guilty, because he must be the most beautiful man in the world and Logan hasn’t given him anything. Logan does not… sing. 

And in a world where you hear your soulmate’s singing in your own head, it’s a betrayal. 

“So? What is it?” the professor’s voice snaps him back to reality. 

“Oh, I’m not sure. It seems to go… oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. Oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. I’m a lonely boy, I’m a lonely boy,” he repeats the song in a monotone. The professor snaps her fingers. 

“Ah, The Black Keys. Lonely Boy, a classic!! It’s a good song, your soulmate has some bloody good taste. And, what are you doing, letting them be lonely like that?” she winks at him, “It’s quite the song.” 

“I do not see how this is relative to our conversation,” Logan deadpans, tired of this discourse already. If it has nothing to do with academics, he doesn’t want to hear it. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got off-topic. Anyway, you know ASL right?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Perfect,” she smiles gently, getting up from the desk and dusting herself off, “There’s a student at the school, it’s his second year: he’s mute and uses primarily ASL to communicate. So far, he’s been surviving by being with his brother. But the brother is changing schools after this semester to go to a better nursing school and… well, we need someone to look after Virgil. Virgil Williams is the name of the student and Patton Williams’s the brother. There’s not a lot of students who know ASL here, and from what I’ve heard you don’t really participate in extracurricular activities. This would be not only a great way to flesh out your resumé but also simply a great thing to do, you know, humanitarian wise. Would you be up for it?” 

Logan considers for a moment. It’s true, he doesn’t do a whole lot outside of schoolwork: he does tend to have too much free time spent re-reading books. It doesn’t have to be anything special: it’s only helping this kid when he needs it. No problem whatsoever: he’s tutored people before, it’ll be similar. 

“I don’t see why not. Do I have an opportunity to meet with them before I agree completely?” 

“Oh, of course! They should be at their dorm now… here’s the dorm number,” she passes him a slip of paper and what this job will entail and waves him off. The dorm’s only a short walk away: it’ll be less than a ten-minute walk from the lecture hall if he crosses the Courtyard. 

Logan walks briskly: he doesn’t require the extra exercise due to his rigorous workout schedule but it’s always nice to stretch his limbs. He breaks into a light jog, his bag bouncing slightly on his back as he moves, and makes it there in exactly 8.7 minutes instead of 10. Logan wipes the sweat from his brow with a cloth before entering the dormitories and heading to the shared Williams dorm. It’s on the third floor, right outside the elevators. 

Logan takes the stairs. 

He combats a sudden influx of nerves at the door: swallows it deep and regulates his features. Professional, he thinks to himself. Be professional. 

His knock is answered immediately as if they were standing at the door. Logan’s presented with a man who breaks out into a broad smile immediately: his hair is pulled up into a small bundle at the top of his head, sparse brown curls sticking out haphazardly. He’s quite large and strong-looking: he’d be intimidating if his eyes didn’t have that same sort of sparkle that the professor did, his large circle-rimmed glasses hiding absolutely nothing. 

“Oh!! You must be the guy the Prof knew!! Hello! I’m Patton!! It’s so great to meet you!! Agh, I’m so excited! Well, Virgil too,” he grins. Logan blinks. He is… a lot. 

“Greetings. I am Logan,” Logan signs the words alongside the verbal words to demonstrate his fluency. Patton squeals and Logan winces. 

“Haha, sorry about that. Again, eee! So excited! I’ll introduce you to Virgil,” Patton holds the door ajar for Logan to enter, gesturing to the small pile of shoes to remove his. Logan gently unties his trainers and places them beside a pair of Doc Martens and Toms. They’re about as different as they could be: one is black and bulky with thick purple laces, the others a sky blue with little paw prints. Polar opposites. Logan diverts his attention to Patton, who’s been jabbering on about something or other. 

“-and there he is! Virgil, come on out kiddo- meet Logan!” Patton coos at what at first glance seems to be a shadow but in reality is a man who practically hides by the door of the conjoined bedroom. He’s encompassed by an oversized hoodie. 

“Hello, it is nice to meet you, Virgil,”  he signs out silently. Patton bites his lip to stop himself from speaking, but his noises of excitement escape anyway. Virgil signs back a meek hello: his hood falls off in the process, and Logan scrutinizes the face that he’s apparently going to be assisting for a while. 

Virgil has long dark hair: unkempt and uncut, old dye lingering stubbornly on the tips of it. His eyelashes are long, drooping over his cheeks, as he avoids Logan’s gaze. He possesses dark circles under each eye- so dark it seems intentional. Virgil tugs his hood over his head the moment the silence stretches a bit too long, and he’s gone: a rabbit ducking into a hole. Logan wishes he’d put the hood back down. 

In all regards, Logan means to say that Virgil holds palpable beauty. 

The idea within itself isn’t strange: Logan understands the various societal norms and standards that society adheres to beauty and usually makes deductions off of that, but there is… something about Virgil. Virgil’s not muscular looking, or overly lean, or anything of the sort. He’s simply…  enchanting. 

“Well, say something!” Patton shouts, breaking the silence. “Or, I mean, sign something, Virge. It’s too stifled in here: do either of you want something to drink?” 

“Water?” Virgil signs. His hands are shaking.

“I’ll have one of those too,” Logan adds on. Patton smiles at the two of them and finger guns. “You can hear, correct?” Logan asks, keeping his tone easy. He makes sure to enunciate each of his words, just in case. Virgil blinks up at him moonishly. 

“Yes,” Virgil says, worrying at his lip. 

“You don’t need to be afraid. I’m only here to help you,” Logan attempts to smile at him comfortingly: judging by Virgil’s expression, it seems more like a grimace. “Let’s sit down and talk about this, alright?” Logan sighs. He pulls out a chair at their small table and lets Virgil sit in it, pushing him in. Immediately after, Virgil pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He’s vanished completely into his hoodie. 

Logan sits next to him, rather than across: he doesn’t want to make him feel like he’s being interrogated. 

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for?” Logan replies, more of a question than an assurance. “My apologies Virgil, but you’re not trying to impress me. I am simply here to introduce myself so that I can begin to help you. I am here for you. You can take as long as you want.” 

Virgil peeks out from under the hoodie like a prairie dog emerges from a hole. Hair first, then curious eyes, then his hands. 

Logan smiles. 

“Now, let’s draw up a contract here, to outline what we’ll be doing this year. I do believe,” he retrieves the papers the professor had given him, “that you already have a solution for classes, so you will not require my assistance there. It’s more after school hours and personal activities, no?” 

Virgil nods meekly. 

So… Virgil just needs a… friend? A friend who knows ASL? Logan’s heart swells in his chest: Virgil just needs a friend. 

Logan doesn’t let his excitement show: because deep down, deep enough that he’ll never admit it fully- let alone say it aloud- he’d truly like a friend too. 

And as Virgil glances over the contract and bites his nails and spares him the smallest glance before Patton returns with two glasses of water and a plate of supermarket cookies… Logan can’t help but feel like this will become more. 

The contract is solidified: Logan will go to Virgil after his classes end, assist him with homework or anything else he needs at the time. Logan will be on speed dial for him if talking to people if needed. Logan will be paid a small sum per day, as well as the equating service hours. 

Patton can’t stop thanking him with tears in his eyes. Virgil doesn’t look at him once, spares him no glances. Rather, his eyes are downcast for the next hour that Logan’s there. He has a little fidgeting toy and presses it in his lap. Logan exchanges cordially with Patton, Patton cheers animatedly, and Virgil is silent. 

“If I may ask… why now? Is this not your second year of college? Why would you leave now?” Logan asks. Patton’s expression saddens. 

“Oh… well, I’m transferring to a better medical school after this semester and- I couldn’t leave Virgil here without any help- he waited for me so we could go here together and… I can’t leave with no safety net for him,” Patton says tearily. He wipes at his eyes and goes to squeeze Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil sinks deeper into his hoodie. Logan feels deeply uncomfortable. 

“So thank you, Logan: you seem so nice, and so smart, I’m sure that I’ll be leaving him in capable hands,” Patton assures him, and then looks at the time mounted on the wall, “Oh! You must be going now, huh? I’ll walk you out,” 

“Goodbye, Virgil. I look forward to seeing you soon,” he says curtly, before letting Patton lead him back to the door. As he ties up his shoes, Logan opens his mouth hesitantly. 

“You are… you are a good brother, taking care of your younger sibling like that,” he does his best at comforting. Patton laughs at him. 

“No, no! Virgil’s my older brother by two years. Technically, he should be at your level: but he waited for me to go. We’re really close and we help each other out so… Goodness, that’s the reason why I’m doing all this, reaching out to the teachers and organizing things for him. I want to -no, I need to- help him out. Like he’s helped me,” Patton explains. Logan blinks. This means two things. 

Patton feels guilty. He feels oh so guilty, and Virgil probably feels betrayed. Betrayed and alone. 

Virgil and Logan are the same age. 

~~~~~~

The end of the first semester comes quickly. It was only a few weeks away, and Logan spends minimal time with Virgil: giving the brothers space to make amends before he comes between them. 

On the last day of the quarter, Logan makes his way to their dorm room. Music had been stuck in his head all day: his soulmate singing the same song over and over again. It’s beautiful, of course, but nagging as he tries to focus. Logan debated singing a little “shut up please” but even that little snippet of musicality makes him nervous. 

And what would his soulmate think? What would he think, after years of silence, that the first thing he gets in return is a demand for silence? Logan shivers at the thought of it. The song goes: Time is an illusion that helps things make sense, so we’re always living in the present tense- it seems unforgiving when a good thing ends, but you and I will always be back then. 

Logan likes the scientific simplicity of it, and finds himself humming along as he swiftly walks across the courtyard to the dorms. His soulmate’s voice rises with the music: piano, he thinks. His soulmate is playing the piano and singing over and over and over again. In his mind's eye, Logan wishes he could comfort him: do the soulmate things that soulmates do. Embrace him and calm him and quell his fears. The music fades in time for him to get to the dorms: Patton’s already outside, bags packed. 

Logan is giving, or rather attacked, with a hug from Patton. 

“You are leaving now, yes?” he says, trying to make it seem like he’s not worming out of the embrace despite his discomfort. Patton releases him after a moment, worrying at his lip. 

“Yeah! I’ll visit as often as I can, call me if ANYTHING happens, and-” 

“Patton,” Logan grips his shoulders, “I can handle this. Go on now,” Patton nods tearily. 

“You promise you’ll take good care of my brother? You have to- to pinky promise, because if anything happens to him it’s going to be my fault,” Patton wipes his eyes, and there’s that intimidating that he always knew Patton had the potential for: “You have to promise. I love Virgil more than anything or anyone in the world. He is the kindest, most thoughtful person. You may not see it right now, but he is. Virgil is the best person I know. You have to help him when he needs it, even if he doesn’t want it,” 

“I promise, I’ll perform to the very best of my ability Patton,” Logan says steely, “I promise. You go and pursue your dreams.” Logan and Patton both glance up to the window of the dorm that Virgil’s in: the curtains are closed, and Patton sighs. Gives Logan a meaningful look. 

Patton juts his pinky in his face, and Logan exasperatedly links his. Patton’s face brightens, and leaves to the nearby road where a taxi awaits. In Logan’s head, a new song begins. It starts with a guitar and then continues with his soulmate’s angelic voice: “Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe-” 

Logan watches him go for a moment: and then he starts walking into the dorms to check in on Virgil. Logically, he’s probably feeling due amounts of stress and uncertainty in the new situation. 

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…. images of broken light, which dance before me like a million eyes, they call me on and on across the universe,” 

Logan’s heart feels full, an odd feeling: there’s something about the music and the situation that blends and rushes into his chest so wonderfully. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be with your soulmate: life and soul singing together in perfect harmony. 

“Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box, they tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe,” 

Logan takes the stairs step by step, enjoying the music as long as he can. 

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…” the music stops all at once, guitar too: Logan misses it for only a moment, before he remembers that it’s no passing street musician but rather his soulmate. His soulmate who sings so perfectly. The soulmate he’ll never meet. 

He arrives at the Williams’ dorm- err, now just Virgil’s, and raps on the door. He waits for a “coming!” but then realizes his mistake. He waits patiently for Virgil to open it: and when he does, it’s only a crack. Logan stares back at the scrap of Virgil’s face he can see. 

His lips purse. 

“Would you like to let me in?” Logan asks gently. Virgil’s face tightens nervously, and he signs something quickly. 

“I’m not okay right now,” he says. Logan swallows. 

“Can I help with anything? Or should I leave?” he keeps his voice as soft as he can. Virgil’s head shakes a vehement ‘no’. 

“Virgil… I-” he tries to come up with a reason, a real reason for him to stay. There is none. If Virgil says he doesn’t need any help then there’s no reason to stay. Logan swallows. “If you have no need for me… then I… I should leave,” he sighs. The door closes shut behind him with a click. 

Logan’s moving to leave when he has a new idea. He raps on the door once more. Virgil’s face peers through the crack in the door again. He rolls his eyes at Logan. 

“What is it?” he signs. 

“Fancy a game of chess?” 

~~~~~

Unsurprisingly, Virgil is a silent but deadly good chess player. He’s forward thinking and takes no risks that he can’t counter the backlash of. Logan is thrilled to play with someone so astute. 

“Checkmate,” Logan announces, after a long and difficult game. Virgil huffs in mock indignation, and knocks down his own king. “You’re quite proficient at this, Virgil. We should play more often.” 

Virgil blushes, signing a quick “Thank you” and then zipping his hoodie up further. Logan finds himself smiling at him. 

“Would you like to go again? Or do you have work to do that I can help you with?” 

“Again,” Virgil signs, hands quivering slightly. Logan chuckles and resets the board for another go. Virgil bites at his nails and waits. It’s too quiet without Patton’s incessant yammering. Logan decides to ask the first question that comes to mind. 

“Do you have a soulmate?” 

Virgil makes sweater paws and ducks into his hoodie more. 

“Oh- I’m sorry, is that a bad topic-” 

“No. I do not have one.” 

There’s been cases of people ‘missing’ soulmates: only to find that they were dead, or that they didn’t want a soulmate and merely ignored them. Or like Logan, who don’t sing whatsoever. 

“Ah… well, that’s a shame, Virgil. You’d be amazing to have as a soulmate, I’m sure,” 

Virgil flushes deeper, if it’s possible, and hugs himself. Logan finds himself smiling again: Virgil’s cute. 

Perhaps he said it out loud, because then Virgil’s growling at him and signing a “Fuck you, I am not!” 

“Maybe just a little bit?” Logan teases, he teases, such an odd and different thing for him to do. But teasing Virgil is different. It’s like another game and Logan doesn’t feel out of place or silly: it’s still serious.

“No! No!” 

“I think you are,” 

“No! What? No!” 

“Hmm,” Logan merely says, finishing the chess board. 

~~~~~

His soulmate has a crush. A sort of crush that’s teetering constantly between deep pining and attempting to squash it. 

It’s apparent, between the lines of “Fly Me To The Moon” and “despair”. In other words, I love you. Cause it’s not romantic, I swear. Fill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore. I want you to be here, but please don’t come near. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore. It’s not love, I swear. 

Today’s song is “Raincoat” (according to the internet) and if that’s not appropriate, Logan doesn’t know what is. Once more, Logan wishes he has the confidence to thank him for the soundtrack that’s been accompanying his life as it rises in joy each day. 

These songs… they’re a quick change from the dreary songs that had been going on a few weeks ago. Logan, ironically, doesn’t mind the sappiness, actually. Usually he would, but it fits his recent joy. 

Virgil’s exactly what he wanted, what he could’ve never hoped for. He’s smart, he’s clever, he’s shrewd, he’s not touchy, he respects boundaries… 

It’s perfect. Logan goes and sticks with him each and every weekday after classes end. They work together, they read together, they watch True Crime shows, they eat dinner together, they play chess and cards and backgammon and Clue and everything possible. They talk: and miracles upon miracles, Virgil seems to like him. 

Today is different. Today is a weekend: there’s no real reason that Virgil should need him, he’s never before, but he was invited to have lunch with him anyway. Even though it’s going to be snowing! Even though it’s freezing! Even though in any other instance Logan would be curled up at home with a good book and Star Trek. And rather… rather they’re going to get Hot Pot at the small university town in Logan’s ramshackle car. It gives Logan the strange feeling of hope rising in his chest that Virgil wants him around as much as he does. That Virgil enjoys it as much as he does. 

Enjoys the company, the quiet, the whole thing. 

He doesn’t even have to go up to the dorm: Virgil’s waiting for him outside the building. Logan waves after he gets out of his secondhand car: Virgil offers a small one in return and walks up to him. He’s all bundled up in several mismatched layers: though he still wears aggressively ripped jeans with skinny knees peeking through, he’s wrapped in several warm coats. 

Logan gets a sudden urge to press a kiss to his shaggy hair and hug him tightly, the slouching man at the ideal height. He squashes it quickly, blushing anyway at the mere thought of such romances, and lets Virgil into the passenger seat without looking at him. Virgil taps his hands on the front of the car, a rare grin donning his features. Logan swallows. 

Virgil has never looked more beautiful than he does right now. With a smile and all of those layers and his hood just barely adorning his head. Logan notices now that his makeup is different today: a sparkling purple rather than the usual dark tones. 

“Where to, Virgil?” 

“I do not care!” he signs excitedly. Logan chuckles. 

“How about sushi, then?” 

Virgil smiles and nods. Logan sets the car into reverse, and then drives out of the parking lot. Virgil fiddles with his fingers. I should say something…

“Would… would you like to listen to any music, Virgil?” Virgil’s head bobs an exuberant yes, and Logan gestures to the old car radio: Virgil fiddles with it, and finally ends up with a channel that’s not staticy. 

‘You’d be like heaven to touch… I want to hold you so much,’ At the beginning of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ Virgil sinks into his hoodie: Logan casts his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at Virgil- the scrap of his face that he can see is ruby red. At least the car isn’t silent anymore, he thinks to himself. Virgil’s quiet (well, not signing), and the song plays to completion and fades into “This Guy’s In Love With You”. Virgil, if it’s possible, seems to hide even more. 

“We’re almost there, do you want me to turn it off, Virgil?” Logan suggests. 

“It’s fine.” 

“If you say so… seems like you’re hiding but…” 

“Fuck you.” 

‘Say you’re in love, in love with this guy… if not, I will just die’ 

Logan turns off the radio as they turn into the parking lot of the local sushi joint. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to Virgil. 

“Eat in or take out?” 

“To go,” he signs. Logan hums: maybe one day, they’ll be able to go out together for a meal. Virgil doesn’t like public places due to his anxiety, and Logan doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable and he’d never push him but… it is a classic ‘friend’ activity to go out for dinner together. It would be nice, but having a friend generally is nice and he’s not about to lose him over some stereotype. 

Virgil’s not ordinary, so why would their friendship be? 

“Come now, Virgil, let’s order,” Logan gets out of the car, helps Virgil out, locks the car. It all feels very normal, very quaint. He has to admit that he enjoys it, despite what one would think if they met him. 

Walking into the restaurant is normal. Ordering food (ordering for both of them)? Also normal. They wait for their sushi in the front, Virgil warming his hands by blowing on them. 

“Do you enjoy spending time with me?” 

The question bursts out of Logan with little warning: he doesn’t even register that he said it until after it’s out of his mouth. He’s about to rescind the words when Virgil responds. 

“Yes. Yes. I love spending time with you,” He blushes slightly, looking away, “And you make me feel safe.” 

Logan blushes: he grabs the newly presented food and goes back to the car- but Virgil grabs his sleeve. 

“Do you want to sit in the park?” Virgil asks, nervous after the flurry of hands.

“It’s freezing outside,” 

“I know,” he signs, his expression saddening slightly.

“There’s no one out here.” 

“I know, I can see. I’m mute not blind,” Virgil rolls his eyes, heading for the car already. Logan chuckles and clasps his shoulder: Virgil stiffens under his touch.

“I don’t think I said I didn’t want to,” he teases. Virgil’s eyes widen, and then a smile creeps up his lips. 

“Okay!” Logan and Virgil walk right next to each other into the park: Virgil signs quite fast that he rather likes the cold, and that the skeletal trees remind him of his favourite movie, and does Logan like Nightmare Before Christmas, and what about stop animation? And halloween movies? 

Logan chuckles and answers all of his questions, slowly fielding them back to him. Virgil never talks this much when they’re in public. It’s nice to see him opening up, Logan thinks to himself pridefully, Is this my doing? 

He doesn’t mean to preen, but it happens anyway. 

“Why are you doing that with your chest?” 

“Oh, apologies, Virgil. It was accidental.” Logan reels himself back in: it’s so strange to have to do that. He’s never done anything like that, something that breaks his front stage appearance. It’s odd: like there’s another, smaller, smiling, animated Logan inside of him. A little Logan that’s been ignored and malnourished for a while now. Virgil giggles though, and Logan stops amidst his musings to stare at him. 

That was… cute. Why was that cute? Genuinely cute, not teasingly. 

Virgil catches him staring and glares at him, though his cheeks flush. 

“What are you looking at, nerd?” 

“Ah- it’s nothing. Would you like to sit down here and eat?” Logan points to a random bench: Virgil shrugs and sits, holding his arms open for his food. Giving him his food and sitting down next to him is a battle of wills: if it was another other person, in any other situation, he’d excuse himself and leave. But it’s Virgil, and the man looks so thrilled to just sit with him: it’s his friend. He’s not abandoning him. Even if his emotions are crawling up his throat. 

The silence is amicable as they eat. The first flakes of snow start to fall, and Virgil’s attention is drawn to them immediately. He watches the snowflakes float down slowly, enraptured. 

“You’d think you’ve never seen snow before,” Logan chuckles. 

“Fuck off,” Virgil signs fluidly. He doesn’t even look at Logan, simply eats his sushi and quickly stands to spin in the snow. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Yes,” Logan agrees, as he watches Virgil laugh quietly and kick the powder around, as Virgil’s eyelashes are decorated with snowflakes, as he holds his tongue out like a child, as Virgil looks so free and unafraid in his lonesome company… “It’s quite beautiful indeed.” 

~~~~

Patton’s coming back in two weeks. The second semester is almost over, spring finally showing her colours after a frigid winter, and Logan’s almost nervous. The music in his head doesn’t help whatsoever to calm him. What if something changes? It’s not like Patton’s staying, he’s allegedly very happy at his new school, but… Logan can’t help but worry at the idea that something in their dynamic will change irreparably if Patton reenters. 

There’s nothing you can do about it, he assures himself once again, Just keep doing your job. Logan’s class lets out early, and he takes a brisk jog to meet Virgil outside his class. By now, Logan knows his schedule by heart and knows where to meet him. 

He waits outside the lecture hall, student after student exiting… he waits until it’s fifteen minutes after his class has ended. Frowning, Logan peeks inside: it’s devoid of people, even the professor. 

“Virgil?” he calls out into the empty room fruitlessly. Panic starts to rise inside of his chest as he calls for the anxious man. “Virgil? Virgil, where are you?” 

He searches each aisle of the lecture hall, calling Virgil’s cell phone. Virgil hates it when he calls him, but if he’d just pick up, it means he’s okay. Logan feels incredibly antsy as he runs out of the room, sprinting at full force (he’s a strong man) around campus calling for Virgil. He wipes at his face: he can’t have the budding tears block his vision. He needs to find Virgil. 

“Virgil, where are you? Virgil, I need to find you. Virgil, please please be okay,” he dashes around a corner and drives his heels in to stop. 

Virgil. 

His beloved hoodie in a secluded alleyway. 

Logan reaches down and grasps it: he’d never leave it alone, let alone in a public place. Logan shakily picks it up into his hands, feeling the fabric: it’s dirtied. He gently folds it and puts it under his arm.

He’s starting to walk away when he hears the muffled shout and the sound of a punch’s impact. 

“Oh, so you want to talk now, huh?” Another punch. “Fucker.” 

Logan walks purposefully in the direction of the noise: two large women and one large man are whaling on Virgil, kicks and punches and spit, who’s curled up on the paved ground in the fetal position. Logan takes out the first buff woman with a strong punch to the side of her face, the second with a well placed kick and shove. The man runs away, pulling his fellows along with him. 

“Virgil, they’re gone now. Are you alright?” 

Virgil makes a broken sob, holding his midsection with his eyes downcast, and spits out some blood. Logan sighs and bends down to Virgil’s level, and wipes his mouth with a handkerchief from his book bag. He gives Virgil his hoodie (which he takes to immediately) and rubs his back. 

I should’ve gone after them, made them pay- 

“OH MY STARS, are the two of you alright?” a fanciful voice calls out from the entrance of the alley way. 

“We just saw a trio of assholes running away with some wicked bruises-” 

“Remus, that’s not the point!” The two boys walk into the alley, one worrying with a red letterman’s jacket and coiffed hair, the other (Remus) morbidly interested with a large denim jacket and wild hair sticking up every which way. They have the same face, unnervingly, though the wilder one sports a partially-grown mustache and the other has a scar though his eyebrow. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite. Are you okay?” Remus asks, extending a hand to Virgil. Virgil looks away and tucks into Logan more. Remus retracts his hand with a shrug. Logan gives the both of them steely looks. 

