#(he doesn’t actually know what ‘grouch’ means despite it being explained to him)

[noxexistant]

modern morris watches sesame street and oscar hates that he shares a name with oscar the grouch

[sun-flower-children]

BakuSquad’s Boy Part 1

A/N: Based on a fic that doesn’t exist anymore :( I’ll be adding my own head canons from what i remember of the og fic. This whole thing is in a headcanon format :)))

Kirishima was sitting down when he noticed their new transfer student walking into the cafeteria looking lost. Without thinking twice he quickly caught the attention of the male and motioned him to come over.

“Is it okay if I join you?” you asked, recognizing the spiky haired student as your classmate.

“Of course, let me introduce you to everybody!”

The redhead introduced all the guys sitting at the table. The talkative blonde with the lightning bolt in his hair was Kaminari . The smiling black haired boy with oddly shaped elbows was Sero and the angry-faced pale blonde with red eyes was Bakugo. While the rest smiled at you he merely sneered and ignored you.

“Don’t let him bother you too much, he's a grouch!” Kirishima said smiling.

The entire lunch period was spent talking to the Bakusquad and explaining how you transferred from the hero school in your home country and enrolled at UA. Laughing with them and bonding over memes and hero training.

It didn’t take long for you to become part of the friend group.

Y’all are a chaotic group of motherfuckers

The group chat is mess; Bakugo is trying to help people w homework, Zero is constantly sharing tick tocks and at 2 am Denki will spam it with memes ( which pisses Bakugo off bc it wakes him up when he forgets to mute his notifications)

Y’all will study together, which surprisingly, can be super productive sometimes.

It honestly didn’t take very long for you guys to become inseparable. They have you back and you have theirs. Training and working out together is a plus because sometimes y’all are too busy to actually fully hangout.

Kirishima will compliment you in a “manly” way and will totally be your hype man. Will be ecstatic when you give back the same energy. One time Bakugo joined you guys for his morning workout and his jaw almost fell to the ground when he saw you take your shirt off.  He couldn’t help but stare like holy shit you were ripped. Training with Kiri really did pay off. Bakugo smirked to himself when he noticed his red haired friend was also checking you out when you didn’t notice. 

Going to the mall with Sero and Denki is a whole ass ride. Y’all will go to so many stores and either waste all your money or just fuck around. Hot Topic is definitely a favorite of theirs. They don’t care if it’s not your vibe because they will want to deck you out in the fitting rooms to see what you look like. Once they pushed the curtain before you were done changing your shirt and both pairs of eyes went straight to your body, making you blush.

After being friends for so long the Bakusquad could read each other's emotions and all recognized that they had crushes on you. They talked about it and concluded that this would by no means would get between their friendship but would amicably flirt with you.

They organized a sleepover not too long after. But it was basically them all fighting each other about who’s room they would be staying in. Ended up going to Bakugo’s room because it was the closest for most of them. When you got there you were so caught up with the movie that you didn't realize they were low-key fighting each other for a spot next to you/ touching you in general. It was when y’all were going to sleep when you realized you left your sheets and what not in your room. Bakugo without missing a beat said you could sleep with him which then prompted Denki to tell you that “Bakugo’s feet smell like shit you don't wanna sleep with him” for Kiri to go “ Hey that isn’t manly, you should sleep w me Y/N.”. While the three of them were battling it out you and Sero were just sitting crouched in the corner. “I mean Y/N I could always get sheets and stuff from my rooms ‘cause it's not that far from here.” only for Bakugo to throw a pillow straight in his face yelling “Shut it Soy-Sauce face!!” Yeah they felt really bad in the morning when you ended up sleeping on the floor with nothing covering you.

Sero will want to smoke with you. The first time he smoked with you, you ended up having a panic attack and he felt responsible for making you panic and so anxious. He tries to smoke by himself for the meanwhile until you convince him to let you try again. It goes much better this time. Y’all start vibing to his latin playlist and he tries to teach you but y’all just end up stumbling over each other and constantly laughing. When dancing becomes physically exhausted and watches tick tocks and videos on his phone. Which ends up with y’all crying over the video where the racoon tries to wash his cotton candy but it dissolves. At some point the tears become too much and you both reach for each other which ends up with y'all sobbing and cuddling each other. Y’all fell asleep like this :)

The whole squad smokes at one point or another. Kirishima does it whenever he’s just in the mood to hangout and he uber chills. Bakugo does it to relieve stress and just enjoy life a bit. Denki smokes the 2nd most in the group just whenever he needs to kill time or he wants to vibe.