“If you’re here to promote any more harm or mockery, I advise you to leave concurrently.” 

“Ooh, put those big words away, Daddy,” Remus mocks. His brother elbows him roughly. 

“Remus, be nice. They’ve clearly been through quite the ordeal! Greetings, I’m Roman, this is Remus. We’re in Virgil’s class, and we saw him being… escorted, one could call it-” 

“Forcibly swept away!” 

“-Thank you Remus, out of class so we followed along after reporting it to the professor. He seems to be in quite a state: is there anything we can do?” Roman finishes, rolling his eyes at his twin. Logan sighs and adjusts his glasses. He doesn’t want to accept their help. He can take care of Virgil by himself. But…

He takes a closer look at the poor beaten man, at his bloodied mouth and shirt and his bruises and scrapes and thinks beyond him. 

“I thank you for reporting it to the teacher. This is a heinous act, and I loathe to think of what would’ve happened if I arrived later or not at all,” he attempts to look thankful, but judging by their expressions, it doesn’t work. Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Could you alert the on campus clinic that we’ll be coming? One of you? The other can make sure they don’t come back as I take Virgil there,” with that, Logan takes a deep breath and gets to his feet, holding Virgil tightly in his embrace. Virgil turns into him, making a pained sound. 

It breaks Logan’s poor heart. My friend, my friend, my friend- he’s hurt. 

“It’s alright, Virgil. I’ve got you, you’re safe now,” he whispers to him. 

“Cute!” “Ick.” 

“Oh come on now, Remus, they’re precious!”

“I came over here for the bloody beat down! Not touchy feely lovey-dovey!” 

“I will never understand you. You’re absolutely vile,” 

“Ah, look in the mirror lately?” 

“Excuse me,” Logan growls, diverting their attention from their bickering, “Are you going to help or not?” 

“Ugh,” Remus rolls his eyes, “I guess I’ll go to the clinic.” 

“Goodbye, Remus- you see, he’s a bit of a pain, always been that way,” Roman sticks his tongue out childishly at Remus, who returns the gesture in a more lewd fashion. “Alright, let’s help the emo up,” Roman extends his hands to help: Logan turns away, holding Virgil alone. 

“He is not emo. Virgil is a selective mute,” Logan frowns at Roman. 

“Aha, it’s just a mere quip!” 

“Oh,” Logan swallows. They walk in near silence to the infirmary: How weird it is that the silence with Virgil seems familial and warm but with this Roman it feels charged and uncomfortable. 

“You aren’t a very funny guy, are you?” 

“Excuse me?” Logan glares at him through his glasses, holding Virgil tighter. 

“Take no offense, but I mean… you’re very uptight! Serious. Grumpy. Straight to the point. I’ll stop prattling on synonyms, but I think you get the point now,” Roman explains. 

“I- I’ve never thought about it that way. I presume you’re right,” he frowns. Logan’s never felt like any of those: he just likes working. And now he feels foolish: perhaps that’s the reason that he’s never gotten anywhere socially. Is it his inability to “quip”? 

Would Virgil be happier with him if he could? 

As if he heard his thoughts, Virgil winces in pain in his arms. 

“Oh! Virgil. Should I hold you differently? Are you uncomfortable?” Virgil looks up at Logan blearily: his eyes open in recognition and a full-face blush breaks out all over his face. Virgil takes a bruised hand to hide his face. 

“Awe look at ‘im! Debbie Downer is shy!” Logan whirls over to glare at Roman’s almond eyes angrily. Virgil turns away. 

“Don’t talk to him that way,” he growls. Roman flushes and stammers. 

“It was only teasing!” 

“It was hurtful, and the last thing he needs right now is that. So do me a favor and leave those quips to yourself,” he reprimands. 

“Yes, sir,” Roman salutes. Logan looks away from him and back to Virgil. 

“Hey. Why did those thugs hurt you anyway?” he questions. Virgil frowns. “You don’t have to tell me-” 

“No- I will. I was- I was singing in the bathroom,” he signs shyly. 

“Wait- how could you-” 

“Sometimes I talk when I’m alone. Or sing. I’m nervous around people, when I’m by myself it’s okay,” 

“Oh,” Logan shouldn’t feel so betrayed, he knows he shouldn’t: this is the way Virgil is, after all. He’s a selective mute. He can speak when he wants. And if he doesn’t want to speak around Logan well- it’s fine. It’s his choice. 

It shouldn’t bother Logan. 

“So those jerks beat you up purely for the angelic music of your soul? Their cruelty knows no bounds, if they were to hurt you for communicating with your soulmate! How dare they, those vile, disgusting, cotton headed ninny muggin ruffians!” Roman supplies, filling Logan’s silence with declarations of war. Virgil laughs slightly at Roman, rolling his eyes. Logan swallows his questions, his pleas for “what about me?”. 

Virgil can like whoever he wants. It doesn’t have to be just Logan. 

~~~~

Virgil had asked Logan to drive him to the airport to pick up Patton. Logan wanted to say no, to say that he didn’t want to, hell, just leave him at the airport but… Virgil’s face betrayed his excitement, and Logan couldn’t put him down. 

So now he’s waiting in the pick up zone with his car, waiting for Virgil to come back and completely ignore him again. Logan blinks.

Is that what this is about? 

Does some part of Logan, some illogical part that manipulates his feelings, worry that Patton would mean Logan’s out of the picture? Logan grips the steering wheel. It’s Virgil’s choice! If he wants to hang out with Patton, sure. Sure. It’s fine. 

Logan makes a low growl. 

It’s not fine. 

~~~~

And… there was nothing he could do. He stopped coming to visit Virgil during the mid-semester break: why should he? Virgil was with Patton. He’s happy. He doesn’t need Logan around… 

Logan hates it. He hates not going over each day, each class ending with Virgil’s tiny smile. 

He hates his soulmate, whoever he is, for singing so sadly whenever he wakes up. 

“What's the name of the game? Does it mean anything to you? What's the name of the game? Can you feel it the way I do? Tell me please, 'cause I have to know… I'm a bashful child, beginning to grow…” 

“Shut up,” Logan tells him quietly each time he goes at it again, “Shut up. I don’t want your questions, I can’t answer them.” 

Logan, for the first time in his life, isn’t happy doing his work. There’s no gratification from finishing something: there’s no hunched over man beside him gesturing wildly as he finishes so quickly. There’s no giggle as he presses his glasses higher on his nose: there’s no smack on the shoulder when he corrects his work. It’s so… so bland. Was it always like this? 

Before Virgil, was it always like this? 

Logan finishes his test and hands it in at the front: his professor gives him a confused look. Logan twitches as his soulmate starts to sing: “It's you I like… not the things you wear…” 

“Is everything okay, Mr. Adleman? You seem… listless, lately. Distracted. And you took all of the allotted time to finish your work- quite out of the ordinary, I’d say,” 

“I assure you, sir, everything is normal,” he merely says, before adjusting his bag and exiting the classroom. 

“Not the way you do your hair… but it's you I like,” 

“Shut up,” Logan murmurs under his breath, walking stiffly with his head down down the hall. His soulmate’s voice is beautiful, as beautiful as always… but Logan can’t bear it. He’s already dealing with so much! To hear his soulmate’s longing notes doesn’t help. If anything, it exasperates his issues. Logan is grumbling under his breath when he hears it: and suddenly, all his issues get worse. 

Patton’s in a classroom, with his teacher and a few students, singing to them: 

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…” 

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…” and his soulmate croons at the same time. 

“Not the things that hurt you, not your toys; they're just beside… you,” 

“Not the things that hurt you, not your toys; they're just beside… you,” 

They both stop at the same note, and Logan swallows. 

Patton. 

Patton, smiley, hazel-eyed, exuberant, talkative, Patton, is his soulmate? Patton, the Patton he’s been mildly despising for the past few days.

 I can’t believe it. But I presume… he has a right to know. And maybe we can make this work? 

“Ah… Patton,” Patton’s face whirls to Logan’s in the door, and his face lights up. Logan can’t help but set his face: aren’t soulmates supposed to elicit some kind of joy in their partners? When they finally figure it out, isn’t it supposed to be some revelation? 

“Logan!! How nice!! I haven’t seen you this whole trip, what a delight! Virgil’s been all out of sorts without you around, it seems,” Patton grins, sliding off the desk he was sitting on and walking over to Logan. 

“I- I think- I think you’re my soulmate,” he stammers. 

“What?” 

“I- I heard your singing, in my head, as you were singing in here-” 

“Oh my god. No, no, Logan,” Patton smiles at Logan tearfully, his hands landing on his shoulders, “That was Virgil. I started singing that song because Virgil was singing it again when I left.” 

“That’s- that’s impossible how-”

“If you need any more proof, then just look at my soulmate: I met him at school, he flew in after me,” Patton smiles dreamily and waves at a man sitting in the corner, typing on his phone: he has two black forearm crutches and deep burn scars  across the left side of his face. 

“Hullo,” he greets from the other side of the room, “I’m Janus. Pleasure, fellow Patton soulmate,” Logan’s mouth dries as Patton giggles. 

“It’s really Virgil. That- that makes a lot of sense but- I can’t believe it-” 

“Okay, how about this, Lo?” Logan’s nose scrunches at the nickname, “I’m going to send a message to Virgil: and you go sneak back to the apartment. He’ll sing. It’ll match up. Then you have to confess. He’s thought he’s been alone… for so long. He’ll be so happy: so thrilled to have a soulmate… even more so if it’s you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Patton shakes his head, chuckling. Logan looks away: his teary eyes are too much for him. Logan clears his throat. 

“Let our third go, Pat!” Janus calls, his voice smooth. Logan casts him a glare, though he blushes, and walks off. Thousands of thoughts swirl through his head, clouding his vision. He almost loses his way to the dorms. His mind is so full, so so so full, and then a voice breaks through it all. 

“If I could ride a bike, I’d zoom around the world, with you sitting there behind me…” 

Logan’s breath hitches. If that’s Virgil, he hates not seeing it before. Meeting him and not loving him right away. Not beating around the bush. But embracing him with everything he is, using all he knows to help all he needs. 

“I’ll take you to places, past several faces… just livin life so carefree. If I could sail a boat, I'd cruise across the seas, a sweet adventure for us two,” 

His pace increases as he gets to the dorms: he runs up the stairs maybe a little too fast. The music increases in volume but perhaps it’s in his head. The door to Virgil’s room is cracked open. 

“I'll be Jack and you Rose, just please don’t let me go, cause I'll be nothing without you. Oh when you call me… I'm drifting on clouds, like I'm dreaming,” 

Logan’s footsteps falter as he peers through the door. Virgil, with a guitar, singing those notes so sweetly. It matches up in his head, it matches perfectly, and despite himself, Logan starts to er up. It’s perfect harmony, it makes his heart swell and the whole world brightens. 

This is what it’s supposed to be like.  This is my soulmate. Virgil’s voice rises and falls, and it becomes so mind numbingly soft. 

“But in the morning, I'll wake up and see that you're stuck… here with me,” Virgil sings, his voice sad, “If only you knew, what I would do for you. I'd jump up and hold you… so tightly…” Virgil sobs, “Logan. Logan. I’m sorry. Whatever I did. I’m sorry. I miss you.” 

Logan’s chest pulls. His voice is like an angel. Virgil, his soulmate, wants him back. Everything he thought… was wrong. He needs to tell him, he needs to- 

No. No, it would embarrass both of them, and Virgil’s anxious. He needs to do it in a way that would make no room for error, no room for suspicion of any foul intent. 

Logan… needs to sing. 

~~~~ 

It’s all planned out, only a few days later. The sun is out, the weather is warm. Patton has Virgil entertained, introducing him to Janus in the front lawn. Roman and Remus are keeping people away in their respective fashions so that they have privacy. Logan adjusts his tie, getting ready in their apartment. He wants to have the song at it’s apex before meeting him as his soulmate. 

Logan clutches the ring in his pocket: a customary soulmate ring, black and fitted to Virgil’s finger. They haven’t been together, and he doesn’t have to accept it of course but… he wants to do this right.  

This has to be perfect. 

He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to sing. 

“I'm nothing special, in fact I'm a bit of a bore… If I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before,” Logan sings softly. He chuckles- something so foriegn to him, so averse to what he wanted to do just a week ago- and he doesn’t sound bad. As he sings the next few lines, he runs out to the window by the elevators and can just barely make out Virgil on a picnic blanket rising to his feet and looking around confusedly. Logan carefully walks down the stairs, taking his time as he goes: 

“So I say- thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing. Thank you for all the joy they’re bringing: who can live without it? I asked in all honesty, what would life be- without a song or a dance, what are we? So I say thank you for the music, for giving it… to me,” he sings, breaking out into the fresh air. Logan sings the next few stanzas under his breath, making his way to Virgil’s picnic spot. Virgil’s standing up, shaking Patton’s shoulder and signing wildly. 

“I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair: I wanna sing it out to everybody…. What a joy, what a life, what a chance!” his voice rises as he nears the grass, heart beating wildly. 

Virgil’s fallen to his knees, his crying sounding even from where Logan stands, dozens of feet away. 

“Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing. Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty… What would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we? So I say thank you for the music,” he’s suddenly close, standing at Virgil. Virgil looks up, tears running down his face. He gasps: he smiles: he laughs. “For giving it to me.” 

Virgil stumbles to his feet, and wraps his arms around Logan’s middle. He chuckles, and hugs him back, squeezing him tightly. Virgil cries into his chest, hiccuping and laughing all the same. 

“So I say,” he rubs his back, and presses a light kiss into his hair, “Thank you for the music, for giving it… to me.” 

There’s no fanfare, no wild confetti or cheering. It’s quiet, as Patton and Janus laugh and Virgil tearily accepts his ring before digging back into his chest. It would be perfect like this but then… 

“Logan,” Virgil whispers, hiding in his chest, “Logan.” It’s so quiet, but it makes his heart burst in joy. Virgil didn’t have to say anything, he would love him anyway, but it shows. It shows the trust. 

“Surprise,” he whispers back, pulling him in closer. “Thank you. For everything, Virgil.”

~~~~~

The End! Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed! 

Taglists:

Anything & Everything: @myraiswack, @blindtaleteller, @head-over-heart, @karushinekomiya

Sides of the Sanders: @a-goldengirl-in-a-condominium246 

If you enjoyed, please reblog- it truly means the world.

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No relationship is all sunshine, but two people can share one umbrella and survive the storms together- Adrien AUGrest Day 3

Doing this event again and even though there are less prompts, still might only be able to do a few. Still hope you like this though, it a Descendants AU, with Adrien as Rapunzel and Eugene’s son and Luka and Juleka as Captain Hook’s kids, but they were looked after by their mom cause Arnaka is amazing. Umbrella

Adrien wasn’t sure if it was his anger that made him blind to the weather outside. He had a good reason; it was like most of the council didn’t even care about those from the Isle. Most of his classmates thought they were hooligans who deserved to live there. No one deserved to live in complete poverty, with no running water or access to food. That fact that it had been allowed to go on for 20 years and for those heroes who started out from humble beginnings to not care? It filled him with rage he didn’t know he had.

Did he want Mother Gothel anywhere near his mom? No, of course not? She kidnapped her and locked her in a tower and tried to kill his father, not to mention abandon his Aunt Cassandra. But if she had a child, then that child deserved to live life not suffering for food. He didn’t know how many of the villains had changed and cared about their children now, but from what he got from the new VKs attending their school now, there weren’t many. The number of heroes who wanted things to change were so few it was taking so much to even get the council to listen to him.

Maybe dating a VK made things harder but he wouldn’t change that for the world. Maybe he got his type from his mom, rugged guys who had hearts of gold. Though, Luka was nowhere near as vain as his dad could be when he got into one of his moods.

He stared at the rain, thinking about how unfair everything was and how his home was full of hypocrites when he heard a welcome voice.

“Stuck in the rain kitty cat?”

Luka, son of one Captain James Hook, was nothing like his father. He had a mild temper, was a mother duck and didn’t hate the people of Auradon on principal. He said it was because of Anastasia, Cinderella’s step sister, talking about all the good things Cinderella did for her. Adrien just thought Luka had a kind heart to not judge before he met people. Adrien made himself available as a friend when the VKs came to Auradon and Luka just accepted it without judgement. They’d talked and interacted the longest and what had first been a simple flirting to keep the more overzealous girls at bay, turned into giving him baked goods as a thank you then an invite to explore the Enchanted Woods and teaching Luka how to swim better in the Lake and then…the kiss. It just happened, Luka somehow more nervous to swim in a lake than shark infested sea water and holding on to the edge of the stone gazebo, Adrien calming him down, them staring at each other and it just, happening. Adrien felt fireworks and he knew.

Not that anything after had been easy. Telling people turned out to be the worst idea ever. None of his Auradon friends wanted him with Luka, thinking the pirate had spelled him. The VKs that didn’t trust Adrien thought he was only with him for publicity. It was hard and difficult and Luka was so worth it, but he questioned if they were making the right choice. His parents assured him he was.

“When you met someone, you know can change your whole world, it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. You need to listen with your heart.” His mom said.

“Besides, no relationship is all sunshine, but two people can share one umbrella and survive the storms together. that’s what your grandparents told us after we wondered if we could still get married after the whole debacle with your Aunt Cassandra.” His dad explained.

If his parents, who’d been two totally different people made it work, than he could do it with Luka. and so far, despite the storm they faced with judgement, they kept each other warm through it all.

“Hi my jolly sailor.” Adrien loved how Luka looked in his black coat, the snake wrapped around the Jolly Roger living on its back.

“You look upset.” Luka said sympathetically. He always seemed to understand how Adrien was feeling, even without saying anything.

“Meeting didn’t go well. How they can spout about being heroes yet turn their backs on people in need, I’ll never understand. Plus this rain isn’t helping.” Adrien said pouting at it.

“I like the rain.” Luka said.

“But it’s always cloudy on the Isle.”

“Yes. The barrier doesn’t make the weather the greatest but I don’t know. Maybe it was because mom is always with us, but when the rain would turn into a storm and rock the boat, she’d have me and Jules lay with her on a hammock and we’d feel the boat rock back and forth. Even hearing dad yell at the other pirates to secure the boat didn’t bother me. It just felt really relaxing. Honestly, the rocking boat has been the thing I’ve been missing the most.”

“Not your mom?”

“Well, we video chat with her whenever Fairy Godmother can arrange it and speak for ages after that, so it’s not too bad. But yeah, the boat rocking always made me fall asleep easier.”

Adrien didn’t know how he didn’t realise the dark circles under Luka’s eyes. Now that he knew they seemed to stand out more against his eyeliner. Part of him felt guilty that Luka seemed to always be there, even when the night got late if Adrien asked to see him. He opened his mouth to ask when Luka started to pull his jacket off.

“Didn’t bring an umbrella. I was waiting here when it started up, so we’ll have to run fast. I suggest holding on to your bag tight, ok?” Luka said, lifting his jacket so it was over their heads and stepped close to him. “Ready?”

Adrien nodded. While Luka was more open than the rest of the VKs, he would still clam up if Adrien pushed too hard. So he’d have to plan a little.

                                           _________________

“Ok, step up. Oh, sorry!” Adrien said, tilting the umbrella back so Luka wouldn’t get wet again. It was still raining later in the week, which was perfect for what Adrien had planned.

“Kitty, what are we doing?” Luka asked, still obediently covering his eyes with a gloved hand. His hair was starting to curl slightly from the rain.

“You’ll see.” He brought them to the middle, letting Luka stay close so they were both under the umbrella. “Ok, open your eyes.”

Luka did as he as told, looking around at the rather old school yacht they were standing on. The sails were tied up and the seating on the deck were covered to protect them from the rain, but the elegant lines of the 33m VIP ketch still stood out in the greyness of the rain.

“Where are we?”

“On the Flynn Rider, my parents’ yacht. My dad sailed around when he was pretty young so he chooses this one and named it after the name he went by when he met my mom for the first time. It was from a story book he read when he lived in the orphanage. He says if he never read the stories, he would never have met mom later. You said you like sleeping on a rocking boat in the rain. It doesn’t shake that much but it’s still pretty ok. No hammock but you can still feel the rocking on my loft bed. Is this, ok?”

Luka took the umbrella from Adrien to free Adrien up to be pulled closer and kissed him. “You certainly always surprise me kitty. It’s prefect, thank you. you up for cuddling with this pirate?”

“Always.”

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uncanny valley (pg, 1972 words, Bratva AU)

A very happy and hearty post-finale (because I refuse to say “farewell”) Olicity wish to this wonderful fandom, and especially @nikscaroline​, who asked for jealous/possessive Bratva!Oliver. I haven’t written a lot of him in that space, so welcome to this AU (inspired in part by this image, which I’ve been hanging onto for, oh, a year or so? Thanks for the great prompt to finally use it, Irvane!)

By @effie214​

Summary: In aesthetics, the uncanny valley is the relationship between the degree of an object’s resemblance to a human being and the emotional response to such an object.

© Pawel Piotrowski

  The bite of the Boston winter is not unlike that of Russia. 

What’s unfamiliar to him, however, is the light he sees when he lays eyes on her for the first time. It’s not from the waning colors of the mid-December sun as it sets, nor even the light emanating from behind her in the room in the second house from the right in Fall River. He doesn’t see the blonde hair that he’ll catch wisps of in the corner of his eye as she eliminates his blind spot entirely; doesn’t see the blue eyes that will look up at him at first in fear, then in meditation, and finally in a trust that shakes him to his core with a chill more biting than any snow could ever muster. 

He does not see the hands that the Bratva have tracked here, to Felicity Smoak and her ridiculous boyfriend, as they nearly – and, he’s sure, unintentionally, but if there’s anyone who knows that all roads to each hell, for there are many, and their devils multifaceted, it’s Oliver Queen – brought down one of the outfit’s most brilliant money laundering schemes through fake student loan payments and “donations” to various colleges and universities. He does not see the fingers that will shake first as he enters her house unannounced, the ones that will scratch and claw and tear at him the way fear will do the same to the soul he thought he’d buried in the South China Sea when she stupidly – brilliantly, for even in her folly, she will be his guiding genius – pushes him out of the way of a bullet aimed for a heart that, were it still there, would by that point belong to her. He does not hear the voice screaming into the silence for help, the one that sounds like his from so many last chances ago, lost in the echo of the waves and a recoiling gunshot. He sees nothing, feels nothing, hears nothing of this place; only knows the emptiness Anatoly has trained him to be in order to survive. He is as empty as a valley, but as he stands in the darkness that knows his name better than he does, he looks up to that light, and the shades of grey fall from his eyes as he sees the stars that he will come to understand reside in hers – not of fancy or fantasy, but of unshakeable strength even the hardest men he knows will cower beneath. He sees a precipice, a choice he’s somehow going to be given even as he plans to take away hers. He somehow sees something that shakes him from his stone: she in her uncanny nature will breathe him back to life, and he gasps against it; not the salvation, for no person – even as important as she will become to him – will ever give him that, even in the wee small hours and the tiniest sighs of hope. No, he does it because he knows – somehow he just knows – she will make him man again, instead of the many mistakes he is built of. In his old life, the one built on so much promise and so easily parted with, it had been easy to turn Judas; run from the things he was too small for. Even as he’s been warped and weathered like storm season on the island, even as he has been laid bare and barren as the Siberian winter, alone because there is no strength found in numbers, only vulnerability, somehow he looks upon her and see the Atlas to his Sisyphys, the one who will roll his truth and all their consequences up a hill of his own making. 

He cowers in that already towering presence, palms burning not from frigid temperature but from the feel of her waist in his hand as they work undercover, the pink silk of her dress crinkling easily beneath his possessive hand as she tries to charm their latest mark to get her into his study, when the jealousy becomes too much and he gives into the basest of instincts to tell the world she’s his. His ears sing not in the winter wind but with the forgotten feeling of calmness that slides down his being with her voice in his ear, the only one he trusts – a partner, even if he cannot say the word. It will start first with short, angry reminders of her nut allergy, then with clipped efficiency as she talks him through his missions. A surprised, soft “thank you” that will come when he brings her a cup of coffee every time he refills his own mug as she runs search programs and he reads the results; the adorably offended laugh that unintentionally escapes her when he effortlessly makes an omelette for her at three in the morning after she goes through almost an entire dozen trying to do it herself; the gentle, soothing words as she prays in Hebrew that he doesn’t know but understands all the same – even if it terrifies him to realize one night during Passover that he’d kept his eyes open and on her the entire time, enchanted by her face lit by flames of her belief instead of the ashes of his own aftermaths. 

  His eyes tear not because of the plea he’ll see in hers when the Bratva captains try to make him think Interpol has struck a deal with her so he’ll banish her long and far enough that they can take her out, because they don’t trust her as Oliver does – with the life he only thinks might be worth saving when he hears her tiny sigh of relief when he returns each time from wherever he’s been, to that place called home that he hadn’t even realized was there until he walks into her upstairs office and she does the same to his life, changing everything – and she stands toe to toe with him, manicured, brightly colored fingernails poking him hard in his chest as she screams with as much volume as she’ll do in mere minutes when she calls out for help that will not come that she’d never give up on him, no matter how much he’d already given up on himself. “You are not alone,” she’ll spit vehemently, “And I believe in you.”

His lips are chapped not from the night as it settles itself in navy over him, but of the future memory of finally pressing his mouth against hers in a hungry revolution, a shot across the bow and the one that will restart that heart she saved, a resolution that they are in this together, even if they have no goddamn idea what this even is. 

No, by then they’ll know: by then, he’ll have told her to go, in as quiet and heartbreaking and shaky voice as she’ll ever hear from him, that he refuses to make her a regret. Coward that he’ll be until she reminds him that the only easy day is yesterday, words that will propel him forward into a future as unknown as the destination has always been, he won’t be able to look at her when he tells her he’s sorry, that he’ll get her out, that this was a mistake. He’ll turn only when her hand finds his face, not in the slap she’ll give him when he tells her to stop getting in his way, but instead bringing him forward; bringing him to her light. “You may have forced me to leave, Oliver, but I’m choosing to stay.” She’ll shrug, those slim shoulders that hold up his world moving so easily as his lungs cannot in that moment. “There’s really no choice to make.” 

(He’ll want to fall into bed with her then, claim her and let her know he’s hers as much as she’s ever been his, but then he spots the red dress and heels she buys during a girls’ day out with the medic called Sasha – because Felicity Megan Smoak not only ends up getting the Bratva to do her bidding rather than the other way around, but makes sure to prove time and again to anyone in her sphere that she’s both hellbent and heaven-sent – and though he’s sure to the very heart she put the beat back in that the evening will end up with a grenade launched from a rooftop across the street from the restaurant, the only explosions that happen are in those wee small hours he looks so forward to now are the best ones either of them can even fathom.

They’ll fall into bed time and time after that, fall into each other and three words that should be so easy to say, especially given his increased time around her verbosity, but they don’t come until she’s elbow deep in flour, has butter on her nose and there’s what’s supposed to be fondant on the ceiling when he walks in on her in the kitchen where she’s told him about her bubbe’s latkes and he about Tommy and Thea and where they’ve hashed out his moving from an enforcer to a kapitan – as they try to relive and also rewrite the narrative of the story they’ve both found themselves and the best parts of each other in – trying to make him a birthday cake. 

They’re not so hard to say after that; in a world of fools and falsehoods, she truly is his felicity. When she looks at him in utter disblief, instinct driving her “you don’t…”, this time it is he who finds the words quickest: “Don’t ask me to say that I don’t love you.”)

He stands still against the New England quiet, the same kind that will not just echo but follow as they run from their pasts but with each other, hiding from the outfit and her father and Cooper Seldon; as she pretends to be someone else, working in a Tech Village under a carefully built and maintained identity, only herself when they are together; when they share a tiny last egg over a candle on its last millimeter of wick, and when they cuddle together under a blanket on a mattress on the floor as they disappear into a dingy Hong Kong walkup and the only thing that has ever felt like safety. He is unmoving against it, the way they’ll both be in the darkest hours, first when her tears belie her loneliness, and when his deeds catch up to him in his dreams.  When she forgets who they are, or supposed to be, or something in the middle, he’ll kiss the top of her head and say, “I know who you are. Whether you’re in a ponytail or those terrible khaki pants, you’re the one thing I believe in.”

When they sit on a plane on their final forged passports, hand in hand with fingers adorned with rings bought with cash in suburban Vancouver, slipped over still-brightly colored nails and now healed knuckles and with whispered “for better or for worse” and “I’ll go anywhere with you” inscribed in the metal as the flight attendant welcomes them to Starling City, because they have decided – chosen, that holiest of holies – this mission to save his city in the same way they’ve saved each other. “Because this is what we do,” she whispers as they touch down and she presses a kiss against his shoulder. “Because this is who we are.”

He’s not met her yet, but she’s already under his skin; more a part of him than anyone or anything else. 

He knows going in he’s not ever going to let her go again.

The beauty of it is, as he takes that first and ultimately final step, toward her door and their shared destiny, he also knows she won’t, either. 

fin 

[lotornomiko]

Light Grasping Darkness (1 of 6, mostly work safe for 1)

Old, old fic of mine...touched up with tweaks to words, grammar, sentence structure that sort of thing. Nothing too major a change, just the perfectionist in me trying to make it a smoother and more enjoyable read....I got the urge to reread this, and of course, couldn’t make it through without trying to “fix” it. And someday I really need to write the sequel, Light Seducing Darkness.

I believe this was my first foray into Hook Emma/Captain Swan fanfic. It starts out i guess R rated, but by chapter two vastly becomes super smutty. This is set in season two, is an AU, has Rumplestiltskin character death. According to fanfic net I originally wrote this in July 2013..., long before season five made Hook as a Dark One a thing. XD

As such, it was written with some thoughts in my head, (I looked at my old author’s notes) where I had thought Hook wasn’t aware of what would happen if he used the dagger on the dark one. I firmly believed he wanted to get his revenge and die, and would have been pissed to find himself stuck as the new Dark One. Although in this fic, from what I remember, I don’t think I gave him much time to be pissed, between the evil queenS orders, and the lust that quickly spilled over in an effort to combat it.

Will be posting all six parts of the completed first in a series fic onto my tumblr, as well as updating it at archive and fanfic.net. Will be posting on tumblr as I finished going over each chapter. 

There are moments, all too brief respites, where everything stands frozen and still. It is a lie, the quiet that it brings giving them the illusion of the luxuries they no longer have. Chief among them is time, every moment stolen, every second bringing them closer to what just may be their deaths. However, there is no time to grieve, no time to wage protest against an unfair fate. There exists only now, the running and the plotting, readying themselves for a war they are ill equipped to fight under the best of circumstances, and that was before Gold had been killed.

There's no time to mourn him, no time to do anything more than acknowledge the fallen. Gold stands to be the first in what will become a string of massacres, the worst nightmare of many coming true as Storybrooke falls under the power of not one, but TWO evil queens.

Maybe, just maybe they would stand a chance if it had only been Cora and Regina to contend with. Maybe then they could have won, somehow backed only by the power of the savior, a power that she herself didn't understand and had barely begun to explore. But there had never been time, and Emma had never seen need to truly explore the potential within her, the magic that left her so frightened and disturbed.

She regrets that now, a million if only running through her head. Wondering if only she had made the time, if only she had put aside her duties as sheriff, if only she had taken seriously Gold's attempts to tutor her. Nothing and no one can change the past now, not Emma as the savior, and not even Gold with all the power of the Dark One at his fingertips.

All that power had done little good once Gold had lost control of the dagger. Enslaved by the one who controlled the blade, Gold had been rendered helpless, unable to do anything to ward off the death that had finally come calling.

It wasn't just that they had lost a valuable ally in the war against evil. It was the power the evil queens had gained, the magic that was now theirs to command. A power they were all to quick to use, despite the fact that their tool was a staggered weapon at best.

Emma tried not to shudder as she remembered the scream that had followed Gold's death. The scream that had been unlike anything she had ever before heard, the pain and shock of what was happening registered within it, leaving the Dark One confused, fighting against fate, against orders. That resistance to do as commanded, was the only reason why Emma and her family were still alive. Was the only reason why they were able to run long enough to scheme. Not that the Charmings had much in the way of ideas, not when the dagger was so essential to defeating that which was coming.

It was hard not to give in to those hopeless feelings. To not wonder what chance they stood, with the power of the Dark One turned against them. Even as Emma fought against despairing, she acknowledged that she didn't know enough, not to fight and not to use the power locked inside her. For all that lack of, there was hope, Emma realizing that although she didn't know much about being the savior, the young woman also didn't know enough to truly believe the Dark One was completely unstoppable, dagger aside. And she disliked immensely the pitying looks her father and mother both gave her when she had said so.

Perhaps it was because they were of the other world, and always had lived with the knowledge that there was no true way to destroy the Dark One. Even before the existence of the dagger had become known, the people who had lived in the Enchanted Kingdoms, had grown up believing in the Dark One's invincibility. They had learned first hand, the failures of those who had made attempts on the Dark One's life, had been terrorized and manipulated for years far longer than Gold had been alive.

The Dark One already so terrifying, had become something else entirely under Rumplestiltskin's control. The man had twisted the legends, distorted truths until the name Rumplestiltskin was feared, the man rather than the monster fear, and with that faded memory had gone many’s truths behind the dagger. Through his masterful manipulations, most had gone on to forget that the Dark One had once been a slave, that whoever possessed the dagger had controlled the beast. Forgotten about, it was now a painful reminder that had been slammed into them, stark and potent in its devastating truths.

It was that reminder that was snuffing the hope out of David and Mary Margaret's eyes. That and the memories of those failed attempts to kill, to corner, to even contain Rumplestiltskin and his power. They remembered well the hardships, and the sheer desperation that had led the Blue Fairy into finally discovering a way, albeit a temporary one. A  way meant to hold him, to imprison him long enough so that a single generation of people would have peace of mind.

There would be no repeating that way, even if the Blue Fairy had been capable of repeating that spell. In the realm of Storybrooke, even with magic brought back into it, there simply wasn't enough of the Enchanted Kingdoms in this land. There wasn't enough of the ingredients needed to power the spell, no time to prepare, no location secured to act as a prison. There wasn't enough of anything, David and Mary Margaret knowing this, and thus choosing not to build their daughter's hopes up.

They held back, but didn't stop their daughter from scheming. Desperate plan after desperate plan came flowing, none of them seeming plausible, none of them offering true hope of survival.  Emma wouldn't, couldn’t, give up, not even when faced with the Dark One, watching as her gun's bullets slammed into his black leather clad chest.

Was it the bullets or the pain of them that seemed to confuse him? He'd actually look down, stare at the small holes in his clothing, smoke curling upwards out of them. His hand would raise, finger fitting into one of the holes. No blood, the skin already healing, mending together as though the bullet had never torn it open.

No further proof was needed that their weapons were useless. And yet Emma kept on firing. Watching the body jerk back with each shell's piercing, seeing the expression on the Dark One's face, a lost look of a despair all his own. She didn't truly understand the expression, or the reasons behind it. Why would he allow such pain to color his eyes? Pain that had nothing to do with the bullets, or Mary Margaret's arrows. Hadn't this been what he had wanted? Hadn't he pursued Gold over time and space, in an effort to bring about his end and claim his power? Hadn't he become exactly what he had always wanted?

Emma didn't know  that she was jumping to conclusions. Didn't know, and truth be known, wouldn't have cared. She was blinded by what she saw as his betrayal, cursing herself a fool for ever even giving him a moment's benefit of doubt. She should have known better, DID know better. Once burned, you never, ever give a person a second chance to hurt you. And yet for him, she had. For him she had pushed back the betrayals, choosing to ignore how he had left her and her friends, even her mother, to die in a rotting dungeon, or of the time shortly after, where he had been set on killing her.

Nothing personal he had claimed. And she had believed him! Was it her own guilt at work there? Was it the fact that Emma had not only abandoned him, but left him trapped at the top of a beanstalk, that led her to grudgingly bear him no ill will? Was it that same guilt that made her feel responsible, made Emma think that if she had done one thing differently, none of this would have come to past? Or did she simply regret not killing him when she had had the chance?

No way to know, no time to mull over the what ifs. She was out of bullets, and he was coming, his black leather riddled with smoking holes, but his body otherwise fine. More than fine, if one ignored the anguish of his expression. Always a handsome man, that beauty had become more pronounced, devastatingly dark and seductive, all the better to lure foolish maidens to their ruin.

Emma wasn't foolish, but even she couldn't look at that dark beauty and not be affected. She rebelled against the want that fisted inside her, total defiance spurring her to fling her gun at him. His arm raised, the gun bouncing off harmlessly. She barely registered the sound of steel being drawn, the borrowed sword in her grip as she took up a new stance, readying herself to die fighting.

David was somewhere to the right of her, a sword that had slayed dragons, in his hand. Arrows came from the left of her, Mary Margaret rapidly depleting her stock of projectiles. They were catching on fire, bursting into smoke instead of striking him, though the Dark One hadn't seemed intent on defending himself.

With a challenging scream, Emma and her father both rushed the Dark One at the same time. David's sword twirled in his grip, slashing downwards one moment, then attempting to belly thrust the next. Emma's blade met the metal of his hook, the Dark One effortlessly holding her back. She didn't fight his shove back, instead rebounding, spinning round to come at his head from a new angle. But the blow didn't connect, his hook there, stopping her blade, even as David mercilessly hacked away at his sides. He came away with nothing for his troubles, save to chip away bits of the leather of the Dark One's coat.

Emma bit out a frustrated sound, lashing out with her legs. At best the target she chose would distract him, at worse leave him infuriated. Her knee connected, and for a second it seemed the breath blew out of the Dark One. Her father quick to seize the advantage, went for the Dark One's heart, intending to split it in half with his blade.

And then David was airborne, a self presevation of the Dark One sending Emma's father flying. He didn't go far, the forest too crowded with trees, one of which he slammed into headfirst. Emma heard her mother scream out, Mary Margaret running towards where David had landed. He wasn't moving, the sword slamming tip first into the ground, inches away from his body.

Emma didn't dare think that David might be dead. Didn't dare allow herself to fear she had lost a father she had barely begun to know. She just tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, grim determination in her to somehow bring down this monster.

The sword was caught mid blow, wrenched free of her hand by an unnatural force. She wouldn't let that deter her, striking him close fisted in the face and coming away with a hand that had gone numb from the contact. An arrow flew, just missing the Dark One's face, Emma hearing Mary Margaret screaming at her to run.

Even if she wasn’t stubbornly rebelling against such a command, there was no chance to flee. The Dark One had grabbed her by the throat, lifting her up off the ground. Leaving Emma choking one instant, growling the next. More arrows flew past, Mary Margaret refusing to take her own advice, refusing to abandon her husband and daughter to this unstoppable monster.

Emma felt her mother's frustration, as she kicked out with her legs, clawing at the arm of the hand that so effortlessly held her up off the ground. She didn't want to believe she was going to die like this, one hand digging her nails into his, the other held towards him in a warding gesture.

"Hook..." She barely got out his name, her voice sounded like gravel in response to the grip crushing down on her throat. "Please..." Emma hated that she was begging, but her options had run out. There was nothing left to do, but plead with a monster, hope there was enough of the man left inside him, to listen and show mercy.

"Emma..." The Dark One had hesitated, his grip relaxing slightly. Sorrow colored his sea dark eyes, an expression so unsettling on he who had once been nothing but wickedly flirtatious. Emma saw then that he really didn't want to do this, that he was truly enslaved by the dagger. That he was fighting even now, the compulsions of his mistress' command. And yet it would do none of them any good, could only delay the inevitable.

"Fight it." urged Emma, still speaking in the raspy tones forced on her by that bruising grip of his.

"I want to." He admitted, and then his grip tightened again. "But I can't..."

She tried to scream in frustration, but it came out a mere whimper. How did one fight, how did one hope to win against the Dark One's power? How did anyone do anything but lay down and die, when faced with such unfair odds.

"Help me." The Dark One gritted out through clenched teeth. Emma's eyes had widened, the woman shocked completely at the Dark One's plea. "Save me..."

All seemed frozen, waiting for Emma's answer. But how could she save him, when Emma couldn't even save herself? The familiar frustrations bloomed within her, Emma wishing she understood the power she was supposed to have. Would it have been enough? Was there anyway for the product of true love to combat such an ancient, and all powerful evil?

Her vision was blurring, the grip on her throat slowly but surely suffocating her. Wetness pricked at her eyes, but Emma refused to give in to tears. Sound echoed from a distance, Mary Margaret's scream barely more than a whisper. She saw faces of her past float before her, Neal, her son Henry, that of her parents and friends. Even Gold appeared, a ghostly vision of the past that helped remind her that the power was within her, Emma merely had to focus to find it, to know what she needed to do.

Difficult to focus when one was losing their tenacious grip on reality. Emma reached out, her hand making contact with the Dark One's chest. He felt warm, so full of life and vitality, in comparison to the cold that was streaking icy tendrils through her. Emma wanted that warmth, wanted to use it to stave off the cold. Her hand moved, doing an unconscious caress as she dipped inside his shirt to touch directly on his skin.

So focused was she on the warming feel of his flesh that Emma almost missed the look that flashed in the Dark One's eyes. Almost didn't see Hook looking back at her, the pain and surprise being eaten away by something primal. It was sin of a most wicked kind that gazed out at her, the ever flirtatious pirate longing for something she had never been prepared to give him. Emma would give it to him now, if it meant they stood a chance of surviving, if it meant it would buy Mary Margaret enough time to flee.

With the breath being choked out of her, Emma directed her touch lower, her accidental caress gaining purpose. The breath hissed out of the Dark One, Hook looking as though he was the one struggling to breathe now. His eyes were swallowed up in desire, when her hand slipped into his pants, Emma not bothering with being coy, or teasing, directly grasping hold of his cock, and giving it a purposeful squeeze.

Hook reacted immediately, the grip on her throat loosening as his erection sprung to potent life. Emma had a second to be amazed, and even made breathless and dazed, she didn't miss the cocksure smirk that he gave her, Hook proud of himself and the formidable size of his erection. He had been right to boast, and a part of her was actually anticipating feeling that length of his thrusting inside her.

Continuing to touch him, to stroke and grip the focal point of his arousal, Emma looked Hook right in the eyes, a smirk of her own inviting him to play. "What say we take this some place more private?"

It was all she had to say, Hook's arm going around her waist, pulling her against him so that her breasts squished against his chest. Emma didn't allow a second of hesitation to affect her, knowing there was no room for doubts at this point in time. This was the right course, the only course, and though it might just be delaying the inevitable, it might just buy the needed time. Time for her to figure out her powers, or time for Mary Margaret to find Ruby and Henry, and flee to where the Dark One's powers could not follow.

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

To Be Continued....

[min-minn]

Symphony - Chapter Two

A03

Summary: Viktor Nikiforov, tenor prodigy and top student at the Salchow Institute of Music, is looking for an accompanist.

And word around campus is that Yakov Feltsman, Head of Music and conductor of the prestigious Institute Band, is looking for new members.

Yuuri Katsuki is just looking to survive his next Piano recital

OR

The Yuri on CONCERT Music School AU that we all deserve

Pairings: Viktor Nikiforov/ Yuuri Katsuki

Rating: Teen And Up

Content Warning: Anxiety

A/N:

It’s 1:30am and I have absolutely zero regrets.

FIRST CAN I JUST SAY, please go and watch this beautiful little scene from La Bohéme if you can. It’ll make the context of this chapter that much clearer. Tru me. It’s so worth it.

I SHOULD SLEEP BUT I'M TOO EXCITED. YUURI YOU'RE A DUMBASS.

I meant for this chapter to have far more included, but the scene itself suddenly grew into something much larger, so I cut the chapter off a little. The next one will probably be up sometime tomorrow, depending~

La Bohéme is just so beautiful I'm: love. The part where Viktor speaks to Yuuri through the mirror ( Vuole?) is the part where Ridolfo asks "May I?" to Mimi, wanting to share more of himself with her. I never thought the song would layer this beautifully with Viktor and Yuuri's story it's just so *dramatic sigh* BEAUTIFUL.

As always, hit me with all your comments, questions, criticisms, ideas. Anything and everything, it feeds me.

I found a nice version with English subtitles because the lyrics are just *wheeze* achingly beautiful. Though the music would sound slightly different with just piano, the singing would be more or less the same~

Much operatic and overly dramatic love as always,

- Min

Translations/ explanations:

"Che Gelida Manina" - what a cold hand/ what a frozen little hand. This is the name of the aria, but is also the first line that kicks the scene off where Ridolfo finds Mimi's hand in the dark. (IT'S COLD BECAUSE SHE'S SICK PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A TRAGEDY I'M STILL NOT OVER IT)

"Vuole?" - May I? A lyric from the aria.

"прекрасный" - Beautiful (same as the last chapter, though Yuuri's too Flustered™ to figure that much out~)

"Chi son" - Who am I? A lyric from the aria.

It took a while for Yuuri to register that the rushing sound in his ears was his own heartbeat.

“She didn’t tell you? That’s odd,” Yuuri heard Viktor’s voice coming at him from across the room, but it was like sound through water. He could hardly hear him, let alone mentally register what on earth was going on.

Eventually, he managed to calm himself enough to form syllables.

“Ah, yeah. Seems so,” Yuuri’s voice cracked at the end and he quickly ducked his head to avoid seeing the other man’s reaction.

“My apologies,” Viktor said softly. The tone seemed … strange, somehow. Yuuri furrowed his brow.

Why was Viktor sorry?

“No, it’s fine. She likes to tease me,” Yuuri said, voice small. He ran his fingers through his hair absently, feeling his brain kick into autopilot as the imminent anxiety attack threatened to take over all of his faculties.

And it should have been Yuuri apologising. Right at that moment, he felt like he should be apologising to the whole world for just existing.

It didn’t make any sense. The whole scenario, from start to finish, felt like a monumental nightmare. Viktor was here, Viktor had heard him play, Viktor wanted to practice with him…

Something gnawed at the edges of Yuuri’s mind and he spoke before he could think.

“Why are you here, anyway?” and the words were gone from his mouth before he could stop them. Of course. Of course he’d put his foot in it. And Viktor’s slight flinch was all he needed to confirm he’d really, really put his foot in it.

“I’m sorry! I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Yuuri reached his hand out, almost like he was trying to grab the words and stuff them back in his stupid mouth.

Viktor blinked, a strange expression flashing across his features. But then he broke into a dazzling smile. Yuuri suddenly found it hard to stand.

“You mean, why am I at this studio?” Viktor caught on quickly. Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.

“Well, let’s just say I was tipped off to a great accompanist,” Viktor said, winking and giving Yuuri a lopsided smirk. “But really … hmmm. I just wanted something different, I guess.”

Yuuri blinked, trying to force his brain to keep pace.

A great accompanist?

Yuuri was distantly aware of the fact that Viktor was still speaking, and he found himself moving to sit on the piano stool slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from Viktor’s lips as they moved.

“The SIM studios are great, don’t get me wrong. But they’re a bit too clinical for me. Am I making sense? Sorry, I’m probably not making any sense,” and as Viktor’s voice tapered off, Yuuri gaped as he watched the strangest gesture he’d ever seen play out before his very eyes.

Viktor was … shuffling his feet?

Was he nervous?

“Anyway, I hope it’s not too much trouble,” Viktor said suddenly, taking a tentative step towards where Yuuri was now seated at the grand. Yuuri swallowed thickly.

“No, of course not,” he all but breathed, hoping Viktor couldn’t hear just how much he didn’t mind.

Viktor smiled with relief, visibly calming as his shoulders relaxed. “That’s good,” his voice sounded breathy. Low. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

Yuuri was glad he’d sat down.

Around the monumental planetary shift that appeared to be taking place all around him, Yuuri managed to kick his brain into gear, adjusting his glasses, working on keeping his heart firmly in his chest.

“Wh—What can I help you with?” he asked softly as he adjusted his music, desperate to do something with his hands to make sure he came across as somewhat in control of his own body.

“Well,” Viktor started, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away sheepishly. “I was going to ask if I could dance, but…” he chewed absently on his lower lip, “I really just wanted to see if you’d help me with my aria.”

Yuuri blinked.

“Your … aria?”

“Yeah. Apparently, I’m performing for NYCO this season,” Viktor rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “I’ve been practicing at home but, well, my piano skills are almost non-existent,” Viktor laughed then, high and melodic. Yuuri swallowed.

Viktor wanted Yuuri … to help him practice his aria?

“Che Gelida Manina?” Yuuri asked automatically, voice wooden. Viktor paused, glancing back at him with a slightly surprised expression. Oh, because, of course. Of course Yuuri shouldn’t know that Viktor was going to be playing Rodolfo. Shouldn’t know about La Bohéme, or the tenor aria, or, or…

“Wow,” Viktor said in a hushed voice, taking another step across the floor.

“You know about La Bohéme?” Viktor asked, his face moulding into an expression that looked … like awe?

“Uh… yes?” Yuuri squeaked, trying to look anywhere but Viktor’s eyes.

“That’s amazing!” the other man cried, suddenly reaching past the piano and clasping Yuuri’s hands in his own. Yuuri spluttered, hoping the other man couldn’t feel just how ridiculously clammy his own hands were all of a sudden.

“Most people at SIM aren’t interested in Opera,” Viktor said with a strange glint in his eyes. “The only other Classical Majors I’ve met are just doing it for the rep,” Viktor was seemingly oblivious to Yuuri’s ridiculously red face and strange choking noises he seemed to be making at the back of his throat.

Because Viktor still hadn’t let go of his hands.