There will be times when y'all will smoke together and just fuck shit up. Like, one night after exam y’all are smoking but shit starts getting wild. Like y'all are hopping off the walls and dancing around to random music. Denki will find a roach that's stuck on its back and trying to get back off its legs but y’all are dancing all around it thinking it's like break dancing. “ AYYYY FUCK IT UP” Bakugo would yell “GET INTO IT” Sero would then yell. One of y’all took a video and accidentally posted it on Snapchat so the next day Mina would ask like wth happened last night bc y’alls tik toks and snapchats were wack af. Sero would probably speak on behalf of the group and say “ We were just really hyper.

When they all become hyper aware of their feelings not only for you but like low-key for each other they all change a lil bit. Like:

Denki stops flirting with people outside of the Baku Squad. He’s more touchy with y’all. Holding onto arms, arms over shoulders, hands on waists, holding hands, sitting in y’alls laps (this is a big one)

Kirishima has more energy when he’s with you guys. Like he could be running lower on battery than normal but one of y'all just comes up to him and he lights up like a light bulb.

Bakugo stops ruining desks and promptly yelling at people. He’s toned down and becomes a bit more chilled out. Mostly when he's with you guys. He is still a grumpy gremlin when he is with people who aren’t the Baku Squad.

Sero actually hides it pretty well and no one notices and changes that are indicative of a crush. Probably a bit more confident in himself

Kirishima and Denki acting like they haven't seen each other in sages when it really has only been like five minutes.

“ OMG BRO IT'S BEEN FOREVER”

“OMG DENKI MY MAN I MISSED YOU SM!”

“ BRO C’MERE AND PLANT A PHAT ONE ON ME!”

“HELL YA MY DUDE, THIS IS GONNA BE MANLY.”

And then proceed to aggressively walk toward each other, slap each others asses and plant a kiss on each other's cheeks before erupting into a huge fit of laughter. While people around them are just like ‘wtf is going on’

Touching becomes a thing.

Y’all will actively find each other when y'all want a hug or cuddles or smth. Forehead and cheek kisses are a thing. Bakugo takes much longer to warm up to everyone starting really with you and Kirishima. most comfortable holding y’alls hands loosely and rubbing your knuckles. Denki probably does this the most. He lives for physical affection, just give this poor boy his much needed cuddles and kithes.

Despite y’all high-key crushing for each other you all still are absolutely focused on your career paths as heros. Bakugo helping teach english and you trying to help ( if you know english well enough to teach )

“Ok idiots for the last time what word do we use to describe Sarah?”

“I mean she took these poor dudes apples and all of these are positive adjectives...i think.”

“Yeah Sarah’s kind of a bitch.”

“SHUT IT YOU TOO AND ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!”

“I mean Bakubro they aren’t wrong...”

“NOT YOU TOO KIRI!”

You guys work so well during team vs fights bc of how well you all know each other.

It’s an absolute mess but y’all love eachother <3

I will be making a part 2 ( + 3 i think ) so hang around for more :)

MASTERLIST

[minor-solemnity]

Invention and Intrigue

This might turn into a multi-part fic? I haven’t decided yet, but let me know if you want to read more of this one though!

He doesn’t look angry, or even particularly concerned is the thing. He looks like he’s considering something. Thoughtful, interested. “That was quite the performance,” He says at last and walks over to you, his shoes tap tap tapping against the stone floor. “I think I’d like an explanation.”

The dungeons are one of those places that you don’t go near unless you can absolutely help it. You’d dropped Potions the moment you’d been allowed, not because you’re not good at them - it had been one of your best subjects in actuality - but because the dungeons aren’t safe. Not for someone like you. 

This is why you’re currently cursing every bloodline that makes up your best friend’s family tree as you gingerly descend the stone steps into the depths below. Melanie Lindhurst has a date. A date with a boy who she has been pining after since fourth year. She also has a very expensive rare textbook that she needs to return to Slughorn that night but she can’t because of said date. This is why you’ve been roped into finding Slughorn and returning the book yourself. Which means you have to go into the bowls of the castle and pray you don’t run into any Slytherins whilst you’re there.

Melanie had said you were being dramatic when you’d grouched about it over dinner. She finds your reticence to go near the dungeons very amusing. But then she’s not the one who spent most of fifth year creeping around the castle waiting for a mystery monster or madman to sneak up behind you. She’s not the one who had Victor Lestrange whispering that he wished it had been you when they removed Myrtle’s body from the bathroom. So Melanie doesn’t get to laugh at your objectively sensible reluctance to step foot in the snake pit.