“It’s such a beautiful aria!” he continued wistfully, voice lifting adorably high like a child’s. “There’s something so enchanting about serenading someone like that. Baring your soul and hoping you can get to know them…” Viktor sighed, finally releasing Yuuri’s hands and reaching to tuck his hair back behind his ear which had fallen across his eyes in his excitement. After a moment, he seemed to calm, suddenly realising where he was and glancing back at Yuuri with a side-eye that suggested he was a little embarrassed.

“S—Sorry, I probably sound like a total nerd,” he laughed nervously.

Yuuri instantly shook his head, stammering desperately; “N—No! I… I like it too. That. I like that … about it … too…” and oh God, the floor looked so inviting. He just wanted to curl up in the fetal position and sink under the floorboards. What was he saying?

But when Yuuri dared to look up, he saw that Viktor was smiling at him. And it was a kind smile.

“I’m so happy you agree,” Viktor replied, moving quickly across the floor to where his coat was bundled on the chair. He was rummaging through the pockets, little noises escaping him as he searched. Yuuri bit his lower lip, trying not to think about how adorable it was.

“Here, I even have the sheet music,” Viktor eventually said proudly, producing a rather scrunched set of papers, messily folded over themselves. Yuuri blanched – he’d seen students mistreat sheet music before, and he was no exception - remembering his own slightly crumpled pieces that were still tucked into his beaten-up old satchel. But this was a different kind of hubris. It was like a half-forgotten receipt you’d find at the back of your wallet.

Suddenly Yuuri was laughing.

Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of the entire situation, or perhaps - and far more likely - it was his absolutely frayed nerves after such a roller coaster of a day. But he just couldn’t seem to stop himself from laughing, starting with a snort and a giggle, hands clasped over his mouth to try and stem the tide. But sure enough, it turned into a full-blown laugh within seconds.

And Viktor’s shocked expression seemed to add fuel to the fire.

Yuuri wiped the corners of his eyes, taking off his glasses for a moment to try and stop the tears. It was just too much.

He managed to calm down enough to look back up at Viktor, glasses still in his hands.

“прекрасный,” Viktor said softly.

Yuuri furrowed his brow, replacing his glasses and coughing to try and settle his nerves. That was probably rude. Probably weird. He shouldn’t have laughed like that.

“I’m … sorry, I don’t speak Russian,” he said apologetically, still grinning at the thought of Viktor Nikiforov stuffing sheet music in his pockets like a high school kid.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Viktor said with a strange little cough, shuffling his feet and offering Yuuri another brilliant grin. “I slip into it sometimes. Not wise, seeing as I should be learning Italian!”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile in response – something about Viktor’s easy manner made it all too easy to respond in kind.

“I shouldn’t have laughed. It’s just … the poor sheet music,” and Yuuri snorted again, ducking his head in embarrassment and trying to stop another bout of giggles.

“Ah, well,” Viktor laughed nervously. “I’ve never been very good at taking care of things,” Viktor was rubbing the back of his neck, brow creased apologetically. He handed Yuuri the crumpled pieces of paper. “I hope they’re still legible?”

Yuuri smothered another giggle. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” He swallowed. He couldn’t exactly explain to Viktor that he already knew the piece off by heart. The last few months after the NYCO’s cast announcement, Yuuri had suddenly grown quite fond of La Bohéme.

And Yuuri soon realised, as he moved to sit at the stool once again and arrange the music in front of him, that being able to laugh in front of Viktor seemed to have taken the edge off of his anxiety. He suddenly found it was quite easy to speak with him. It helped that the man simply oozed charisma, like some kind of incense lamp, overflowing with the stuff. But there was something else that Yuuri couldn’t quite put his finger on. It reminded him of how he felt when he’d walked into Minako’s studio earlier. Like home.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Viktor asked in a small voice, peering over Yuuri’s shoulders at the music. “To accompany me, I mean?”

Yuuri smiled at him, nodding his response. There was still a distant sense of dread at the back of his mind. Like everything was going to come crashing down around him soon because this was just too good to be true.

But that sense of being at home – being at ease – wouldn’t leave either.

“I’m glad,” Viktor said happily, suddenly touching Yuuri’s shoulder. The gesture was friendly enough – just a simple touch to show his gratitude. But the sensation sent sparks through Yuuri’s veins all the same, his heart leaping against his ribcage which was ridiculous because it was just a simple touch on the shoulder and—

“Shall we begin?” Viktor asked gently, cocking his head to the side and letting his hair drift down across his eye in a gesture that seemed to be his signature. Yuuri swallowed.

“Sure thing,” he breathed. A bit at a loss, Yuuri adjusted his glasses and turned to focus intently on the music in front of him. He noted the time signature, key, and tempo mechanically, making quick mental adjustments to the piece he knew so well already.

“Just as it's written?” he asked, not daring to peek over the piano as Viktor moved to the other side.

“Yeh, if that’s okay?” Viktor asked. He was facing the wall of mirrors, looking back at Yuuri through them with a slightly concerned expression.

“Of course,” Yuuri said softly, moving to rest his fingers over the familiar keys. He would be the one to start the piece, with Viktor joining a few bars in. Yuuri knew how important it was to take cues correctly when accompanying, following the singer’s lead as best he could. Still, he mentally prepared himself, fully expectant of some kind of fallout when he eventually messed it all up.

He glanced over at Viktor expectantly, watching him through the mirror. But the other man had his eyes closed, lips moving infinitesimally, almost like a prayer, though Yuuri figured he was counting from the way his hand tapped against his leg in a soft rhythm. Yuuri tried to follow the tempo in his mind, absently tapping his own foot lightly over the foot pedals.

Viktor opened his eyes, expression determined, and gave Yuuri a small nod.

And Yuuri’s fingers danced across the keys.

The song was pure muscle memory for Yuuri at this point, his fingers gliding and twisting across the keys as easy as breathing. There was a nervousness at first, but that strange, disarming sense of being at home still resonated somewhere in his chest. Despite himself, Yuuri could feel his eyes closing, mind drifting into the music like it was coming from somewhere far deeper than just his fingers.

And then Viktor’s cue came, and he started singing.

Yuuri had also accompanied classical singers before. It was slightly trickier than most other genres, on account of having to work in sync with the singer so intimately. Yuuri found he usually struggled to fit well with whoever he was accompanying, often awkwardly catching up or forcing himself to slow as the singer took the lead. And that was fine, since the music would often follow the singer, in most cases. However, the accompanist had to know when to lead as well. It was like a dance – intricately woven through a mutual understanding of what kind of music they wanted to create together.

With Viktor it was different.

Yuuri had only heard famous singers perform this particular aria – Pavarotti was what came to mind first, though Yuuri had also sifted through a few other performers. Their renditions were famous for a reason, though he knew, from the first, that it wouldn’t take long for Viktor’s name to be added to the ranks.

Because his voice was like an entirely new instrument. His pitch was perfect, inflection and pronunciation flawless, vocal control beyond anything Yuuri had ever heard before. As he fell into the next passage, Yuuri wondered distantly at how much strength Viktor would have had to have built up to be able to sing in such a way. His voice carried so strongly Yuuri could feel it vibrating through the piano under his fingers, sending strange sensations up and along his arms.

Viktor was dragging the words ever so slightly, eyes closed as he tried to convey the emotion behind the lyrics. Yuuri wasn’t too sure what the direct translation was, though he’d looked it up often enough in the past to understand the general feeling of it.

The aria’s story followed Rodolfo, a playwright who falls in love with his neighbour Mimi, and their meeting in a dark attic. It was hailed as one of the more romantic Operatic moments, Mimi searching for her keys in the dark, Rodolfo fumbling along beside her and reaching for her hand, serenading her on the spot. Not to mention the fact it all takes place on Christmas Eve.

Yuuri fell in with Viktor’s tempo easily, vaguely remembering that this was the part where Rodolfo began to tell Mimi about himself. Began to open up.

And as he glanced up towards the mirror, he could see Viktor opening – or more, blossoming - in response to the lyrics. His face had melted into an expression of pure vulnerability, arms lifting and outstretching towards the invisible woman he was serenading. Yuuri swelled his playing to match Viktor’s passion, embellishments coming easy and flowing off the tips of his fingers like water, mixing with Viktor’s voice in a way that was almost hypnotic.

And Viktor slowed his pace, opening his eyes lazily – almost coyly – as he asked a question to the mirror:

“Vuole?”

Yuuri blinked.

Viktor’s eyes were pure sapphire under the soft studio lights, glistening and overwhelming as they pierced him through the mirror.

It took Yuuri a while to realise he had stopped playing entirely.

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice rang clear through the studio as he addressed him, still melodic, but jarringly different to the soft notes of the aria he had been singing just before.

And Viktor was still staring at him, though his face slowly creased into an expression of genuine concern, the act completely forgotten.

Yuuri gasped for air, realising his fingers were completely frozen over the keys. Why had he stopped? What was happening?

Had he just imagined…?

“S—Sorry! Let’s try it again,” he rushed to reposition, flicking his eyes over the music in front of him. “From the first Chi son, yes?” Yuuri felt his tongue stumble over the strange words, absently chewing on his lower lip to try and bull through the embarrassment.

“Please,” Viktor said softly, glancing down at his feet.

Yuuri forced his hands to move, certain that Viktor could hear just how rapidly his heart was thudding in his ribcage. He awkwardly picked up a few bars where Viktor was due to begin, pressing out the melody mechanically. Soon Viktor was humming along with the notes, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes before he picked back up at the start of the passage.

They eventually fell back into a steady rhythm, Yuuri finding he was able to focus entirely on the sounds and swell of Viktor’s voice far easier when he wasn’t looking at him. The sound was still beautiful – heartachingly so, at points. It didn’t take long for Yuuri’s initial embarrassment at his mistake to fade as he let himself be enveloped by the music once again. Embellishments began flourishing in between Viktor’s words, lifting and swelling as the song grew to a crescendo.

Yuuri’s eyes were closed as they finished, his last gentle chords echoing through the studio.

As reality filtered through Yuuri’s mind, he felt Viktor’s eyes on him once again. With a jolt, he snapped his own eyes open, glancing around and finding Viktor staring at him directly this time, turned away from the mirror and peering over the lid of the grand. He looked…

Yuuri furrowed his brow.

Viktor didn’t say anything, just stood there, staring in a way that started to make Yuuri wildly self-conscious.

“S—Sorry,” he whispered again, desperate to fill the silence. “I’ve never … been very good at Puccini.”

Viktor seemed confused at his words, still staring intently. He opened his mouth, seemingly unable to respond as his lips opened and closed.

“V—Viktor?” Yuuri moved to stand.

“No! I mean…” Viktor passed a hand over his face and Yuuri felt his stomach drop uncomfortably. It was terrible. It must have been. He’d lost himself again – he was hardly aware of what he’d even played. Unprofessional. A complete lack of discipline, just like Madame Baranovskaya had said—

“It was beautiful,” Viktor said in a soft voice, hand still covering his eyes as he spoke. He had one hand on his hip, and all Yuuri could think was that he must be lying, standing there like some kind of impatient teacher disappointed in his student.

“Hardly,” Yuuri whispered, clearing his throat to try and work away the painful lump that had started forming there.

He’d fucked it up.

He’d fucked it all up.

“It’s … getting late,” Yuuri said eventually, shuffling the crumpled papers into a neater pile and placing them gently on top of Viktor’s coat. He was suddenly desperate to get out of that studio, desperate to get home and sit in the shower for hours. Maybe listen to some depressing jazz. Maybe ball his eyes out.

“Yes,” Viktor agreed in a clipped voice, carding his hand through his hair and glancing off towards the windows behind Yuuri, not meeting his eye.  

Yuuri moved to gather his things, gripping his satchel like it was some kind of lifeline before he began to leave. He could hear Viktor rustling through his own things behind him, heels tapping on the floorboards as he moved to join him at the door.

Yuuri would have to lock up, he thought absently as he noted the time on the clock above the door. Minako’s receptionist had surely gone home by now. And Yuuri might have to wait for the next bus. Luckily, he’d remembered his gloves despite the panic of the morning, so he wouldn’t completely freeze to death while he waited.

They made their way to the front door, Yuuri remembering to flick the lights off as they went with Viktor a few steps behind him. Every second that passed felt like an eternity as Yuuri’s thoughts spiralled into a dark whirlpool of nervousness. He’d made an absolute fool out of himself, that much was undeniably certain. Had probably managed to tarnish Minako’s reputation as well. She’d clearly been the one to recommend Yuuri as an accompanist. He wondered how he was going to make it up to her…

Once they reached the main door, Yuuri paused and held it open for Viktor, wincing slightly as the bitterly cold night air swirled in from outside. He shrugged his scarf closer, half hiding his face in its folds as he stared at the floor. He watched on as Viktor’s shoes drifted past slowly. Once Viktor was outside, Yuuri busied himself with the door, flicking out his set of keys and locking the studio, checking the handle. Twice.

He’d expected Viktor to already be moving away at that point, so he was a little surprised to turn and find himself face to face with him. The other man seemed to still be staring at him intensely, and Yuuri instinctively reached up to his face to make sure he didn’t have anything stuck there.

“Thank you, Yuuri,” Viktor said suddenly, breath puffing out in clouds. “I really appreciate you … taking the time.” The words sounded almost awkward, and Yuuri squinted to try and figure out exactly what kind of expression Viktor was making. Was he annoyed? Frustrated at Yuuri’s lacklustre performance? Angry?

“Anytime,” Yuuri mumbled into his scarf, ducking his head and tucking the keys back into his satchel.

“Really?” Viktor asked, suddenly stepping closer, voice rising in excitement. Yuuri blinked, struggling to respond;

“What do you me—”

“—You’d do it again?” Viktor interrupted, almost breathless as he stepped even closer. Yuuri was momentarily distracted by the little puffs of hot air that escaped Viktor’s lips and circled in the breeze just above his own face.

“I—If you want,” Yuuri managed to say, voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor worried at his bottom lip, glancing down to the pavement between them. His eyebrows drew together, like he was trying to calculate something very important on the spot.

“I do,” he said suddenly, meeting Yuuri’s gaze. His face was serious, and it seemed like he was trying to get a message across as he stared, eyes slightly worried…

“O—Okay,” was all Yuuri could squeak out, that same rushing sound thudding in his ears as his heart picked up again. Because Viktor was close. Really close. Close enough that Yuuri could see the soft flush at the tip of Viktor’s nose…

“I—I’ll find you on campus, then?” Viktor asked.

“Sure…” Yuuri breathed, though it took a moment for his brain to catch up. “O—Or, I could just give you my number?”

Viktor’s brow shot up and Yuuri felt his stomach sink again. Was that too forward? Was it normal for them to exchange numbers? Was there a guidebook for how to ask a tenor to let you accompany them?

“Yes! Of course! Here’s my phone,” Viktor stuffed his hands into his pockets, rummaging for a moment and muttering something unintelligible under his breath. Was he speaking Russian again?

He suddenly produced a rather large – and almost obnoxiously expensive – smartphone with a flashy cover. It even had a ring at the end for charms, a little chibi poodle dangling off it, catching the streetlight and flashing. Viktor all but crammed the phone into Yuuri’s hands.

“Add your number and I’ll text you,” he said quickly.

Yuuri took a moment to woodenly punch his number in. The phone was huge – his thumbs hardly reaching across the screen as he tried to type out his full name in. He handed it back to Viktor gently.

“Thank you Yuuri,” Viktor said, offering him a warm smile as he held his phone in both hands. Yuuri tucked his face deeper into his scarf, desperate to hide as much of the blush that was creeping across his cheeks as he could.

“Let me know when best suits you…” Yuuri heard himself say, though his voice sounded very distant, like someone else was speaking. Why was Viktor acting like this? Was he trying to make Yuuri feel better? He’d clearly botched the whole thing – surely Viktor wouldn’t want to repeat it?

“I will. Are you okay to get home on your own?” Viktor asked, concern creasing his brow. Yuuri nodded, glancing down the street.

“There’s a bus soon that’ll take me right to our apartment,” he said, leaning out to see if he could see it coming already. There was a bus at a far set of traffic lights that looked like it might be the one he was after.

He heard Viktor make a strange sound, though the traffic was loud enough that Yuuri couldn’t quite be sure he hadn’t just imagined it. He glanced back, lifting his hand awkwardly in a wave.

“See you,” he said, turning quickly on his heels. He heard Viktor’s “Goodbye,” though he didn’t turn back to see if he’d waved or not. He couldn’t. It was impossible.

He was sure that if he ever looked at Viktor’s face again, his heart would stop completely.

[all-i-need-is-food-and-fanfics]

What do you want?(5)

length: 2600 words

trigger/warnings:  mention of death, graphic violence, blood(nothing too graphic or explicit yet), curses(because it’s Bakugo)

summary: Late night work shifts it’s the perfect time to nap and stare.

Buddy Cop AU

a/n:  Based on @soyunpochoclin idea, and headcanons for this AU I honestly love too much. 

Okay sorry for the delay, but I got a job(kind of) and that actually kind interrupt my cycle of writing(why the short chapters), but I wrote this at past midnight so I hope everything it’s fine. I hope you are enjoying the story and their interactions. Honestly, I enjoy writing them so much(you really write your anger out with Bakugo).

<-- 4rd part - 6th part-->

***

Ejirou walked into the bar, almost expect to find the ghost of the party going on last night. Instead he only found tables around the empty dance floor, with chair on top, and Ima standing next to the bar with a broom in her hands. She had her head up in a ponytail, and much less extravagant outfit than the night before, green shorts and a simple black shirt that slide down in her shoulder because of the white neck.

He knocked one of the tables, and she looked up. The bored expression changed into a charming smile. Forgetting the broom, she walked to Ejirou to give him a hug. Once she pulled away, she left her arms on his shoulders and analyzed his outfit under her intense stare.

“Uyy, you know I enjoy a man in a uniform.” She said, finally letting her arms fall into the sides of her body.

Ejirou laughed, “I thought you didn’t like anymore.”

“I said you didn’t like me,” She pointed accusatory at his face, “I like you just fine.” She winked at him as she turned to pull down one of the chairs down.

He laughed, and imitated Ima putting one of the chairs down and sitting in front of her, “I’m flattered.”

“So,” She laid back and crossed her legs, “No friend today?”

Ejirou laughed nervously, “He is…on the car…”

“Aww, he didn’t like me?” Ima put a hand in her chest with a hurt voice, but she was smiling.

“He kind of doesn’t like anyone.” He glanced at the door, when he looked back at her there it was that shine again.

“That would explain why my quirk wouldn’t work on him after I whispered on your ear so much.” She explained, to herself more than anything.

Enchanting voice, she called it., It put anyone who listened to her, into a romantic inflection with her, when she commanded it. Bakugo called her little mermaid thanks to it, clearly not impressed.

“But he likes you just fine, doesn't he?.” Ejirou sat straight tensed up, red matching his hair, and looked away from her eyes and wiggling eyebrows, “Sensitive topic I guess.”

Ejirou coughed, “So, you have something for us?” He tried to put a professional voice, recover from the embarrassment.

“Yeah…” Her lips fell into a straight line, and her eyes lost the playful shine over them, “After you two left, I charmed a man part of the underground, and he was…useful, to say the least.” She sighed, leaned forward and rest her arm on top of her knee “Okay, so you know about the Eight Precepts of Death?”

Ejirou frown, but nodded, “Well yeah, haven’t particularly worked their case but it’s hard not to after the rise of the underground.” He didn’t like where this was going, “After the disappearance of All Might years ago…” Ejirou talked with heavy nostalgia, with rough memories of the event in his mind.

He was young, barely 9 when the Symbol of Peace disappeared. It wasn’t disclosed what happened, numerous theories appeared on the internet but no one really knew. At the end, it didn’t matter. All Might disappeared for no one to see again, and so the end of the Golden Era of heroes began.

Without the Symbol of Peace, crime started to rise again, and the trust in heroes decreased moment by moment. The ideal fell from it pedestal until it couldn’t stand anymore. So when the society was crumbling, organized crime inclined between the cracks. From the smallest the Eight Precepts of Death raised, a Yakuza organization that somehow had survived the All Might era. Known for their influence in the underground but not much of anything else, not much was really known from it. Especially in the last from what Ejirou had heard.

Until now.

“Well, you are now.” Ima sat back again, “How ‘bout the League of Villains? Rings a bell?”

Ejirou frowned deeper, this was way worse than he expected.

***

Katsuki did know who the League of Villains were, by now, both of them did. Not only were they already a decently known entity by then. But everyone’s files made more than clear they belong to it. They had appeared only a few years’ back, but they didn’t seem to have any purpose or goal but stupid destruction looking by the files they had on them. Suddenly, they had been silent for the last months and their investigation slowly died with no clues to follow anymore.

Something had changed.

“They are partnering up?” Bakugo had a tight grip on the wheel, “That’s all we know?”

Which for Kirishima’s credit in itself was a big discovery, but to Bakugo’s credit, it didn’t tell them anything on why they are doing it or how to stop it.

“Well, no…we know about their next exchange of information.” Ejirou saw for the first time in a week, Bakugo’s face lit up. Kind of. Bakugo’s version of lit up. “Ima said next Thursday, Dabi should come to reunite with someone from the Eight’s.”

That gave them 5 days to plan an intervention, and second to get as much of information as they could beforehand.

The first one only required to Bakugo to do something he despised, again, work with other people. Other people than Kirishima. They had to work with a unit. Bakugo would be in charge of the operation, which pleased him to say the least. Though that was a problem he would worry when the day came.

At the moment they would focus on the look for information. Ejirou had been in charge of asking for the information for the respective departments and detectives in charge of previous cases related to both the Eight and the League, mostly and only because it was quicker than Bakugo threaten everyone to do so.

But it wouldn’t be open cases if they were easy to solve. Or that’s what Kirishima said just before Bakugo burst from his chair.

“They are shitty are their job, we are fucking, not Spiky.” He smiled proudly, and it filled Ejirou in a rush standing up from his chair too.

“That’s so manly Blasty!” Bakugo sat back down with a disappointed face.

It didn’t do anything to ruin Ejirou’s mood, instead, it just made him laugh until there it was a leftover smile on his face.

***

Kirishima was a like a kid in a sugar rush. Katsuki had spent enough nights in a row with him by now to know. It didn’t help that since they had been ‘till later for the past week his body was getting used to the schedule. They’ve been entering late to work, sleeping late. While Katsuki respected his hours of sleep. The first actually had caught him sleepy because of it. Kirishima was clearly one of those people that never ran out of battery.

He was energetic like no other, still tired eyes and the wrinkles the formed when he smiled were deeper and longer but he was smiling and kicking. Showing as much excitement as the first day for what he was doing. But he knew how to be quiet just enough. Sometimes Katsuki would glance at him at moments where he thought that rock head might have fallen asleep when he was just focused. No smile to be seen, a frown on his face and clouded eyes examining the files or the computer screen. Only to clear up when he excitedly had to show information to him.

It was Friday, well Saturday really; Ejirou found something that might connect to their other information after a long time of silence when he looked up to find Bakugo’s eyes instead he found a yellow folder standing and a lazy hand holding it on the side.

“Bakugo, bro.” He called, quiet, afraid to break the silence in the empty office. They weren’t the only ones working late, although they were always the last, “Blasty?” He stood up, pulling the folder out the hand not founding any resistance.

Behind he found Bakugo, relaxed, his body in the most uncomfortable position in any other situation but the most comfortable at the moment. His armed was stretched out over the desk, resting his head on it, his bodied stretched out as far as it could without falling of the chair. Ejirou laughed until he looked at the end of the chair. Where Bakugo’s torsed was stretched and his shirt a bit up from it, showing the starts of the lines of a toned abdomen that got lost in the elastic of his boxers.

It was enough for Ejirou to turn and sit back on his chair. He tried to go back to the files of the pre-existing activity of the League and the change of behavior after big distributions of drugs to enhance quirks movement started on the underground a couple of years ago. But he kept glancing back at Bakugo.

Ejirou noticed the clear effect of staying working late. They weren’t the only ones but they always the last ones at the office. And while Ejirou was starting to feel the withdrawal of night shifts, he liked the quiet Bakugo that existed at the picked of the next day, when they were only the two of them alone lost in between files. He liked the tired but proud smile when they connected information or made a new a discovery.

At the end he ends up just resting his head over his arms on the table, creepily watching Bakugo. He was just…so relaxed. He understood Bakugo was under a lot of stress, so was Ejirou.

“I am not fucking failing,” he said every time they were cornered. His frown wasn’t angry and for the first time he lost focus of his surrounded as his stared drilled into the paper or the computer, “I’m not fucking going to lose.” Bakugo was in charge of the operation, he was a more experienced officer than Ejirou.  

Ejirou had been assigned to Bakugo, not backward.

“But Sir, shouldn’t I work with Mina?” Ejirou always talked in a polite and respectful mannered to Toyomitsu, he had great respect for the former hero and Inspector of his station.