After ten minutes of wandering the corridors, you have to admit that you’re lost. All the tunnels look exactly the same and you don’t know where Slughorn’s office is. Maybe Melanie had a point when she said you have a flair for the dramatic, but honestly, never mind Slytherins, you’re going to die down here because of your terrible sense of direction. You take another turn and hear voices coming from behind a door. Lestrange’s unmistakable cackle carries through the air and the door slams open. You press yourself against the wall and hope that no one spots you. Tom Riddle leads Avery and Lestrange out of the door.

God. The snake pit indeed.

You’re in the middle of breathing a sigh of relief at not being noticed when Riddle stills and turns to you. “Are you lost?” He asks, and the other two boys turn to stare at you too. You school your expression into something polite and unassuming and valiantly try to ignore the nasty smile that’s stretching across Lestrange’s face. Riddle, for his part, looks faintly amused. Like he knows exactly how little you want to be here and finds it all rather funny. Still, you feel yourself stand a little straighter despite yourself. He’s the Head Boy, after all, well known in the castle for his pleasant, quiet demeanour and his strict adherence to the rules. It’s not strange that you want to make a good impression.

“Good evening. I, ahh, I have to return this book to Slughorn. My friend borrowed it and he wanted it back tonight.” You explain, feeling vaguely ridiculous as you raise the book up to show them that you aren’t lying. “I don’t suppose you know where he is?” 

Avery rolls his eyes, reaches towards you and takes the book. “I’ll bring it to him. I need to talk to him about my last potions essay, anyway.” He says. You notice that he very carefully doesn’t touch you and you bristle at the implication that the thought of touching a muggleborn is beneath him. 

“Of course. I’m sure you’re more familiar with this area of the castle than I am.” He leaves soon after. You decide to switch Melanie’s conditioner with hair dye as vengeance for her leaving you. In the snake pit. With Lestrange. The two remaining Slytherins watch you - Lestrange with haughty contempt and Riddle with a kind of detached interest. You rather get the impression that he’s waiting for you to do something idiotic. “I… Well, good night.” You say at last deciding that making a speedy escape is your best plan of action. 

You've made it to the end of the tunnel when you hear Riddle say goodbye to Lestrange and his footsteps recede into the distance. You frown and your grip on your wand tightens when you don’t hear Lestrange follow after him. “You're being paranoid,” You mutter to yourself and begin to try and retrace your steps. Five minutes later, you realise that you’re even more lost than you’d been to start with. With a rueful smile, you have to admit it’s hardly surprising. You haven’t stepped foot in the dungeons in two years, and even then it was only ever to the Potions lab. Your knowledge of this part of the castle is severely lacking.

It’s as you’re mulling over your predicament when a flash of purple light illuminates the space around you and a cry escapes you as your shoulder erupts in blistering pain. Lestrange’s laughter echoes down the hallway and before you can think it through, you’re lashing out with your own curse. “Confringo!” A stone bust next to where Lestrange is standing explodes and he yells in surprise as a chunk of marble very nearly knocks him over. He raises his wand but you’re quicker: “Crudesiko.” 

The effect of the spell is immediate. Lestrange staggers back, his eyes wide and fearful. You smirk. Serves him fucking right. His already pale complexion is turning practically ghostly and when he opens his mouth, blood burbles up the back of his throat and spills down his chin. You’re fairly sure that if you left him much longer, he’d die. Which would be bad. Very bad. You don’t want to go to prison for murder. With a flick of your wand the curse lifts and Lestrange stops coughing up blood. You stalk over to him, anger and adrenaline making you reckless, “If you ever try to touch me again, I swear I will do so much worse. Do you understand, Lestrange?” You hiss, your wand digging into the hollow of his throat. He nods, still pale, still shaken, still scared. “Don’t tell anyone about this - stupid little muggleborn like me? Compared to your fucking pedigree? No one would believe you.”

Over his shoulder, something shifts in the shadows. You take a step back from Lestrange and let out a shaky breath. He gathers himself, schools his expression into one of disdain and quickly retreats back to the safety of the Slytherin common room. Now that you’re alone, the weight of what you’ve done hits you. You’d hurt him… Hell, you could’ve killed him. You sink slowly to the floor and stare blankly in front of you, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to think about the gravity of your actions. Adrenaline bleeds out of you and you have to choke back a sob. Regardless of what you’d said to Lestrange, you know that if he so much as breathes a word of what transpired you’d be facing expulsion. Probably worse.

“Scourgify,” A smooth, calm voice interrupts your panicking and you snap your head around to stare up at Tom Riddle who is currently cleaning up the trail of blood Lestrange left in his escape. He tucks his wand away and turns to meet your gaze, one brow arched. He doesn’t look angry, or even particularly concerned is the thing. He looks like he’s considering something. Thoughtful, interested. “That was quite the performance,” He says at last and walks over to you, his shoes tap tap tapping against the stone floor. “I think I’d like an explanation.”