Toyomitsu leaned forward with his always kind smile, “You are being assigned to work with another department to complement a team, it concerns both of the stations.” Ejirou hadn’t complained as much as Bakugo did, but it showed in his face, “I know you two are close, but take it an opportunity to grow Kirishima!” He stood up straight with a smile on his face.

“Yeah!” Kirishima returned the gestured at the end, ready, “That would be the manly thing to do!” He was ready for anything but someone like Bakugo. Abrasive, grumpy, angry all the time, smart and focused but useless in teamwork and social gatherings(not really in the same line of work he was used to with Mina).

She had been offended when he told her that working Bakugo hadn’t been half bad. She couldn’t complain, she had Sero and Kaminari. Which most of the time worked… a little pressure…

Instead, Bakugo was the one always pressuring others and himself more than anyone. It was always him who insisted on staying even though it was definitely taking a bigger told on that it was on Ejirou, to look over everything once more, on doing everything and checking everything himself.

He wondered why. Ejirou stared at him as if he could find the answered in soft lines and low breathing in barely open pink lips. He stared there for a while, just enough to match his breathing with Bakugo’s.

His sight was blurry only understanding the figures in front of him only because he had been staring at for so long when it made a sudden change. A red rushed in his vision, searching for his soul. Or at least that was Ejirou felt when Bakugo suddenly opened his eyes.

Ejirou jumped, throwing his chair off balance falling back to the floor. Finally breaking whatever enchantment left in the air.

“What the fuck Shitty Hair?” Ejirou didn’t stand for a moment, he stayed on the floor as the chills of Bakugo’s rough voice run through his back.

When he finally recovered, a few moments later he coughed as he stood up and recollected the chair and his dignity of the floor, “Yo…”

Bakugo still seemed half sleep, he only rolled his eyes but before he could complain or say anything a yawn cut him.

“We should go home.” Kirishima finally suggested, finally the tired catching up to him.

“Sure let’s go Spiky.” Bakugo picked the cars and twirl them around his finger.

They didn’t talk on the way to the car, or in the car neither Kirishima questioned the fact that Katsuki’s eyes were almost closed and it probably wasn’t safe to drive around like that. It definitely wasn’t. He enjoyed the silence for once and Kirishima maybe was falling sleep but he didn’t care as long he was quiet.

Which of course didn’t last long enough for Katsuki’s taste(he never did, in Katsuki’s opinion). Also to his disgust, he jumped when Kirishima finally started talking again.

“No no no no,” He started looking around, pulling out things from his pockets, “Fuck.” He let his head fall back on defeat. “Yo, Bakubro…” Lifting his head again, his eyes looking for Katsuki’s, pleading.

Shit. He half slept not half stupid.

“No.” He said not even glancing away from the street.

“Oh come on!” He pulled slightly Bakugo’s arm hanging from the wheel, “My keys must have fallen from my pocket when I did from the chair…”

“Isn’t your damn family there?” Katsuki rolled his eyes, he just wanted to sleep, his voice...annoyed would be an understatement.

“No, my mom it’s on a work trip and I let Haru stayed at a friend’s house since I was working late…I’ll have to sleep on the hallway.” Katsuki finally turned back, to send him to fuck off to the seventh circle of hell. His eyes catching autumn red that made him strengthen the grip of the wheel and turn away.

“Whatever.” He just wanted to sleep. He was too tired to deal with Kirishima.

***

“Of course you are fucking sleeping on the couch idiot!” Bakugo opened the door, loudly and walked in first. Taking his shoes with surprising patience and leaving them organized on the corner.

Okay, maybe Kirishima had accidentally said something he didn’t have to.

As he took his shoes off he took his time to see Bakugo’s apartment. It wasn’t full of things, cleaned and organized. The apartment was the perfect size for one person to live more than comfortably, smaller than his own apartment with his family but not by much. The decorations were simple; nothing really on the white walls, and the furniture was a deep brown wood on the living in front of him.

Once he walked in, he stared down at his bed for the night.

He wasn’t about to complain, it was way better than a hallway. He let himself fall on the light grey couch in front of the T.V. since he assumed Bakugo had left him to sleep by then. But he was surprised by some things falling on his body.

“The bathroom it’s the door next one to my room.” Kirishima just lifted his head to catch a glance of Bakugo’s back on a black tank top and low hanging sweatpants, just enough to make him forget Bakugo just gave him clothes and a blanket to sleep in.

All that smells like him.

[thestraggletag]

The Safest Place, a RSS Fic

Prompt: Time Traveller and an Immortal AU

Summary: There’s no safest place for a child as loved as Gideon than with his parents. Even if it’s decades before he’s born and they were still master and maid.

Recipient: Surprise, @sharinamay, I’m your Secret Santa! I hope you like your gift, I had quite a hard time making it happen! I was worried that the idea I had come up with might not entirely be what you wanted but it stuck to my head so I was inspired to write it. 

I’ll post this later to AO3 and FF.Net and will edit this post to include the links, just in case that’s more convenient for you.

Happy Holidays!

It wasn't altogether a surprising sight. She'd stumbled across the odd baby in her time at the Dark Castle, always nestled in a particular wicker basket her master seemed fond of. Though at first the babes appeared rather unannounced- and Belle was sure Rumplestiltskin had done it to keep her in her toes, to try and rattle her- over time her master had started telling her when to expect them. She'd prepare for it, airing out the room next to hers, putting fresh sheets on the cot there, getting fresh milk and making sure to have cloth diapers and pins at hand, as well as an assortment of clothes, just in case. The mountain air was cold and unforgiving, and babies needed a lot of bundling up.

Belle liked children very much, for the same reason she loved animals: unlike adult people they didn't judge or question. She didn't need to put on a facade with them, didn't have to pretend to be somebody she was not. Someone proper and dutiful and pure. It was the same with her master. Rumple seemed to encourage behaviour in her others had sought to curtail or limit: he let her read as much as she desired, indulged her strange sense of humour, even her thirst for adventure on occasion. He pretended to be annoyed at her every time she tried to learn something new but would encourage her in small ways he likely thought she didn't notice. With him she could be herself, sarcastic and irreverent and able to speak her mind always.

So, having children in the castle every once in a while wasn't exactly a chore for Belle, specially once she realised her master did not mean them harm. He seemed equally fond of children, likely for the same reason she was. But Rumplestiltskin had said nothing of a baby for months, so the appearance of the child was very surprising. He was wrapped in a lovely homemade wool blanket so yellow it almost seemed gold, and looked young, perhaps a few weeks old. The tiniest baby she'd seen by far, but also the one dressed the best, his garments finely-made and foreign-looking. He looked fragile and vulnerable and it stirred something so powerful inside her she immediately grew angry at Rumplestiltskin for dumping the child in the middle of the foyer without even letting her know it was there.

Though the baby was fussy he calmed down immediately when she picked him up and held him close to her breast for warmth. He nuzzled close, prompting her to take him to the kitchen, where she made him a bottle of milk, which the little piglet drank down greedily, making the most adorable little noises. She kept reminding herself not to grow attached even as she cuddled the babe close to her. Whenever she'd try to lower the little tyke down he protested, letting out tiny mewls that broke her heart, so she found herself coming up with all manner of pretences and excuses to pick the baby up.

It was when she changed his diapers for the third time in an hour that she saw the letters stitched into the lining of his clothes. Gideon, a name she was familiar with. A favourite of hers, from her favourite story. And something else about it sparked recognition in her, though it was fleeting.

"Gideon. Little Gid. Your mamma has good taste in names."

She usually tried to avoid thinking about where the babies Rumple took came from. She'd learned early on none were stolen, all freely given in deals. She tried to remind herself that she had been born surrounded by privilege, that most other people struggled for survival and that sometimes that led to desperate decisions. But she had seen enough babies come from comfortable families, from economically stable households, and had found out the terms of some of the deals. People asking for youth, talent, fame, beauty. Those people were better off not being parents, so she had learned to be glad in those instances and try not to think about deals made for survival.

Gideon's clothes, however, indicated a wealthy household. Perhaps, then, something traumatic had happened. For some reason, she refused to think that Gid could be one of those unwanted, bartered babies Rumple brought some time. The idea of him coming from parents who didn't love him was too difficult to bear. Who wouldn't love him, with his little pixie ears and the utter serenity that stole over him when he was held? Such a good baby had to have come from good, loving parents. It was silly, of course, and more than a bit unfair. All babies deserved to be born into a family that cherished them, yet she'd never wished more fervently for a child to be wanted than she did with little Gideon.

She began to worry about what sort of family would be chosen for him, what sort of desperate soul would be selected to receive him. Belle didn't usually fret about the children when they left the castle. She'd learned they all were bound to homes where they'd be cherished, doted upon. To parents who'd desired them above all else, and who'd paid a dire price to have them in their arms and in their lives. But Gideon deserved more than just parents who would appreciate him, he deserved to be loved unconditionally and fiercely, deserved devotion. She got used to carrying the baby around in his basket as she did her chores. Sometimes in the afternoons she read to him and though he was a new-born she swore he listened avidly at her, as if he recognised her voice, found it soothing.

By the time Rumplestiltskin returned from his latest trip she was afraid to bring up the child at first. Perhaps if she didn't mention him her master would forget and she'd get to keep him a bit longer. But Gideon seemed to have a different opinion, as he started wailing the moment he woke up in the nursery while she served dinner. Though the castle was vast the nursery was enchanted to amplify infant cries- a way to "keep an eye on the merchandise", as Rumplestiltskin had taunted her back when she didn't know better- so Gideon's unhappy screeching reached them loud and clear. Rumplestiltskin startled and looked at her, eyes narrowing.

"Whatever have you been up to, little maid?"

Before she could answer with something flippant he disappeared in a haze of smoke, leaving Belle to make her way to the nursery on foot. By the time she arrived Gideon was eyeing Rumplestiltskin as the imp held the baby as one would a piglet being inspected.

"Who the devil is this?"

"Have you forgotten the baby you dumped into my care weeks ago while on a trip? How careless."

She plucked the baby out of his hands and nestled him close to her chest. Little Gideon turned his head to nuzzle her skin and quieted down immediately, turning into the adorable little seraph he'd been since he'd gotten to the Dark Castle. She waited for a quip that didn't come, and began to worry when Rumplestiltskin looked more confused than outraged. Usually by then he'd said something about her cheek, or threatened to turn her into something nasty and slimy. All bark, no bite, which made the silence strangely disturbing.

"I have no idea who that baby is, dearie. I certainly didn't acquire it."

For a moment, she thought he might be joking, but he looked unsettled enough to rule that out. He sat her down and instructed her to tell him how she'd come across the baby over and over, much to her annoyance. And after he told her to bring everything that she'd found with the child. It was then that things got truly strange, for when she produced the wicker basket Gideon had been nestled in, and that she'd used to carry him around, Rumplestiltskin produced an identical one.

"This is my basket, dearie, not that one."

They were virtually identical, only Gideon's seemed to have a bit more wear and tear, though nothing too obvious. He inspected the child's clothes next, showing as much surprise as she had when he noticed the strangeness of them, how finely-spun they were, and how oddly-decorated. When he saw the blanket, however, he looked downright terrified. It was clear that he recognised it, somehow, but it didn't bring him any comfort.

"This baby... we need to know where it came from. Now."

"It's not an it, it's a he. His name is Gideon."

He seemed taken aback by her fervent reprimand, but recovered quickly and gestured for her to follow him. They went upstairs to his workroom, where she seldom was allowed, and while Belle rocked little Gid, trying to keep him distracted- the smell of potions seemed to be getting him fussy- her master ransacked the room, emitting a triumphant little giggle when he found it: a small, round crystal ball.

"This little thing needs replacing, but it's still good for one more scry. Let's find the poppet's parents, shall we?"

He looked intently at the babe and whispered into the crystal ball. Belle leaned close to try and see but was disappointed when nothing but their reflection showed up on the glassy surface.

"Magic must have ran out. This might be more complicated than I thought. Might need to procure something else to solve this little mystery."

Though Rumplestiltskin was flippant Belle knew, somehow, that he was shaken. And now that she thought about it she understood. The Dark Castle was heavily guarded yet someone had managed to sneak in and leave the baby. A baby her master couldn't find the parents of through simple magic, a baby with strange clothes and a basket identical yet somehow older than the one he owed.

"Take the little babe to the nursery. Might as well have him comfortable till we figure out where he comes from."

The second magical go at finding out Gideon's parents backfired too, a globe, topped by a needle, where Rumple had little Gideon prick his finger, holding him steady over the glowing orb. The resulting magic drew a map of the Enchanted forest, with Gideon's tiny droplet of blood landing squarely were the Dark Castle was.

"Well, that's a bust too. Damn thing's tracking the lad, for all the good it does us, and not his parents."

Belle glanced sideways at him, noticing how comfortable and natural he looked holding little Gid. Usually Rumple was very stand-offish with the babies, almost always refusing to hold them, dumping them on her as soon as he was able and otherwise keeping them at a distance. But somehow, he seemed to have forgotten all about his aversion to babies, since he was holding Gideon close, the baby sniffing at the sorcerer, finding something comforting in his smell. Rumplestiltskin was absentmindedly petting the baby's hair, of which he had plenty. When he finally noticed he all but tossed the baby over to her and told her to go clean something, which was code for 'I'm feeling vulnerable and need a moment'. Belle graciously went to pretend to dust the library.

There were other attempts after that. Though Rumplestiltskin seemed to be waiting for the acquisition of a certain specific magical instrument to make another serious try at discovering Gideon's identity, he fiddled with a few things in the meantime, with no positive results. The child, far from recoiling from magic, seemed to seek it out. He had determined Rumplestiltskin was a good person, because he was calm as one please every time the imp held him close, or when he talked in a low, more human tone. He kept on being his well-behaved, hungry little self, eating, sleeping and being curious when awake and sated. Though he tended to favour her he sometimes seemed more in the mood to listen to Rumplestiltskin's nonsense and fussed until he changed hands. Her master pretended he needed the wee one for something whenever he picked him up, some hair of an imprint of his tiny hand. He was careful with the babe, knew exactly how to cradle him, how to hold him so that his head and limbs were perfectly secure. She had caught him more than once absentmindedly burping the baby or even feeding him.

As the days passed without Rumplestiltskin having any success Belle dared hope they could keep little Gideon with them. The child seemed already frightfully attached to them, after all. But as soon as she began to entertain the possibility her master announced he had acquired the necessary ingredients for a full-proof spell to lead them to Gideon's parents. He let her into the workshop to show her the cauldron where a bright golden potion simmered.

"I'll just need two droplets of blood from the little poppet. The potion with find his parents and mark them and I'll just track the magical signature. Easy as pie."

The limp state of his hair and his wrinkled clothes belied his words, but she wisely made no comment. She allowed him to prick Gideon's foot and squeeze two droplets of blood out, after which the potion began to react violently, swirling around until it shot out two bright orbs, one that hit her on the side of the neck and the other that got Rumplestiltskin on his nape, sending them both to the floor. Gideon cried, unhappy about being jostled about.

"Another failure?"

It seemed strange to her. Rumplestiltskin was, as far as she could glean, centuries old, and incredibly powerful. That he would fail so many times at something as simple as tracking down two people seemed strange, if not downright impossible.

"... I don't think so."

His voice trembled, and when she looked at him his eyes and moth were wide open and he was staring at the baby in a way he never had before. Half-scared and half in awe.

"I don't understand. The potion was supposed to find his parents and mark them."

"I... I think it did. It marked you and me. Just like the crystal ball showed our reflection and the globe marked the child's parents as being inside the Dark Castle." He giggled, a wet and choking sound, and peered intently into Gideon's small, thin face. "He has your cheekbones... and my eyes."

Belle looked down at the child, recognising her delicate bone-structure in him, as well as Rumple's brown eyes and his slightly-pointy ears.

"It's... it's not possible. I've never been pregnant. I've never even... and Gideon's weeks old. I've been here for months, and you've seen me being distinctively not pregnant the whole time."

"And yet the child was wrapped in a baby blanket identical to my own, only mine is safely locked away were I left it. And the basket is identical to my own, only it's not." His voice was soft, deep and incredibly human, and it somehow scared Belle, how undone by it all Rumplestiltskin was. She remembered Gideon's name embroidered into his clothes, remembered how strangely familiar the stitches had looked, and it made sense then. They were her own.

When she focused on Rumple again he was tearing the older basket apart, until two rolls of paper fell out from the very entrails of it. He picked one, inspecting it closely. It seemed blank at first, until Rumple pricked his finger and let his blood run down the paper. It settled oddly, slowly forming letters and then words.

"Blood magic. How clever I am."

Belle leaned in, reading over Rumplestiltskin's shoulder a letter written by, apparently, himself. She recognised the handwriting easily. The letter told a strange story, of a terrible threat and untold destruction. Of two parents, desperate to protect their new-born babe, destined one day to bring peace, but unable to survive while the evil rose. Of a vision of the child living, safe and sound, in a time past. A safe place, where he'd be happy. Where he could be with his parents and be part of a family.

"Time-travel is not possible."

Belle knew Rumple enough to notice the hesitation in his tone, the acknowledgement that something he'd believed to be true might not be after all. She knew time-travel was one of magic's few limitations, had read enough books on magical theory to know that, but the mounting evidence seemed to indicate someone had found a way around that old rule. Which meant she was hold her son. Perfect little Gideon, named after her favourite character in her favourite book. Her own, her blood.

And Rumplestiltskin's.

She had not known what to expect after finding out Gideon's identity, but she hadn't thought Rumplestiltskin would become a veritable ghost in his own castle, an unseen and yet present entity that skulked around corners and hid out of sight just as she thought she might catch a glimpse of him. It wasn't that he was out of the castle much more than before, the opposite. Though she couldn't see him much she always knew he was around. He just seemed to always must be wherever she was not. At first, she hadn't minded, being too enraptured by Gid to pay him much attention. She had finally stopped fighting her instincts with the baby, knowing he was hers and she wouldn't have to give him up, and showered him with affection and care. Though he slept, as always, in her bedroom, she set about redecorating the rather generic nursery next to her room specially for him. And though she did everything herself, at first, soon she started to see Rumplestiltskin's invisible hand working its magic in the room. Toys would appear out of nowhere, as would linens and clothing and once a beautifully-crafted rocking chair.

Sometimes she'd leave Gideon alone to cook, change the sheets or something else and though the child was always alone when she returned to the nursery she could feel the faint static of magic in the air, and sometimes even catch the last of Rumple's characteristic smoke dissipating. But no matter what she did she could not get him to talk to her more than a few sentences, or be in her presence for more than five minutes. It was like living with a wild deer, skittish and wary of her.

In the beginning, she'd thought that it was Gideon who frightened him. After all he must have had a child at some point, to be so knowledgeable of their care, only to have lost him. She had found a room, a little boy's room, which seemed to support her theory. Babies were fragile creatures, and Belle herself got scared every time Gideon sneezed or had a bad colic. She couldn't imagine what it must be like to be a parent again after experiencing the loss of a son. But after a while it became clear that Rumple spent time with Gideon, as much as he could whenever she was not looking after him. Sometimes, if she stood outside the nursery and made no sound, she could hear her master poof into the room and talk with the baby, even sing to him. He had a lovely voice when it was pitched low and his accent was thick, and she was unsurprised to feel butterflies in her stomach.

If she was being fair she had to admit her attraction to Rumplestiltskin was old, older than she would care to admit even. It had started with small things, with shared jokes, the discovery of a similar interest or two, the sharing of small intimacies. Their mutual otherness had called out to each other and before she knew it Belle was catching herself admiring the way the light hit his skin, in particular that spot made visible by his open collar, and the way his pants hugged every bit of him. She had never liked the sort of tall, bulky knights that were the norm back home, so it was not surprising to find that short, thin sorcerers were more her preference.

By the time she realised what had happened she had grown wholly comfortable with Rumplestiltskin, the way she had seldom felt with anyone, and the matter of her deeper feelings seemed unimportant, something best left unexplored. Why ruin something good by pursuing what could not be? Surely her master didn't feel for her what she did for him. And yet now the proof of how wrong she'd been lived and breathed right next to her, in all his adorable glory. Somehow, in some future, she and Rumplestiltskin had managed to create a person together. That changed things completely.

Except, of course, that Rumplestiltskin was being too much of a coward to face her. And she might have let him evade her indefinitely, too weighed down by her own doubts and fears, if she hadn't caught him by surprise one night in the nursery. He'd been away for several days tending to a deal that, as far as she understood, asked a lot of him. It wasn't often that such a thing happened, but though immortal, Rumplestiltskin was not without limitations, nor was his strength infinite. She caught him slumped against the cot, watching the rise and fall of their child's chest as if it was some sort of magical phenomenon. He looked tired, his clothing torn in places and dirty in others and the fact that he hadn't magicked the wear and tear away told her a lot about how drained he was. He'd been reinforcing the castle's wards and running himself ragged acquiring all sorts of protective spells and defensive artefacts, determined to make the Dark Castle into a veritable fortress.

"He's getting better at sleeping through the night, but I still get up to check on him."

He startled visibly, turning his head to look at her and then swiftly looking down, a very faint blush dusting the top of his cheeks. Belle looked down at her simple nightgown and robe, made of serviceable cotton instead of the silk sleepwear she'd grown up wearing, and noticed they were a bit too thin, perhaps, certainly more revealing than her corseted, layered gowns.

"Yes, well, I was just checking on the wee bairn, didn't mean to disturb you, I'll just go—"

"No!"

Though her voice never rose over a whisper it froze Rumplestiltskin all the same. Perhaps it was because it was the middle of the night, and it was such an informal, casual encounter, or because Rumplestiltskin looked so raw and open, but Belle felt like it might be the best opportunity she had had in weeks to clear the air, to confront the elephant in the castle, so to speak.

"We need to talk about this."

Though she half-expected him to bold Rumplestiltskin remain where he was, looking wary but resigned. She looked around for inspiration as to how to approach the subject, feeling like she needed to do this correctly or her master would shut down completely and she'd lose her chance. Her eyes landed on Gid, snuffling in his sleep and she finally found the words.

"I spent a lot of time since we found out about Gideon's origin trying to figure out why our future selves chose to bend the fabric of magic to such a degree to send Gideon to us. And at first it seemed we were just... the safest place. Gideon would be with two people ready to do everything for him, as they knew we would. He'd be in the Dark Castle, away from any possible danger, guarded by the Dark One himself, and by the time the threat materialised he'd likely be old enough to deal with it, and we'd be prepared. But... I don't think that's it. I know myself, and I know you. And if I had to give up my child, to send him away, I would want him to be in a place of love. To grow up with a loving family. And I think they knew that just as they loved each other... so do we. They sent him here, to this point in time, because they knew we already loved each other back then. And if this is going to work, if we're going to do this right, you have to acknowledge this. I love you."

The deafening silence that followed her confession was unbearable, but Belle refused to look away or back down. The incredulity in Rumplestiltskin's eyes hurt but she reminded herself of how little his master thought of himself, how prone to self-loathing he was.

"You lie."

"I don't. I love you. Accept that."

"You don't. Stop lying."

He sounded almost angry, as if he resented being had. Belle squared her shoulders, knowing she needed to push him or he'd never believe her.

"I'm not. I love you. Now you say it."

He growled, taking a menacing step towards her. Belle resisted the urge to roll her eyes and stood firm. A minute passed, then another. Only when Belle felt herself close to tears did she relent, turning away so he could not see her cry. She didn't want to guilt him into any confession, didn't want it to be that way.

"Alright, be that way. I'll see you in the morning... I hope. I never know nowadays."

She hadn't taken more than two steps towards her room when she felt him right behind her, vibrating with something that wasn't quite anger. She stopped, willing herself not to tense, and waited for him to make a move.

"You wretched girl", he rasped out, his mouth so near her she could feel the words burning the back of her neck. His forehead came to rest between her shoulder blades, and Belle worried for a second that she pushed too much, too hard. That he might not be ready for it, that it would have been better to continue as they were, even if just for the sake of Gideon. A moment later he let out a hoarse, derisive laugh, that felt capitulating and joyful at the same time.

"I love you."

The words broke the tension in the room, making Belle sag forward, letting her rest weight on a chest of drawers in front of her, Rumplestiltskin pressing his body against her back. His head moved to rest atop her right shoulder, pushing her hair out of the way so he could nuzzle against her neck, tentative and determined at the same time. His breathing was ragged and the arms resting beside hers were shaking, but it didn't stop him from skimming his lips against the spot where her shoulder met her neck. She gasped, tilting her head to the side for no reason other than it felt right, felt like the thing to do. There was nothing but instinct to guide her forward, though her inexperience didn't make her feel at a disadvantage at all. Her master might be powerful and more versed in romantic matters than her but there was no doubt in her mind that she held most of the power in the room.

"I love you.”

His voice was little more than a growl, but somehow it did things to her no voice should have been able to. His right hand ghosted over her upper arm, shy at first, a feather-light touch, and took her hand to make her twirl around. They were close enough for Belle to feel the heat radiating from Rumplestiltskin's body and smell the scent of magic and sweat coming from him. His eyes were soft, almost liquid, open and vulnerable in a way that made her feel protective of him. Hesitantly he leaned forward, nose brushing her own a few times before dipping his head lower, his lips stopping just shy of hers. She could feel the tension radiating off him and she understood immediately the reason. The Dark One, scourge of the Enchanted Forest and supposed source of all evil, was asking for permission. If she hadn't been in love with him then, that would have certainly done it.

"Yes…"

It came out embarrassingly breathless but far from objecting Rumplestiltskin let out a needy little whimper before covering the scant distance between them, pressing their lips together. It was a short, tentative first kiss, a new meeting of sorts between them. The one that followed was much different, more languid and daring, unfurling slowly. Feeling like she might lose her footing Belle wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding tightly onto the stiff fabric of his vest. Even through the layers of clothing Rumple's characteristic warmth seeped into her skin, adding to the wonderfully-heady feeling of the kiss. Though she could tell he held himself back at first as the kiss continues Rumple melted against her, clawed fingers sinking into the fabric of her robe around the waist, scraping slightly against her skin.

Just as it felt like it might be too much too soon Gideon let out a loud wail, followed by pitiful little cries, fussing in a clear attempt to be picked up. It made the separation a little less awkward, Belle picking little Gid up and Rumple hovering at her back, looking over her shoulder at the fussy baby with the softest expression Belle had ever seen. Clearly, she was going to be the one to make rules and be sure Gid followed them when he grew up. Rumple was likely to do as the baby pleased.

They didn't say much else the rest of the night, though as the hours passed and Gideon continue to refuse to be put down on his cot they naturally made their way to her bedroom, Belle carefully placing Gideon in the middle before removing her robe and making her way under the covers. When Rumplestiltskin hesitated, she stretched out her hand towards him, glad when he had the presence of mind to change his clothes into something looser, and far less grimy. He hovered a few moments more, looking like he might bolt from the room before he slid into bed on Gideon's other side, smiling when the babe calmed down immediately and closed his eyes, apparently ready to sleep. A wonderful sort of intimacy stole over them, with little words needing to be spoken. Belle thought briefly about her future self, and how much she had likely fought for her child's happiness, and bowed to honour such sacrifice. She'd build a home for Gideon, both of them would. She would be a loving, nurturing mother and would raise Gideon up the best way she could.

"You know, we must not let him get used to this. He needs to know he can't just cry and get whatever he wants."

Rumple's sleepy little noise of ascent let her know he was, like her, on the verge of sleep. She yawned and burrowed into the sheets, happy in a way she hadn't felt before.

"Besides, I want him to have lots of siblings, and this way we will never get around to it."

"What?"

[paperiahma]

Inquisitor Surana - a brief summary

After seeing the positive response in dragonageconfessions, I decided to make this quick summary how my headcanon for my Inquisitor Surana works. Mostly it’s to clarify the events in Origins and how they tie into Inquisition. There are also a few points I make about the events in Inquisition. In short, here is an AU where a human mage Iren Amell becomes the Warden while his friend, an elven mage Feralsha Surana, ends up as the Inquisitor. 

If someone is curios about details - any details - feel free to message me. Seriously, you can ask me about her spell preferences or what she looks like or hell, what her favourite food is. I guarantee you, I will be overjoyed to reply. 

Thank you again, for all you lovely people who responded so well this little AU^^

*Was born to two elven servants and taken away when her magical abilities awaken at the age of five. Two of the three templars were quite rough and cold, but the third one spoke to her kindly and comforted her all the way from Highever to the Circle.

 *A shy child, she kept mostly to herself and studied magic with enthusiasm and deep fascination. However, it was soon made clear how closely she was being watched and she was terrified of making mistakes. Once she was practicing a fire spell on her own and burnt her hands. Too scared to tell anyone, she hid in the library until an older mage found her and healed the burns. That was her first proper talk with Irving who took her to his office to talk about magic and balance and how one must sometimes fail before seeing how to do things right.

 *As a quiet, brilliant child, Feralsha was easy to walk over so she had a hard time making any friends and she was picked on by some bullies. However, another apprentice, a couple of years her senior, defended her and took her under his wing. This apprentice was Iren Amell, another child genius.

 *Soon after, the dynamic duo became the three magical musketeers as they met and befriended Jowan.

 *The three of them were inseparable, even when both Feralsha and Iren became apprentices to the First Enchanter himself. The boys, especially Iren, would often come up with all sorts of wild ideas and pranks and Feralsha was dragged along. She did always laugh with them about it all afterwards, but she also reined them in every now and then, keeping them from crossing the line. As a mastermind behind most of the plan, Iren always came up with a lie or another trick to keep the softer Feralsha out of trouble.

 *Iren was always confident, charismatic and incredibly witty. Quite a few apprentices, including Feralsha, had a crush on him at one point or another. Feralsha’s teenage crush lasted only a little while before those feelings changed into sister’s love.

 *After getting used to the templars, Feralsha often made an effort to talk with them and learned who would return her friendliness and who wouldn’t. She always made a point to at least politely greet them as she walked by. Soon she befriended one of the younger recruits, Cullen.

 *Feralsha’s Harrowing was merely hours apart from Iren’s. Like him, she met a Pride demon in her test. It might seem quite odd for many who knew her as a humble and sweet young woman who never bragged. But there was always hidden pride within her and Feralsha was often (perhaps needlessly) worried she’d let it take over and do something foolish.

 *She and Iren helped Jowan to destroy his phylactery but when they were caught by the templars, Iren pushed her away from him and Jowan and yelled at her for “slowing them down by trying to stop them”, hoping his lie would save her from the fall. Struck numb by this, she never found the words to protest before everything escalated. As Jowan attacked, she was devastated, as she was losing both of her brothers. Jowan ran, Iren was taken away by the Grey Warden Duncan and she was left alone.

 (Trivia worth mentioning: my friend headcanons Iren as Duncan’s son. Duncan knows about this but he never gets the chance to talk to Iren about it. Iren, however, later figures it out on his own. This whole idea sparked when my friend noticed how she had accidentally made Iren look a lot like Duncan.)

 *Feralsha did tell Irving the truth about her involvement later but he knew of it already. However, he understood her reasons and even though he was disappointed, he never told anyone else about the truth. When Wynne returned to the Circle with news of Ostagar, Feralsha’s heart was shattered. She spent most of the following weeks in isolation, eating little and only talking with Irving or Cullen and not much to them either. When she wasn’t mourning, she was distracting herself with studies.

 *When the Circle was attacked, Feralsha’s every instinct told her to run and find safety. She was not a great brave fighter and had no stomach for violence. However, knowing that both Irving (her mentor and only parental figure) and Cullen (her last dear friend) were exactly where all the abominations were coming from, she couldn’t make herself to leave. So she fought her way forward, saving a couple of injured templars and mages in the process, though refusing to flee with them. Eventually she encountered the Sloth demon standing over Niall and was pulled into the Fade.

 *Feralsha’s Fade trap was once again created by a Pride. She saw a dream of a reformed Circle with her as its First Enchanter. The Circle was independent, safe environment for all. Iren was there in a shimmering silver and blue uniform of the Wardens, happy and healthy. Jowan was there free and smiling with Lily, who was pregnant. Cullen was the new knight-commander of the templars who remained in the Circle with lesser authority and worked together with mages instead above them. She escaped the trap, found Niall and began exploring the Fade islands.

 *Around the same time in the waking world, Iren encountered the Sloth demon and ended up in the Fade, too.

 *Though terrified to the core, Feralsha did manage to find two new shapes before Iren found her. He wasn’t in a shimmering uniform, he didn’t come with good news and he looked quite weary and thin. But he was alive and ready to fight and Feralsha was overwhelmingly relieved to see him. Just Iren’s presence was enough to convince her all was going to turn out fine, somehow. Together they found their ways through the Fade, rescued Iren’s companions and escaped the Fade with Nial’s dying wish.

 *Meeting Cullen was shocking on many levels. Seeing him so utterly pained and broken was already enough to make Feralsha kneel in front of the magical cage in an effort to comfort him. But his pained confession of his affection for her and the new hate towards mages cut like poisoned daggers. In the end, Feralsha didn’t say much at the time. Too tired from fighting and hurting too much for his sake, she didn’t know if she could in any way make things better. She had loved Cullen as a very dear friend for a long time but knew it was unlikely she’d ever get him back like that.

 *In the final battle against Uldred, Feralsha stood with Iren and managed to save First Enchanter Irving and the rest of the mages, much to their relief. Afterwards, as the dust settled and Wynne requested a leave to travel with Iren, Feralsha did the same. Part of her wanted to stay to rebuild her home and make sure Irving and Cullen would recover. But at the same time she knew Iren would be in far greater danger and she didn’t want to lose her brother a second time. So she left the Tower with him and followed him all the way to the Archdemon.

 *(As a side note, my friend hasn’t had the chance to play the Awakening, but I’m personally convinced Feralsha remained with Iren during that)

 *During the years after the Blight and its aftermath, Feralsha returned to the Circle. It had gained far more independence, thanks to Iren and King Alistair and as one of the few remaining mages in Ferelden, she wished to give her all to use this opportunity. By this time Cullen had already been sent to Kirkwall before she could have the chance to properly talk to him. She sent a couple of letters but never got a reply.

 *Feralsha traveled Ferelden on small expeditions to study magical sites or old ruins. She made contact with a few dalish clans (including the clan Lavellan) and traded information with their keepers. She climbed the Circle ranks and taught some classes, even tutoring Dagna. During this time her spirit grew stronger and she gained confidence, eventually becoming ready to accept the leading position with an open heart.

 *Soon Irving began training Feralsha to become the First Enchanter after him so she threw herself into her studies once more. Though she was already an expert on many arcane fields of study and adept at history, she began to deepen that knowledge while also studying politics, economics and culture. She did rise to the position just a couple of years before the mage-templar conflict finally reached its breaking point.

 *Despite the war, she looked after her own Circle and its people the best she could. Feralsha wanted the Circles back, but not in the same way as they had been before. She wanted a safe environment for the mages to study where they could also have the main authority and would be allowed the freedom to see their families. She found templars necessary as well, but as guardians, not prison guards. She felt that the concept was sound but the system needed to be thoroughly rebuilt for both sides.

 *When the Conclave was announced, she took part as Ferelden’s First Enchanter. And was the only one to survive.

 *Though a fairly devout Andrastian, Feralsha never claimed to be Andraste’s Herald or “the chosen one”. However, secretly she  wanted to believe some of it. Not that she was Andraste’s equal or that she had the right to speak for Her... but she did want to believe the Maker had chosen her for this. But for the fear of pride and arrogance, she didn’t dare to truly believe so for a time. But when Haven was attacked, her faith that she was chosen for this finally strengthened, because she needed it to. She needed to believe she was chosen. Maybe not a Herald, maybe not a prophet… but a guardian of some sort. Chosen in a way she believed Iren was chosen to be the Hero of Ferelden.

 *Meeting Cullen again was quite jarring, especially considering the long years after their previous encounter. To avoid unnecessary awkwardness, neither of them showed any sign of knowing each other when they were first introduced. Later, when Feralsha went to talk to him, they first remained professional and distant, until finally she admitted she had wondered what had happened to him. They talked for some time, mostly telling about the past years, reassuring there were no hard feelings and both agreed to start again. They had not met in almost ten years and people change a lot in that time, so in truth they barely knew each other. Yet both were glad to see the other healthy and were looking forward to getting to know each other again.

 *Feralsha’s feelings for Cullen slowly grew as she got to know him better. She found small private moments to talk with him more and more often, feeling safe in his presence while also being treated as an equal. By Skyhold the feelings had deepened and the romance finally bloomed on both sides.

[fandomn00blr]

From here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17521832/chapters/41279270

(Please see tags and content warnings on AO3...this little fluffy thing comes from an overall much sadder world state/AU, and it’s a dream Fenris is having after something awful happens and I’m sorry!)

“We should play Wicked Grace!” Hawke was beaming, the wine warming her cheeks and her chest and making her eyes sparkle against the pinkness in her face even more than usual.

“Yes! We should!" Anders agreed. "I’m tired of losing to Isabela and Varric. I swear, they both cheat. I’m sure I could beat you two, especially in the compromised states I’ve found you in!”

Hawke blew sloppy raspberries at him, unaware that she was only furthering his point. “Compromised? Who’s compromised?! I’m my best at Wicked Grace when I’m wasted!”

“Did you drink all these bottles together just tonight? It doesn’t look like you’ve saved any for me and Justice...not that he would appreciate it. The spoilsport.”

Fenris laughed. “Don’t assume I am as much of a lightweight as Hawke. I drank most of this before she even got here!”

Anders raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Are you bragging about your broody alcoholism, Fenris? Overindulgence is a sin, you know, according to the Chantry!”

“Do you not brag about your hobo apostasy, mage?” Fenris tried to match Anders’ face, but he didn’t quite have his eyebrow down just yet. The mage was just so...animated. In his former life, maintaining a cool, blank, expressionless face at all times was a matter of survival. But now...it got him called things like “broody” or “prickly.” While those things were certainly true to an extent, he had been consciously trying to be a little more open to expressions of emotion with the people he cared about. It was manageable, since it was only really a handful of people, and the alcohol certainly helped. Well, that is, until it just made everything in his face go numb.

“Ouch…?” Anders smiled. He appreciated Fenris’ dry, cutting sense of humor, even more than Hawke. His jabs were like papercuts. The kind you don’t even realize you have until you look down and notice you’re bleeding. And then, they fucking sting! Fenris was learning that Anders was the type who seemed to enjoy a little bit of sting, when the mood was right.

Hawke was hopelessly rummaging through her pack in search of the Wicked Grace cards she’d ‘borrowed’ from Varric’s suite at the Hanged Man. She’d dumped out the same half of her bag’s contents and put it all back in several times already, expecting to somehow find the cards by repeating these steps over and over, and she was beginning to wonder if her bag had some kind of enchantment on it that made it bottomless. “Could one of you help me out with some glowey something or other? It seems to have gotten rather dark…”

Anders immediately produced an orb of blue-white lightning almost as fast as Fenris leaned over her with his lyrium markings glowing almost as brightly as they did when he was ripping organs out of slavers’ chests. Hawke nearly fell over laughing in surprised delight.

“I don’t think you could even remember how to play, Hawke, let alone where you put those cards…” Anders winked at Fenris. Another thing Fenris was trying to figure out how to do, if only to mock the mage. It always felt so awkward, so forced, when he did it. But it came so naturally to Anders, he was certain he had no idea his eyes even did that, let alone the effect it had on him.

“You’re right,” she sighed, tossing her pack aside. The cards fell haphazardly out of a pocket in the front, but nobody seemed to notice. “This was just a ploy to trick you both into a glow-off!”

“You’ve seen ours, now show us yours…” The corners of Fenris' mouth twitched up into a cautious smile.

“I don’t glow!”

“Oh no? When’s the last time you saw your eyes in the moonlight?” The alcohol had clearly had the effect of making him far more courageous, bordering on idiotic, in this false memory than he’d ever been in real life, drunk or sober. He cringed within his own dream at the cheesiness of it all.

“Oh, you flatterer!” Without any hesitation at all, and to his surprise, she wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled him towards her, planting her warm, wine-stained lips on his like it was nothing. Something they'd done a dozen or so times before. This alternate version of him did not resist. Did not recoil in panic. Did not push her away from him.

She turned back, “Anders, what do you have to say?”

“Err...I’ve just got this orb. How embarrassing.” He set it floating gently towards her face and it crackled and dissipated just before hitting her nose. She winced, then smiled with relief that her face still seemed to be intact. She reached with her other arm for the hand he’d used to cast it, clumsily intertwining her fingers with his and pulling him toward the two of them as Fenris lowered his gaze to her collarbone and pressed his forehead to her neck. Anders briefly entertained the idea of nobly resisting whatever this was about to be, as the only sober one among them, but Fenris grasped his arm and pulled him into their embrace more forcefully, reminding him of their previous argument-turned-kiss. How could he deny himself the opportunity to explore more of that?

“Be kind to each other. I don’t want to have to choose between you.” She pulled them even closer, intending to kiss both of them simultaneously, perhaps, though Fenris wasn’t sure how that was even possible, and he wasn’t really convinced Hawke knew, either.

"I don't think it's your choice alone to make, love..." Anders mused, feeling the intensity of Fenris' hold on him, and eyeing the elf, the way his heart was very nearly beating right out of his chest. This was what he wanted.

“Isabela will be so jealous!” She grinned.

Anders winced. “You’re going to tell Isabela about this?”

“Of course!”

“Of course…” Fenris confirmed, nodding earnestly, as he pulled Anders into a kiss.

[lilacmoon83]

The Enchanted Island

Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time or the 2006 movie "The Island."

AN: This story came to me obviously while I stayed up too late watching the movie "The Island" on cable. This is not an actual crossover. Basically, it's the movie with Once characters and Once twists. No knowledge of the Island is needed to read. This is Snowing with appearances by most Once characters, including Rumple, Regina, Robin, Hook, Lancelot, Leroy, King George, Granny, Red, baby Emma, and more! Obviously this is AU. No magic in the traditional sense that we have come to know with Once. So enjoy and please consider leaving a comment!

The Enchanted Island

Chapter 1: Snow Struck

She was sneaking around the compound again, for her curious nature could never be contained. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Thinking it to be a Black Knight, she grabbed the nearest blunt object, which happened to be a rock from the bed of the garden, and hit the man in the face with it. He went down, holding his chin and she quickly saw that he wasn't a Black Knight.

Judging by his attire, he was another survivor and his cerulean eyes met her emerald ones. She gasped, fearing she would be a lot of trouble for attacking another resident. But he grabbed her hand. "It's okay...I shouldn't have sneaked up on you," he said and she relaxed a little. "I haven't seen you before…" she said, though he seemed so familiar for some reason. A smirk played on his lips. "David...but most people tend to call me Charming. They tell me I've been in a coma until recently," he said. "Charming…" she uttered. Yes, Charming was definitely more suited to him. He seemed just as captivated by her.

"Do you have a name?" he asked. "Snow White," she answered. "Snow White," he repeated, like it was best thing he'd ever heard. "You should go to the infirmary and get that cut looked at," she suggested. "Nah...I hate that place. I'll just clean it myself in my room," he replied. She took his hand. "Mmm...I caused it so I should at least treat it for you," she said, as she started leading him away.

"Where are we going?" he asked. "My friend Granny has a first aid kit in the back of her diner. I know where she keeps it," she replied. "I was told we weren't allowed in that part of the compound. It's Black Knights territory," he warned. She smirked. "That's why it will be fun...like an adventure. Granny says sometimes rules are meant to be broken," she offered. He smirked in return. He himself hated rules and broke as many as he could. He thought he was the only one, as all the others always seemed to do as they were told without question. "An adventure...sounds fun," he agreed. And it would be. Like a Prince and a Princess on an adventure, just like in the fairy tales they were told…

Stunning blue eyes opened, as he was roused from sleep for another day. Once again, it was time for his day to day mundane existence in the small community of Misthaven. It had been several years now since a great apocalypse had devastated the earth and all that remained of humans lived here in the vast underground refuge known as Misthaven. Many did not talk about what exactly had happened, but everyone was adamant about one thing. You could not go outside or leave the confines of the compound.

He didn't remember any of it. He had been told he was in a coma for many years until just recently when he finally awoke. Upon waking, he had no memories of the disastrous event that had ended life as everyone knew it on Earth. He had brief flashes of his childhood, but nothing more and they told him that was normal. Apparently, many comatose trauma patients never regained their memories. He had been told his name was David, but that everyone called him Charming.

He had integrated into this new society well enough, even though he was full of questions. The Black Knights, who policed their society and kept everyone safe, didn't like questions and their stony expressions were met by him with a charming grin.

His friends weren't much help either. None of them seemed to remember specifics about how they ended up in this place. But one thing the guards and their King warned; going outside meant certain death. But it didn't make Charming any less curious.

As he had every day since he had been give his small quarters, he performed the same routine. A shower, followed by dressing, which consisted of the same outfit as all the males wore. A black formfitting bodysuit that was made of light, resilient, and comfortable material. The females wore a very similar outfit, only in white. Once he was dressed, he exited his room and followed the long blank hallways to the mess hall with all the others. Meal time was among his favorite time, as it allowed him to interact with all his friends.

"Morning mate," his friend drawled, as he came out of his quarters. "Morning Hook," he greeted pleasantly. Hook was his best friend and like Charming was his nickname, Hook was a nickname and no one had any idea what his real name was and Hook hadn't offered one. The nickname was coined for him after he lost his hand in the great disaster. Hook didn't remember much about it, except he woke up with no hand and someone had joked he could replace the hand with a hook, like Captain Hook did, whoever that was. Of course, that idea was quickly squashed by the black Knights. A hook for an appendage would be far too dangerous and he had been fitted with a prosthetic hand. But the nickname, like his, had stuck.

"Mates...mates!" Robin called, as he caught up to them. "Where's the fire, mate?" Hook asked. Robin looked confused and Charming smirked. "Fire?" he asked. "It's an expression, mate. I heard it from one of the black Knights the other day when I was in a hurry and decided to run down the hall," he explained. "Oh...where's the fire. I like it, but you'll never believe what I found this morning," he said in excitement, as he looked around to make sure none of the Black Knights were paying any attention to him. He slid the matchbox open and showed them the contents. Neither Hook or Charming had any idea what it was, but it was alive. "What is it?" Charming asked, as he examined the tiny creature. "I have no idea, but I found it in the vent. It came from outside," he whispered.

Now that intrigued Charming greatly. "But how is it alive if it came from outside? The King always tells us that nothing left out there can live," Charming said. "Maybe it got caught in the vent before it all happened," Hook suggested. Robin nodded and seemed to find that to be an acceptable answer. But Charming wasn't convinced. His curious nature just wouldn't allow him to accept such a convoluted answer. But for now, he let it go, for drawing the attention of the Black Knights was never good.

Though Robin became disinterested with the creature and allowed Charming to have it. As he tucked it away for later, for the moment, all thoughts left his mind, but they usually did when he saw her. Her emerald eyes flicked to his briefly, as she stood in line for her morning meal. She was so beautiful and he had been drawn to her since the first time he saw her. Snow White. He somehow found himself in line behind her and she smirked.

"Good morning Charming," she greeted. "Morning Snow," he responded, as they were served their meal. He grimaced a bit. It was the same thing every morning. Oatmeal, dried fruit, and a healthy green smoothie which he thought tasted like chalk. "Maybe I'll see you later?" she said. He nodded. "I hope so," he replied, as he watched her go. He didn't like that the Black Knights made the men eat separately from the women. He didn't understand why, but as usual, no one offered him any answers.

After breakfast, they all went to work, which consisted of the mundane tasks of working the assembly lines and filling small vials with what the King called potions. From what they had been told, the potions contained nutrients that were vital to their survival. The nutrients were used in the plants they grew for food. He had heard about the gardens. Snow worked in the gardens, but he wasn't permitted to go there. None of the men were. Everyone else accepted it easily enough, but not Charming. He didn't like being told he couldn't do something for no reason.

After work came his favorite part of the day. Recreation time, where they were actually allowed to interact with everyone, exercise, and enjoy fruit drinks that were healthy, but actually tasted good. They weren't allowed anything unhealthy, but the Black Knights were allowed to have whatever they wanted. It was no secret that they enjoyed strong drinks at the diner.

Only Black Knights were allowed in Granny's diner. The smells that came from it were heavenly though. So heavenly that he had snuck in there one night and tasted the most wonderful confection. Granny had caught him, but actually had not told on him and instead indulged his curiosity and rewarded him with a hot cup of what she called hot chocolate with cinnamon. It was wonderful and ever since that night, which he had told no one about, he had longed to return there. But not alone. He imagined of sharing a cup with Snow, but then he imagined sharing many things with Snow. He wondered if she thought about him as much as he thought about her.

"Here," her brunette friend said, as she sat down at the bar next to her with their smoothies. "Thanks Red," Snow said, as she took a sip and then winced. "Ugh...apple," she complained. "Oh sorry, that one's mine. I forgot that you hate apple," Red remarked, switching their drinks. Snow was much happier with the pineapple flavor. She took a drink and noticed that Charming was almost up to duel and she put her drink down. "I'll be right back," she said. Red snorted in amusement and shook her head at her friend. Snow cut in line and the dark haired woman behind her scoffed. "Dammit Snow…" she hissed. "Please Regina...you know how much I love sparring Charming," Snow pleaded. Regina, also known to most as The Queen, rolled her eyes. The Queen title came from Regina's air of superiority and the way she waltzed around like everyone there were her subjects. "Why should I care what you want? You're such a spoiled brat," the Queen complained. "Oh Regina, relax. Let Snow spar Charming, she's the only one that can actually beat him in a duel anyway," Belle admonished. Regina snorted. "Fine, I hope he beats you," she huffed.

Looks like you'll be sparring Snow again," Hook mentioned. Charming looked over to the line and noticed her there and he licked his lips. "You sure do stare at her a lot," Robin mentioned innocently. "She's beautiful...what's not to stare at?" Charming replied. "You're playing with fire. The Black Knights already think you're troublesome," a new voice said. Charming turned to see Rumplestiltskin looking at him with an air of amusement.

"Playing with fire? Where's the fire? What is this obsession with fire?" Robin wondered, but he was ignored. While Rumplestiltskin was one of them, it was well known that he knew things...things he wasn't supposed to know. Charming had long suspected that he knew how they came to be here and what exactly had devastated their planet. But he never shared much detail, just tidbits in exchange for favors.

"I don't understand. Why is it dangerous for Snow and me to be friends?" he asked. Rumple smirked like he knew something the rest of them didn't. He always smiled like that though. "Oh I think you and I both know you'd like to be more than friends," Rumple surmised. "How do you be more than friends with someone?" Robin asked. Hook shrugged. "No idea mate," Hook replied.

"Dimwits," Rumple hissed under his breath, though he knew it wasn't really their fault. They weren't meant to have much development beyond the age of preteen. Since none of them, including him, would live more than a few years. Sometimes he hated knowing the truth.

But something was definitely different about Charming and Snow. "What do you mean by more than friends?" Charming asked curiously. Rumple smirked. He didn't like very many people, but he liked Charming and Snow. Probably because they were brave enough to question the world around them. Maybe...just maybe it would be the thing that would save them all, but only if he helped it along by planting the right seeds. "Why...true love of course," he said. "True love?" Charming asked. "True love...the most powerful magic in the world," Rumple replied. "How do you know if it's true love?" Charming asked. "Oh...you know, because you feel it," Rumple replied. Hook and Robin scoffed. "You're a crackpot, Rumple," Hook commented. "Yeah...true love," Robin scoffed. But Charming looked even more intrigued than ever and that was enough for Rumple.

Above the compound, in his tower, George surveyed his creations. "This is quite the operation you have here," a voice said from behind him. His latest and newest investor into the project, Xavier Ramirez, observed as his honored guest. "And they have no idea?" Xavier asked. George chuckled. "Oh no...none whatsoever. They actually look forward to the lottery," George replied. "I'm definitely interested, but what you do here is highly illegal," Xavier mentioned.

"Of course it is. When I started this company, we did everything by the book and it takes a lifetime to get a mature clone when you do it within the law. My wife died of cancer waiting for her clone to be ready for harvest. From that day forward, I decided that no one else would lose a loved one because of time," George stated. "So you sped up the process," Xavier inquired. "Yes...now we have a mature clone in a matter of year or two. But the vegetative state we kept the early ones in didn't produce results. The organs were harvested and failed. Consciousness seems vital to the success," George explained. "So you came up with the post apocalypse story and keep them vastly uninformed," Xavier said. George nodded.

"We monitor them constantly and do not allow them too much interaction with the opposite sex. They are fed vague stories about their lives before the disaster and it is made explicitly clear that venturing outside the compound means certain death," George continued. "Quite intriguing. I am very interested, but what is the purpose of the fairy tale names?" he inquired. George chuckled. "A bit of whimsy. My wife loved fairy tales," he said, gesturing to a book in his office beneath a glass case. "She loved this book and all its tales. They are quite different than the versions many know," George explained. "So it is only right in her honor that your creations have these names," Xavier responded.

"Who is the next lottery winner?" Xavier inquired. George pressed a key and a tall, handsome African American male came up on the screen. "Last night, NBA star Billy Gilroy was in a horrific car crash. He needs several organs to survive so that is where Gus comes in," George said, as the doppelganger appeared on screen. "Gus? I don't recall that being a fairytale name," Xavier mentioned. "Well, when you start running out of main characters, you have to resort to the lesser ones. I believe Gus was one of Cinderella's mice," George replied with a chuckle.

Charming was really good at dueling. He had beaten everyone he had ever dueled, except Snow. On the occasion where they found themselves paired up, he became captivated by her beauty and fluid grace with the blade. Their blades clashed furiously, as they circled each other and Snow admired the way his muscles flexed beneath the tight material of his uniform. She'd never felt like this about anyone before and it was very new to her.

They came to a deadlock and he gave her a smirk. It made her heart feel funny in her chest. The first time it had happened, she thought that maybe there was something wrong with it. She had mentioned it to Granny in passing as the woman served her evening meal. But the elderly woman just chuckled at her with a merry smile when she expressed her concern that her heart had skipped a beat. "Oh girl...there's nothing wrong with it. Hearts are silly things and they can do that around a man, especially a handsome one like that Charming," she had told her. The Black Knights nearby had given Granny very stern looks and she had quieted then. The older woman was always telling them things the Black Knights felt they shouldn't know.

"Looks like this one might be a draw," he said, as their faces were inches apart. It was hard not to get lost in his blue eyes, but he too seemed captivated by her and she capitalized on it. She swept his feet out from under him and he landed on his back.

"Maybe next time, Charming," she replied, smirking down at him. He smiled back and she found that curious too. All the other men she bested usually got really angry when they lost to her. But not Charming. He just seemed oddly pleased by it and that's why she always extended her hand to help him up. They exited the arena and headed to the bar for drinks. "Those were some great moves," he complimented. She looked at him coyly. "You're not so bad yourself," she replied, as they stared at each other, faces only inches apart again.

On the outskirts of the room, red sensors beeped on one of the Black Knight's scanners, alerting him to a proximity warning. He rolled his eyes. It was always these two with the proximity. They had noticed on more than one occasion that Snow White and Charming seemed to gravitate toward each other.

"Proximity warning," he said, stepping between them. David gave him a hard look, as he felt serious disdain at being told to step away from her. It felt wrong. Being near her was the only thing that felt right. When the guard felt there was acceptable daylight between them, he stepped away and he sighed.

"So...I went somewhere the other night. Somewhere I wasn't supposed to," he whispered to her. She looked enthralled and looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Really? Like on an adventure?" she asked. He grinned. "Exactly like that. I can show you," he replied. She bit her bottom lip. "We would be in so much trouble if we got caught," she lamented. He frowned. "Yeah…" he said and she smiled. "Let's do it," she replied. He grinned. "Okay…follow me," he said, as he started walking toward the arena. With all the bodies gathered around there, it was the one place where the Black Knight's view was obstructed the most.

Charming waited for the current duel to intensify and Snow felt her heart leap, as he took her hand and sneaked her into the men's locker room. He quickly ducked them into a corner and they hid there, pressed together, for a few moments, until he was sure the coast was clear. She felt hot all over, as his body pressed against hers and seriously was wondering what was wrong with her, for she felt like she could barely breathe. "Is...this what you wanted to show me?" she finally whispered. He swallowed thickly. "Um...no, it's this way," he whispered back, as he led her through to the other exit. Thanks to the dueling contest, the hallways were mostly deserted and she started to smell something wonderful, as they went through two shiny metal doors.

"Boy...have you lost your damn mind?" Granny exclaimed, as she ushered the two into the kitchen. "I'm sorry Granny...but the other night when you let me have hot chocolate, I just knew Snow would love it too," he said. His innocence broke Granny's heart. Their true purpose broke her heart even more and knew their lives were never going to be their own. It was the reason she had indulged this young man the other night.

As she saw their linked hands, her heart practically cracked in two. Relationships weren't allowed. Hell, most of them didn't even have any concept of attraction or sexual tension. But these two...it was so thick it was almost suffocating and damn it if she wasn't a romantic at heart. "Fine...but if you two get caught, you better not rat me out," she warned. He grinned. "Never," he promised. She sighed and pointed to a couple of chairs. "I'll be right back," she promised. "What is this place?" Snow asked. "It's the back of Granny's diner," he replied. Her eyes widened. "You mean the place where all the Black Knights eat?" she hissed. He nodded excitedly, as they peeked out into the front of the diner, seeing them eating, drinking, and conversing freely.

There was even two of the guards in a booth and they had their mouths pressed together. She found that extremely curious and exciting. The two were touching each other too and she felt the desire to touch Charming like that. They seemed to be enjoying the touching and their lips together. Snow wondered what it would feel like to press hers against Charming's.

Before her thoughts could carry to action, Granny returned with two cups and set them down on the counter. "There...two cups of hot chocolate, with whipped cream and cinnamon. My secret recipe," she said, as she left them. "What is it?" Snow asked. "It's a drink...it's amazing, but sip it slowly, because it's hot," Charming replied. She did as he instructed and took her first drink. "Mmm...that's wonderful…" she said in amazement. He grinned and took a sip as well. "I told you," he replied. "Charming...why do you suppose we're not allowed to do the same things as the Black Knights?" she asked. He snorted. "I was beginning to think I was the only one that wondered that," he replied. Before they could discuss it further, a compound-wide broadcast began to air on the many prominent viewing screens that existed throughout their home. It was an announcement from their King.

"Good evening, my loyal subjects," George greeted pleasantly. "It's time again to choose our next lottery winner. The next person to be chosen to go to the Enchanted Island…" he announced, as the screen was assaulted with images of beaches with pearly white sands, lush forests, vast castles, and crystal blue oceans. "And tonight's winner is...Gus!" he announced.

The screen panned to Gus, who gasped and accepted congratulatory pats on the back from those around him, as he was excitedly escorted away by the black Knights. "Lucky guy," she mentioned. "Maybe," he replied. "Oh come on, everyone wants to go to the Enchanted Island. It's everyone's dream," she said. He shrugged. "I don't know, if I had to choose between going to the Enchanted Island alone and staying here with you, I'd choose here with you," he said. She felt her face go hot and before she could say anything, Granny came rushing back.

"The duels are ending for the night. You two better sneak back to your rooms of you'll be caught for sure," she warned. "Thanks Granny," Charming said, as they hurried out. They managed to make it back to the arena without being noticed or seen.

"Thanks for sharing that with me. It was amazing," she said. He smiled shyly and going on pure instinct, Snow pressed her lips in a quick peck, before scurrying away. Charming stood stunned for several moments and touched his lips, before a goofy smile spread across his face and he returned to his quarters for the night. It had been a good day. The best day ever…

In the next chapter, Snow and Charming have more dreams and we get a glimpse of their real world counterparts. Charming begins to uncover the truth behind the Enchanted Island and Snow wins the lottery...

[lamiaward]

Can a family be your home?

I don’t own OUAT

3.21/3.22 au: Henry is sucked into the portal after slipping away to search for Emma. He comes across the evil queen- and is taken to her castle. Regal believer.

They can tell him their stupid reasons and pretend like he is just some kid, but his mother is out there somewhere and she is sad. And maybe his memories are all false, or edited copy’s where the face of her mother is swapped, but there is still a bit of that ‘it is mom and me against the rest of the world’ feeling left. Besides, he hates it when they hide things from him or deem something ‘unsafe’. Emma is his mother and they have spent the last year together and he has gotten to know her in years of real memories and a lifetime of memories he doesn’t know what to make off.

Sometimes she wants to be alone when she needs someone around her. Not necessarily to talk; she isn’t always good at that. She just need someone to be there and do things like insult her gaming skills.

He is running towards the park when he stumbles and catches himself. He leans against a tree, nearly gagging. Now that he is standing still, the heat is quickly leaving him and he shivers a little. He wipes the sweat from his brow, leans forward to take deep breaths. He watches the little clouds every breath makes for a while, his heartbeat slowing and the stitch in his side thankfully disappearing.

He thinks part of the forest is on fire , at first. Then squints his eyes and – it is a light beam. Magic. From- he starts running again, only hesitating long enough for his heartbeat to speed up again. His feet slap against the autumn leaves as he runs, glancing at the beam that leads the way for him.

He grabs his phone from his pocket, formulates a text – There is something going on with the farm. Bring backup- he does not press ‘send’ yet because there would be transportation and scolding and he would potentially never discover what is going on.

Besides, he wants to rescue someone for once. He is tired of being rescued, of being just a damsel in distress.

He gasps and nearly drops his phone:  through a hole in the farm’s roof, there is light that looks oddly like the cheesy scenes from movies where they try to show Heaven. If he is really quiet,  he can hear the sound of what is possibly the wind over his heartbeat and panting. He takes one step forward, places his hand on the wooden doors.

He deflates, steps back. He has no weapons, no magic, nothing to defend himself against what is – his eyes fall on a large stone a little while back. It is not as impressive as a sword or as effective as a pistol but it will have to do. He runs back, grabs it and holds it in his closed left hand. His phone is still in his right one when he pushes the doors open in a quick motion, his thumb going to the send -

He only sees light that hurts his eyes for a moment, his legs are suddenly gone from underneath him and he has an immediate headache as his head hits the ground. More serious however is how he can hardly move and how he can feel the slight burn in his back as he is pulled towards that light by an unseen force. He pushes the stone into his pocket, uses one hand to grab on to anything, anything- ( he can hardly move that hand, the same gravitational force now also pressing down on his hand with the weight of several bookcases)

His eyes water – is it pain or fear- and he tastes blood as he somehow manages to select her number. He cries out a little, his nails breaking and the skin beneath turning into scrapes as he claws at the earth desperately. For a moment, he stills –

His body is metres away from the inferno behind him, something heavy pulling on his legs and he has is staring at the raging fire lapping at his feet. He thinks he is saved when he hears her voice. “ Corazon? “.

It is too difficult. His strength wanes, his grip slips and he is flying through the air with the heat of an immense fire on his back. His voice breaks when he screams it.

“ MOMMA”.

The rushing of the fire is louder than her voice, the orange quickly fades into the black, his stomach drops as his body does, the warmth around him is quickly replaced by intense cold- he screams one last time ,

Then fades.

When he comes to, he can taste dirt. He spits, wipes his mouth before he struggles to his feet. There are birds chirping around him, leaves and a lot of trees. It should not be possible, is against the very laws of magic and-  “ the enchanted forest” he breathes. He has stared at the drawings so many times that he could never not recognize it.

He struggles to his feet and immediately looks at the phone he somehow has managed to hold on to desperately. Miraculously, it still works but when he tries to call her again, instead of his mom’s soothing ( actually , in this case he can expect it to be more nerve-wrecked) voice , he gets croaks and static. And there is another problem- the battery. It is almost full now, but how would I ever recharge it here?

He quickly turns off his phone and puts it in  his pocket as he hears neighs and horse feet. He watches from behind a tree as a familiar carriage comes into view and an even more familiar figure can be seen behind its tiny window. Mom.

The carriage comes to a halt and he is reminded that he is not looking at his mother. His mother’s eyes are filled with awed wonder after she broke a curse; the same brown eyes are angry and a little insane when this woman stalks towards the line of villagers. He sneaks closer, so he can hear more than the general tone of her voice.

He has to grip the branches to keep himself from surging forward, thinking about- about what? How would I stop her? Even if I had a sword- that’s – it might actually be worse than the false-but-not memories he has, seeing his mom like this. Seeing the evil queen wearing his mom’s face.

A part of him feels hopeful – because yes, she is being pretty terrible but she has yet to rip out hearts or- when she makes a grand gesture and says ‘this is what helping Snow White looks like”. He does not think he has ever heard something more terrible the woman’s voice as she desperately cries for help, but then his mother laughs and he gets angry and flinches and is a ten-year-old coming to the most awful realization ever again.

It is stupid and reckless, but he cannot help it. If the whole village is just going to stand there and do nothing , he will have to do it. He runs forward and barges straight into one of the guards. He falls , but he is prepared for it and manages to get to his feet far more quickly than the guard does. He places himself between the bound woman and the guard. His legs are trembling but he raises his head and uses the glare he has copied from his mom.

“ Keep away from her”.

The guard pulls his arm back, ready to thrust his sword towards Henry and he simultaneously gets ready to push the woman behind him to the ground and drop to the ground as well. Then there is the sound of her heels and her cool voice “ Do not kill the child”

He only turns around to face her when the guard has sheathed his sword and taken several steps back. She grabs his chin- which startles him, because of how it lacks the usual gentleness- and places on hand against his chest. He swallows. She wouldn’t –

“ Where is she?”.

“ I do not know” of course he knows. No one knows the book as well as he does.

Maybe she still has that special sense, the one where she catches nearly every lie he tells her , because she narrows her eyes and snarls. “ You have one last cha- “.

“ if you kill her, it won’t bring Daniel back”  he blurts out.

She stalls. He flinches at the look at her face at first, then automatically reaches for her hand when it is replaced by sadness and pa- She glances at where he is squeezing her hand with confusion. She studies him for a while, then slowly pulls her hand off his chest and steps back. He is just relaxing when she pushes him, hard enough that he stumbles towards the guard.

“ Bring the boy to my chariot” she sneers as she looks at the still bound woman. “ She will spend her last night in my dungeons”.

And before he can do anything, a man is dragging him towards the chariot and he can hear the woman’s voice as she shouts for help and yells at the guard holding her “ what kind of monster are you, release me” .  He pulls and tugs and pushes against the tight grip on his arm but the stoic, faceless person ignores him.

The door of the chariot opens and he falls on the seat inside. The ev- queen speaks as soon as they start to move.  “Did that dreadful Snow white tell you his name? “.

He thinks really fast. Saying ‘yes’ could lead to two scenario’s. One; he is kept alive and might survive misleading her. Two: she forces him to tell Snow’s hiding place.  “No “ he finally says, recognizing that she is becoming impatient.

“ It was Rumpelstilstkin”.

“ Nope. But you can keep guessing” he shrugs. “ If you want to”.

He can see she is surprised. But honestly, now that she is no longer threatening an entire village, she just looks like his mom dressed up and complaining about the ‘idiocy and ineptitude’ of most of the townspeople. “ Enough games. Tell me how you know that name”.

He doesn’t know where he gets the idea. Perhaps it is years of reading comics as well as books. Perhaps it is because he knows he needs some leverage her, that he cannot leave himself unprotected. “ I am a seer”.

She cocks her head, then laughs. It is not a pleasant one and he is suddenly struck with homesickness. “ No, you are not” she finally says. They learned that some animals bare their teeth to threaten others. That is what she is doing; she is not smiling, she is threatening him.

He thinks of the prisoner and wants to yell at the queen and beg her for mercy at the same time. A part of him thinks he just has to ask her for mercy and she will give it to him like she has always tried to give him everything , but he shuts that part up ‘this is not mom. This is the evil queen, decades before Storybrooke and mom.

Still, a part of him must be too stubborn to listen because he finds himself glaring at her like it is not a death sentence.  “ I am a seer. I know you hate gra- Snow white because she told your secret. I know your first love died. And I know that woman was innocent” he says the last words like an accusation.

She pulls her lips up in something that can hardly be called a smile.   “She was a collaborator. She obviously aided my enemy, which makes her a traitor to me and the kingdom in extension”.

“ Even if she did help Snow- she just- “.

The queen interrupts him.  “Where is she? You obviously sympathizes with her and she must have spilled my secrets again. So tell me where that cockroach is hiding, so I can properly crush her with my boot.

“ I thought she did not even know Daniel died” he frowns.

The insane look in her eyes, the sparks at her fingertips and the general harshness about her fades. “ No. She does not”.

When he first got the book, he only saw the horrible things that were done by the woman with pained eyes and a cruel smirk. Lately, he has learned to look at more than that- until he wonders ‘how deep ran the queen’s hatred for Snow White’?  sometimes, the queen really seems to not have been trying as hard as you would’ve expected from someone who will ‘destroy Snow if it is the last thing she does’.

“ Anyways, she never told me”.

“ I do not- “.

“ You press your hand against your stomach when you are nervous. You have had an apple tree since you were a little girl. You are bad at remembering numbers. You are a restless sleeper and often get up in the middle of the night. You dislike certain fish types, but enjoy most meat”.

She suddenly grabs his chin again and digs her nails in. He can feel them break his skin. “ Who told you this about me?”.

“ It is k-kind of a long story”.

She smiles slowly. “ Oh, we have the time”. She pushes him away.  “ The only thing I have scheduled in the morning is an execution”.

“ I won’t tell you”.

“ What?”.

It is probably insane that he is trying it but- “I will not let anyone die. So if you want to know what I know you will have to promise you do not hurt that lady”.

She chuckles. “ You certainly are audacious. However, you are also misguided if you think I will let her go “ there is a seriously freaky look in her eyes. “ Aiding Snow White in any way is treason”.

He bites his lip hard, wanting to say so many things to her. But he suspects the retaliation would be harsh so he settles for glaring. She merely arches her eyebrow and sits back.  “ As soon as we arrive at my castle, you will follow my guards towards my personal chambers. I have certain responsibilities that require my attention at first, but will join you shortly thereafter. You will tell me everything you know”.

“If you do not hurt her”.

She presses her hand to his chest again, glances down. “ You will tell me” is all she says – promises. He pushes her hand away. It is weird how his glare falters – maybe it is because his mom’s look of concern and love is still fresh in his mind, or the feeling of another curse broken still lingers.  

How come hating this woman was so much easier years ago?

But then again, maybe it was not. He had been hurt and so very angry and he had wanted her to lose. But he can also remember moments where he had been automatically smiled at her or reached for her hand to squeeze it. Stupid things that had become a habit. Maybe it is something like that now, or maybe it is just because he is all alone in a land he has only read about – with no way to get home or even get any food- and if he could wish for one person to be here, he would probably wish for his mom.

Either way, it messes with his head.

He could run away. There is a guard place before the door, but he is sure he could find a way around that. He could pretend to be ill or hurt. He could scream and shout and be a nuisance. Except-

He has no resources; no gold or jewels or anything that will serve as payment. His clothes will attract many questions, questions he cannot answer. He has no place to stay, no transport and no map that with ‘WAY TO CURSED TOWN, STORYBROOKE, MAINE”  in bold red letters. One of the only people that might be able to get him home, is a giggling madman that could demand anything – from his firstborn to his ability to love- in exchange for his help.

He is all alone, lost and without any way to defend himself or care for himself. And that is not even thinking about how much he could ruin by being here. Fortunately, he cannot rip the space-continuum apart by coming across another him , but he could accidentally prevent his birth in tens of little ways.

Ironically enough, the safest option might be staying at the evil queen’s castle.

He is sulking on the couch, going through his backpack when he hears her heels. He keeps his eyes on the items he has pulled out instead of on her. It is only when she grabs the flashlight and examines it. She presses the switch and stares at the beam of light.

“ I have never seen magic like this” she remarks.

He takes the flashlight from her. “ That is because it is not magic”

“ It is not?”.

“ No It has an electrical circuit made of batteries – which is the source of power- , a lamp and the switch”. He presses the switch. “ if you press the switch, it starts a flow of electricity- “ .

“ Electricity?”.

“ Yeah. Like- “ he thinks for a moment. “ you know lightning, right? “.

“ Yes. What of it? “.

“ Electricity is kind of like lightning. Except trapped lightning, used to power machines”.

“ Trapping lightning.. that still sounds like magic”.

Henry shrugs. “ It is not “.  He puts the flashlight in his backpack again. The queen stares at the items he puts back ( his lunchbox, his thermos, grilled cheese in a plastic bag, a blanket) “ How have you acquired these strange items ?” she asks.

“ I have gotten most of it from my moms” he says, his throat closing as he thinks of how far from home he is.

The queen sits down on the other end of the couch. “ Where are your mothers now then?”.

He swallows, blinks rapidly. “ Home. Which is very far from here”.

“ Are you lost? “.  

He shrugs. Is it safe to tell her I am? She scoots a little closer. He studies her. What is her angle here? Is she being relatively nice so he will spill the information? That doesn’t make sense, not if she could just-  He subtly places the backpack in between them like a shield. If she is planning to take his heart, she will first have to throw it on the floor. Which might give him enough time to run.

Though if she really wants to, he is sure she could take his heart without too much trouble.

There is silence for a moment, silence that leaves Henry to contemplate whether he should run after all. He is arguing with himself when she breaks the silence. “ Is there any reason in particular that you broke my mirror? “.

He glances at the mirror.  “Oh. I did not want the genie to spy on me”.

“ So you know about him, too”. The queen arches her eyebrow the exact same way his mom does- which makes sense because she is his , well she is sort of his mom. Gods, his head really hurts. He misses simpler times, when math used to be the most confusing thing in his life.

“ Yes. I know almost everything” apart from your time with Leopold, you- no, she refuses to say more than ‘ I never wanted that marriage’.

“ Have you been spying on me?”. She studies him again. “ Infiltrated my palace as a servant, to gather intel so Snow White knows when to attack me”.

“ I don’t think I could pass for a convincing servant”.

The smile is almost normal this time. “No, you could not” she agrees.

“ Any more questions?”

“ You can tell me where she is”.

“ I told you, I do not know”.

“ You seem like a smart boy…” he tenses at the look she sends him. “and yet, you are foolish enough to lie to me”.  

“ I am not lying”.

She starts to stand and stalks towards him. He glides of the couch and pulls his backpack towards him. He faces her, tries to stand tall and look like he remains unimpressed. He learned that from the days he would go with her, chatting until the meeting would start and she would stare them all down. He uses that look now, but she keeps approaching him.

Finally, she is in front of him.  “I could ascertain that you will never lie to me again “ she warns.

He nods.

“ I would not even need your heart for that”.

Truth potions. Dark magic. Artefacts she might have. He nods again.

“ So tell me… “ she has one arm pulled back, and he recognizes her signature move. “ where did you get this information”.

“ You need to free her”.

His eyes are on that arm so he knows when she tries it. Seconds before her hand sinks into his chest, he moves away , stumbles and starts to run. He hears the door slam, but that is not where he was headed anyways. Instead, he goes for the mirror. By the time she is in front of him again, he has a glass shard in his hand.

When she moves in again, he rushes forward. Two inches from her cheek, he drops the shard. The anger fades and leaves him feeling drained. He actually stumbles.  “ I am s-sorry” he says, head bent. He feels sick and tired, the fight out of him for a moment. She presses her hand to his chest- I am sorry grandma, I am so sorry- then stuns him by instead almost gently pushing his chin up.

“ Why did you drop it?”.

“ I couldn’t – ‘ he shudders, “ I couldn’t hurt you”.

“Because hurting people is bad?”.

“ N-no” he rubs the few tears away. “ Well yes, that too but- I thought you would be different. I thought it would be simple”.

“What are you talking about”.

He shakes his head. He kind of really wants to tell her- would that be enough to make her like mom? But he knows he cannot. He is pretty sure the rules of time travelling don’t allow it , for once. And he also has no idea how she would react (if she would even believe him”.

“ Never mind” .

She stares at him, then shrugs. “ Very well. You can keep your secrets “.

“ I c-can?”.

She smiles. He does not trust that smile, it is sharp like the glass shards beneath his sneakers. “ For now”. She takes a few steps away from him. “ We will have dinner first”.

Before he can even say something like ‘no thanks , I enjoy food that is not potentially poisoned’ , there is already a servant at the door. She comes in after a short hesitance , behind the two servants that carry a table and the others that carry two chairs. The table is placed in the middle of the room, one chair at the head of it and the other to its right.

The servant girl places the silver dish in the middle of the long table, bows and disappears from the room. When she returns, she has several smaller dishes that she quickly places on the table. After several trips, the table is filled with all sorts of food- most of which he does not recognize. She curtsies, then pulls the throne-like chair back.

The queen sits down, then suddenly grabs the girl’s wrist. Henry is already moving forward, thinking of a way he can help, opening his mouth to divert the queen’s attention when the grip loosens and the queen’s voice almost sounds pleasant as she asks ‘what have you chosen tonight, dear’?

The woman blushes, curtsies again. The queen lets her go and watches her as she hurries to where a bottle is leaning against the wall, returns with two glasses. She places one glass in front of his chair, fills the other glass and hands it to the queen.

The queen hums, then nods. “ Very well chosen”. The woman preens. “ Thank you, your majesty” . She just stands there and Henry thinks she is staring at the queen but the woman is half turned away from him so he cannot be sure.

The queen gestures in his direction . “ The boy?”.

“ Oh! My apologies, your majesty” She grabs Henry’s glass and turns to him “ Do you also want some?”.

The queen tutted and pulled the woman towards her. They whispered something to each other before the woman pulled away and said  “ Would you also like some, sir?”.

He could feel himself blush. “ You do not have to call me that. It is kind of weird if you do actually”.

“Very well” she pulled back his chair from him, he sat down after a short hesitation.

“ Is there anything else I can help you with, your majesty? “.

“I do not think so. You are dismissed”. The woman looked – disappointed? What is going on here? But curtsied one last time and left the chamber. Henry kind of wanted to ask her to stay, then felt bad about it. What if the queen got mad at her and tried to hurt her?

The queen picked up her cutlery and started to eat. He stared down at the plate, wondering whether he would really insult her if he did not eat. At all. “ Is there any reason you are staring at your plate like that? I assume you have not been raised by wolves and thus know how to use cutlery”.

“ Of course I know, my mom taught me manners. I am just not sure whether I can eat this without getting food poisoning”

“ My food is prepared by the most skilful cooks and brought to me by a servant that has earned my trust. I very much doubt it will get you ill”.

“ Is she your friend ?  “ the book never showed much of the queen, just how she destroyed his grandparents’ lives. They never talked about what she did when she was staying at her castle. He suddenly really wants to know.

Mo- the queen swallows her bite. “ I do not usually gallivant with servants, dear”.

“I don’t get it – you never wanted to be queen, right?” he carefully watches her, to see whether him asking questions like this anger her. She does not seem particularly angry, so he continues. “ So why would you even care about whether someone you want to be friends or whatever with is ‘of a lower social standing’ That makes no sense”.

“ I have changed much since I believed that it did not matter whether you were a princess…” she looks more like the mother he knows when she is like this, sad and nearly subdued. Does that even make sense? “ or a stable boy”.

“ Do you not want to be friends with her?” he asks. He always wanted friends. He just never knew how to make them. And well- people were often so different from him.

“ You should really not concern yourself with my private life” her voice has changed again, now a clear warning.

“ But do you think it really matters? In the end, it does not really mean that much that you are royalty. It is cool and interesting, but it is not like it immediately gives you superpowers”.

Mo – the queen lowers her glass. Her lips are tinted red.“ Superpowers?”.

“ Sort of magical talents. You can have super strength or super speed”.

“ That sounds.. intriguing” he feels kind of guilty that he is sort of enjoying himself. Apparently, even when she is the evil queen, mom still likes talking about their usual topics of conversation. He has had hours-long talks with her about what counts as redemption, whether a hero can also hurt people, whether certain abilities would actually be possible.. He misses days and evenings like that.

“ It is. But the superheroes never get their powers because they are royalty. They make them or they have them because they are from another planet or it is like fate, you know?”.

The queen swallows the bite she has just taken. “ I am not exactly fate’s greatest admirer” she admits.

“ Anyways, what I was saying, is that it does not really matter in the end whether you are royalty or not”.

The queen smiles lazily. “ Some would already consider such a bold statement treason”.

“ But not you?”.

“ Not at the moment. I do believe you are not intentionally offensive”.

‘not at the moment’ and ‘for now’. She only seems predictable in her unpredictability. But he already knew that. “ Fine. Why do you think it matters whether you are royalty?”.

“  You have to claw your way up to become royalty. And once you are there, you have to be a certain type of person to remain there. You are always fighting”.

“Why do you not just run away? “ I don’t understand. She seems unhappy, so why does she stay the queen. “ why don’t you just leave the kingdom and built a new life for yourself? “.

The queen curls her lip, her hand tightens around the glass. “ She committed a crime. She betrayed me. I am not letting her get away with it”.

“ She did not mean to” he says softly, all too aware what kind of land mine Snow White is.

The glass shatters and the chair is shoved back. He knows he should be terrified of the evil queen , but he is only slightly afraid. “ you- “ she growls and moves her hand.

He ducks as his own glass shatters, throwing his arms up above him. The chair behind him is thrown against the wall. He can feel the table – which is heavy enough that three muscular people had to carry it- barges into the wall. He slowly removes his arms and dares to look at her. There is blood dripping from her outstretched hand, there is that bulging vein on her forehead. He waits until she slowly exhales and starts to lower her arm.

He is angry until she turns her hand and he sees the glass that is sticking in her skin. Then he just feels like he has spent the night gaming and eating too much candy.  He approaches her, which surprises her enough that she just stands there and observes him.

He shows her his napkin “ you hurt your hand. May I?”.

She nods. She calms further as he pulls the little shards from her hand , wincing every time he removes another one. She, on the other hand, does not even seem to feel them. She stares down at them with detachment. “ There is a chamber you will stay at “ she says, voice also oddly detached.

He nods. “ Okay” it is better than the dungeons at least. He opens his mouth, almost offers to stay with her- there is just something in her eyes that compels him to even if there is a bit of anger returning at the same time- when she waves her hand. “ Go. If I wish to speak to you, I will summon you”.

He does not look back as he makes his way across glass and splinters and food. The guard walks towards him. For what must be the thousandth time, he thinks about leaving. The guard’s gloved hand is loosely clasped around his shoulder, like he has anywhere to run. Because that is the thing, isn’t it?

He has no home here-

Does he?

He feels something not unlike hope in the night when he sneaks out , wanders around the castle and finally figures out where the entrance to the dungeons is. When he gets to the cell he knows holds the woman he tried to save, the torches flicker to light and-

She is sitting in a comfortable chair, a book on her lap and the unknown woman nowhere to be seen. It nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

He is both terrified and furious for a moment, thinking she has already executed her or brought her somewhere else to hurt her or- she slowly marks the page she was reading, then makes the book disappear. The cell doors swing open and she steps out.

“ I believe that you owe me an answer” she says.

“ where is she?”.

“ She is on her way home, which will be a safe journey if you give me what you promised”.

She is still a jerk for blackmailing him, but at least she has let someone she probably hates go. “The easiest answer is that there is a book. A book about you, and Snow and the whole history between the two of you”.

“ Tell me”.

So he does. They return to ‘his’ room and he curls down in a chair and she sits down at the bed as he begins. “ Once upon a time”…

The conversation lasts the entire night;  

“ That is all it says about my childhood?”.

“ Pretty much”.

“ There was more to Leopold than the kindness most saw on the surface “ she manages to grit out semi – calmly. After she has nearly given him a heart- attack by her sudden harsh words ( mostly directed at Leopold) and the fireball she threw at the door.

“ Snow was very spoiled. They should have kept that” He wonders why it is so important and why it would even really matter. Spoiled is not the same as bad after all.

Then the queen elaborates and he feels like he is standing bare-footed in the snow instead of curled in a chair with a blanket around him and a fire crackling in the corner. “ She had a habit of treating people more like possession than well.. people. If there was someone she liked – a servant at a foreign castle, a child, anyone really , she never found it odd that those people were taken from their homes and brought to her”.

He suddenly has the image of a younger version of his mom , stuck in a castle. Dressed up like she is a doll, called to Snow’s room whenever she wanted it. Surely- she must have had some control over her life. And grandma- grandma likes people , does she not? It all leaves him with a sour taste in his mouth and guilt because he had so readily and easily believed that Snow had been such a wonderful child. And she probably was- but she must have hurt people, too.

He slowly reaches out to squeeze the queen’s hand. He feels bad about that too: just this morning he saw this same woman laugh at the thought of someone’s execution. How could he ever feel sorry for her? But am I even feeling sorry for her? Or is it mom I feel sorry for- or even mom when she was young and hadn’t hurt anyone yet.

He files the questions away to think about later and continues.

“ They just skip all those years? “ she scoffs.

He quietly asks her whether she wants to talk about it. She laughs harshly. “ No. I do not talk about it, I would want to forget those years even existed. But they need to be listened to. ”. She is tense and likely to fight again, to react with anger and harsh words so he lets it rest. But the questions just keep piling up when she looks down and scarcely swallow.

He is just getting to the part where bandit Snow meets prince Charming when his eyes start to slip closed.  “she cut a tree down  so the carriage would stop. Important” he mutters, yawns. He is vaguely aware of his stomach dropping and the smell of cinnamon and apples. He smiles. “ momma” they used to make turnovers with those ingredients.

He buries into the bed he has been placed in and dreams of Storybrooke and family. He also dreams of castles and queens and spoiled princes and cages. The brown eyes are there in both dreams, always a little sad.

He wants to erase that sadness.

It is several days later that the door slams open and cruelly disrupts his sleep. He groans. “ Someone better have died or there really is no reason for me to leave this bed”. There is a low chuckle that he immediately recognizes as the queen.

He shoots up. “ Oh shit no one has died, have they? “ please say you haven’t- no, you haven’t. Right ?

The queen has been almost kind the past days. Sure she has her mood swings – coupled with fireballs and explosions and stuff which is always a bad combination- but she has not actually tried to take his heart or even been really mean to him. He has kept a close eye on her and he is sure she has no tried to execute anyone else either these past days or threatened any villages.  She has even shown him the library and allowed him to ride one of her horses and told him stories of faraway myths. This all makes the guilt he feels by almost liking her slightly less (good, or else he would surely collapse under all the weight).

“ My apologies, but I am waking you without death being the death being involved”.

He looks down as he feels something being thrown at the bed; it is a simple shirt, a mid-length cape, brown pants and a golden-coloured breast plate with insignia. He looks at the queen again. “ Where are we going?”.

“ King Midas is holding a ball. I am taking you with me, so get dressed. It will take us the entire day to get there”.

“ My but is already hating this” Henry groans. Because yes, an entire day of riding is going to suck .He is excited about the trip and the ball though; it is so cool that he gets to do stuff like that. Even if he feels slightly guilty and constantly homesick.

He jumps out of bed. “ Thanks! I am going to wash myself”.

“ I presumably still should not send any servants?” . The queen had ‘graciously allowed ‘ him servants , but it makes him really uncomfortable. He would rather just dress and bathe himself and only see the servants to chat with them, not to order them to do all the things he can do himself.

“ Nope” he runs towards the as-of-yet freezing water . “ Hey!” he says as the water suddenly starts to steam. He tries to hide how impressed he is beneath scorn- he is really uncomfortable with her using magic- because did she just telepathically warm water?

“ Be quick, please” she says and disappears again.

Before he washes himself, he does what he has been doing twice a day since that first night. He turns his phone on and presses his mom’s number. Static and crackling. He grits his teeth, presses down a little violently on ‘ma’. More static and crackling. He turns the thing off .

He scrubs a little too hard, his skin becoming red but he cannot help it. He envisions washing away the feeling of panic and acid being poured into his lungs and eyes he gets whenever something reminds him of home. He also takes the time to let his thoughts wander from the mundane- are we going to have to dance – to things like – she is not mom. She is not redeeming herself, so why do I still not hate her like I thought I would ? – and downright painful things like – is it even possible to open another time portal? .

He rinses off, struggles the slightest bit with the unfamiliar clothing and has a quick inner debate about the insignia. It is obviously the queen and he wonders whether he wants that on her chest like he is one of her guards. Like he is rooting for her. At the last possible moment, he decides to wear it anyways.

He wonders whether that makes him bad.

The thought hits him like Zeus’ weaponry, like an erupting volcano and a geyser beneath your feet. He hides behind several laughing people with drinks in their hands, tries to be as subtle as possible as he sneaks glances around them. The guard that is assigned to him- well fair enough, he cannot actually see a face but he can feel the judgement. But who cares, when the following is happening.

Emma is dressed in a red dress she must have borrowed from someone. She looks nervous and out-of-place and somehow confident and brash at the same time as she approaches the queen and taps her shoulder. For a moment, he thinks the queen will order her guards to drag Emma away.

Then-

The queen’s entire demeanour changes. She smiles and steps close enough to Emma that she might even be able to feel the heat that comes off Emma’s cheeks. She drags her fingers down Emma’s arm and entangles their hands. Emma says something before she is pulled towards the dance floor.

He stares as the queen places her hand on the small of Emma’s back and places Emma’s hand on her shoulder. At the start of the dance, Emma looks awfully tense. Her shoulders are drawn back, her jaw is clenched- she looks basically like she is readying for a fight. During the dance, she starts to relax. She smiles at something the queen whispers, lips barely moving. She mutters something that has the queen chuckling.

When Emma makes to pull away regretfully at the end of the dance, the queen pulls her back into her arms. The hand on Emma’s back keeps her very close to the queen, close enough that Henry is starting to feel uncomfortable watching them. Get a roo- no, don’t! oh gods, gross.  

He considers walking away, but really, he needs to know what is going to happen.

They’re cheek-to-cheek for a moment before - did she just kiss Emma’s cheek? What - the queen puts a little distance between them again. They softly talk while they dance to the music and he is struck by that thought. How right they look. Mom has somehow managed to make Emma relax and drop her guard while Emma has managed to draw a small, but very genuine smile from mom.

For two minutes, he sees enough that he realizes two things : he needs to start a new operation as soon as he gets home and two; he is now aware of things when he could’ve been blissfully oblivious. Because really, his mothers are not exactly subtle . Especially the queen- whose eyes drift and who keeps pressing closer and quickly keeping her distance again when the contact goes on for too long.

Like, ew. Parents, so much ew.

But they are both looking oddly content , like if this dance would go on forever, that would be Okay so he can bear all the pressed-togetherness and looks and muttered things.

Except he doesn’t have to: one moment, his mothers are happily dancing together and ignoring the people around them. The next, the queen pretty much tears away and snarls. He can see ma trying to salvage the situation, doing that thing that often works with mom. Except the queen appears even more guarded than his mo – or well, who she will be in a few decades so she rips her arm from where Emma tries to gently squeeze it.

As soon as the guards are beckoned, he runs towards them. “ Mom!” he yells, pushing past a guard and throwing himself in her arms like he has wanted from the very first moment he realized he was lost. She stumbles, but catches herself.  “Henry” she says.

And- oh frick frack. He had never actually told the queen his real name ( he could hardly say ‘oh funny thing, I happen to have the name of your dad and the name of your first boyfriend. Coincidences, huh? ). Like expected, the queen is a bloodhound smelling a bone. “ Henry”.

He slowly pulls away from Emma, though he remains close to her. He looks at the queen, who looks suspicious-thoughtful-mad-suspicious. He should probably cut in before the paranoia does. “ Ehm, so I would like to talk to you about all this. Preferably somewhere we do not act as entertainment”.

The queen smiles coldly and glares at the staring people around them. They immediately pale, redden, gasp, throw themselves in conversations and try everything to not catch her attention. The queen starts to walk, Emma and Henry glance at each other before following. The chatter and whispering and music slowly fades as the doors open and close.

As soon as they find an empty chamber, Regina instructs the guards to wait outside and ushers them in. She looks like a caged tiger and Emma is stumbling over words- all “ The thing is- we, it is kind of- “ as she tries to explain who she is without possibly spoiling the future. And quite possibly getting herself murdered.

He takes pity on her, interrupting her in the middle of garbled speech.  

“ My name is Henry Daniel Mills. And I am your son”.

[greyelven]

Fandom 5k Letter

Dear Writer,

To begin with, thank you for writing for me! I really appreciate the time and effort, especially for this exchange, and I want to emphasise that I’m going to love whatever you come up with, so write what you want to write and don’t stress about it. All I ever really want from exchanges is more fic about my favourite characters so I’m very easy to please. The genre tags I’ve picked are probably bordering on the excessive but that’s just me liking a lot of different things. As always, prompts are just there if you need a little inspiration, if you already have your own idea then go for it. My previous letters can be found here; I’ve recycled a lot of old prompts in this letter but you’re welcome to draw on any I haven’t as well.

Likes – AU settings (modern, steampunk, sci-fi etc, go wild!), canon divergence AUs, grey morality, gothic vibes, fantasy elements (creepy fairies, enchantments etc), character studies, backstory, banter, road trips, found family, femslash, ladies working together, ladies kicking ass (literally or figuratively)

Dislikes – torture, depictions of rape/dubcon/sexual assault (implied/discussed is fine), pregnancy, homophobia

Ghostbusters

Erin/Holtzmann, Abby & Erin & Holtzmann & Patty

This movie was such an unexpected delight and I just want more of these ladies, kicking spectral ass and being friends and not giving a damn about what anyone else thinks of them. I loved the light tone of the movie but I also love creepy ghost stories so feel free to take these prompts in any direction.

-what’s one of their most memorable busts? Are there any particularly scary or irritating ghosts? Do they ever go beyond New York? Perhaps to investigate a ghost town, or abandoned buildings in the middle of nowhere…

-how does their ghost research progress after the events of the movie? Any big scientific breakthroughs? Do they find out more about the world through the portal? Any big mishaps that lead to more ghosts rather than less? I wouldn’t be surprised if Holtz’s unstable equipment malfunctioned somehow

-the team hanging out in their downtime (movie nights, celebrating each other’s birthdays, Patty taking them to interesting historical sites around the city…)

-there are a lot of genre AUs I’d love to see for this fandom but the first ones that spring to mind are Victorian gothic (ghost hunting would fit so perfectly) and cosmic horror (what creatures live on the other side of the portal?)

All of those could have an Erin/Holtz bent but for some more specifically shippy prompts:

-everyday moments between the two of them, slowly getting closer the longer they work together - cleaning off slime after a tough bust, late nights at the lab, long uneventful stakeouts of ghosts that may or may not be there

-established relationship moments - lazy mornings, date nights (bound to be some odd ones with Holtzmann around), culinary adventures, trips away together

-I’m dying for a San Junipero au of these two, if you’ve seen it (if you haven’t, it’s a standalone piece and a really lovely story - Black Mirror season 3, episode 4)

HTGAWM

Annalise/Bonnie

I’m not caught up on the second half of season 3 but I will be soon, though tbh I’m here for character dynamics - there are so many freaking plot twists I’ve forgotten much of what happened earlier in the show anyway. What I love about this pairing is how complicated and co-dependent it is; their personal relationship and working relationship bleed into one another, it’s messy as hell and it’s never not going to be like that.

In the meantime, shameless copying and pasting of prompts from the last exchange I did, with a few new ideas:

- they finally kissed and then the freaking house burned down, so maybe a quiet moment between those things happening when Annalise is wide awake and sober (seriously that whole situation was so ficcy, with Bonnie taking care of her – might as well mine it to its full potential)

- I like how effective a team they are as lawyers and the contrast with their complex messy personal relationship, so like, maybe casefic with a side of dysfunction

- backstory! all the backstory! good moments, bad moments, just anything exploring how their relationship came to be as it is

-assuming Bonnie gets Annalise out of jail, how does their relationship change going forward?

-in terms of genre shift, I would love a political au - Annalise runs for office, or maybe she’s a career politician, with Bonnie as her right-hand woman (of course), and they take a similar approach as they do to law - occasional good intentions, regularly dirty methods, a string of bodies in their wake

Rogue One

Jyn/Leia, Jyn & Leia

All I want from Star Wars is a proper relationship between two women and it has yet to materialise. So give me Jyn and Leia as friends, girlfriends, reluctant allies, whatever, as long as they’re interacting. They’re from very different backgrounds - polished princess and petty criminal - but they’ve both been trained for rebellion from a young age, and if they met around the time of A New Hope, they’d both be grappling with loss; there’s a lot of potential to mine.

-they’re sent on a mission together at some point during the war - how well do they function as a team? Who’s in charge? How does the other deal with that?

-Jyn surviving Scarif and standing beside Leia when the Death Star gets destroyed - what does it mean for each of them? What would Jyn’s involvement in the rebellion be like going forward?

-building on that, what would Jyn do if she were still alive during the Force Awakens? Would Leia turn to an old friend/old flame for support after losing Han?

-college au, where they’re both involved in student activism but have very different methods of getting shit done (Leia working from within the institution, getting elected to various student offices and delivering impassioned speeches at committee meetings, while Jyn goes for more subversive tactics)

Wolf 359

Lovelace, Minkowski, Lovelace/Minkowski, Eiffel & Minkowski

My new favourite thing! I started listening about a month ago and was immediately hooked. I love the show’s effortless switching between humour and much darker material, the insular character dynamics set against the big empty galaxy, and the bleak underlying scenario of being stuck on a spaceship that’s falling apart while nobody on Earth really seems to care.

I requested my favourite characters and combinations of characters but I like Hera and Hilbert too and most of the prompts could apply to the Hephaestus crew as a whole, so if you want to take more of a group approach that’s totally cool. What I’m really interested in is how the characters function and develop meaningful relationships under the circumstances.

(I’m less a fan of the SI-5 team; the angle I’m interested in there is the disruption they present for the original crew , so if you want to include them in that capacity, go ahead. Also, feel free to ignore the whole Lovelace = alien thing cos that’s mostly what I’ve been doing.)

Prompts!

-if the crew do make it back to Earth, what then? Do they stay in touch or drift apart? Is it difficult to re-adjust to ‘normal’ life? Or for a lighter approach, the crew indulging in all the things they’ve missed most about Earth

-wacky space shenanigans! The first time Minkowski brought out the jetpack and Eiffel got excited, an experiment of Hilbert’s going wrong and everyone helping with damage control, ways Eiffel has attempted to alleviate his boredom...

-exploring pre-canon - the characters’ first weeks of life in space and how it was the same/different from what they thought it would be, moments where characters realised their first impressions of each other weren’t quite accurate, etc

The X-Files

-what I’m really after here is casefic, weird happenings with a side of Mulder & Scully banter. One of my favourite things about the show is how many genres it managed to incorporate so effortlessly, sci-fi/horror/thriller etc, and I love the monster of the week episodes that their own distinctive feel - the claustrophobia of Ice or the melancholy of the Field Where I Died. Some of my favourite X-Files tropes are small creepy towns, isolated mountain forests and strange lights in the sky, if that helps :)

-I’m not a huge fan of the revival - I think it was a missed opportunity, because it was a) a mess and b) didn’t really use aspects of the 2010s that make the show still relevant today - government spying, distrust of authority, etc. So a modern au done right would be really nice.

-the show’s pretty noir-ish already but I would love a full-blown noir au, Scully as the straight-laced detective who gets reluctantly entangled in her partner’s wild goose chase

-or complete opposite direction, take out the aliens and have Mulder & Scully as office co-workers