You don’t get up from the floor. Resignation sits uncomfortably on your shoulders, the weight of your disappearing future hanging heavily over your head. Head Boy Tom Riddle is your judge, jury, and executioner. “Do you really need one? You saw what I did.” You mutter, unable to look at him as something like shame curls up your spine.

He sighs and then, as though he’s explaining something very simple to a small child, he says, “I didn’t say I needed an explanation. I said I wanted one.” You chance a glance at him then and find yourself fixed under the weight of his scrutiny. When you still don’t say anything, he sighs again and this time you can detect a hint of impatience. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to explain this to the Head Master?”

“No!” You yelp, unable to stop the hint of hysteria from creeping into your voice. He hums approvingly and you’re not sure why, but you start to believe that maybe you’re not going to get into trouble. “I just… Lestrange started it.” You gesture to your shoulder which is still aching, the fabric of your shirt is slashed open where the curse hit you revealing a nasty burn across your shoulder and collarbone. “I’m not helpless. I’m not going to just… not defend myself because he thinks he’s better than me.” 

There’s a tense moment where neither of you speaks. Riddle’s gaze is impossibly intense, his eyes flicker from the burn to your face to your wand and you can’t look away. From your position, he towers over you and you think you should be afraid but somehow you can’t will the emotion into existence. After what feels like an age, Riddle takes his wand and murmurs something under his breath. A pleasant coolness wraps around around your shoulder and the pain recedes and the burn mark melts, leaving smooth clear skin in its place.

He offers you a hand. You’re a little surprised by how delicate his hands look. Pristine pale skin stretched over piano players fingers. He’s wearing a gold and onyx ring on his ring finger. It looks antique; strangely it suits him. As though he was born to wear that ring. You take his hand and he pulls you up in one fluid motion, a display of strength that you’re not sure why shocks you. His skin is cool and the way he holds your hand and doesn’t let go even when you’ve found your footing sends fission of something down your spine, pooling in your stomach.

 “Allow me to walk you back to your common room,” He says and begins to lead you down the hall. He still hasn’t let go of your hand. “What spell did you use?” He questions after a few moments of silence and you can practically hear the wheels turning in his mind as he considers you as though he’s truly seeing you for the first time. “I didn’t recognise it.”

Despite yourself, pride twists in your chest. “You wouldn’t have,” You say simply. “I invented it.” At this, Riddle’s eyes widen briefly before he dispels the shock from his face and regards your guarded curiosity. At his prompting, you explain what the spell does. “It’s designed to drain the blood from the victim. Ideally, they wouldn’t start coughing up blood, but I’ve never used it before so I guess there’s room for improvement.” 

To your surprise, he laughs. It’s not the polite hum of mild amusement you sometimes hear him make in front of professors, it’s surprisingly high pitched, light, melodic. “This is your main concern? That it didn’t work exactly as intended? Not the fact that you almost killed the heir to one of the most respected pureblood families in Britain?” He must sense the sudden flood of panic and worry that washes over you because he glances sideways at you, a small, oddly reassuring smile curling his lips. “Lestrange won’t breathe a word unless I tell him to. And I think this might be a secret best kept between us, don’t you?” He smiles down at you and you could maybe believe that he’s just being immeasurably kind if it weren’t for the dangerous glint in his eyes and the way his hand tightens around yours. It’s a warning, maybe. It feels like a promise.

Riddle walks you the rest of the way to your common in silence and you’re painfully aware of how close he stands when he finally comes to a halt. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the weight of his hand around yours, the light puff of an exhalation against your cheek as he leans down and murmurs in your ear, “I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other from now on.” He raises your hand between the two of you and grazes your knuckles with his thumb. It’s an oddly tender gesture. “Good night.”

You stand there, alone in the corridor, for several minutes after he leaves, wondering just what in the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

[blitzturtles]

Title: It Starts Like This, Ch. 3/?

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind

Pairing(s): BruAbba, Platonic Bucci Gang

Summary: “I’d ask how you’re feelin’, but I’m guessin’ the answer’s ‘not so hot’?”

Bucciarati hums at him in lieu of an actual response.

Notes: Turns out being dead has a bit of a long term effect. Who would have thought?

This fic got away from me, so I'm breaking it down by character interaction (sort of). This is Mista's part of this very Bucci-centric fic.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

-

Mista is too busy watching a movie from his spot on the living room couch to notice his two new companions until one of them is practically deposited on top of him. He startles but reigns in his reaction when he sees that it’s Bucciarati. He looks like-- ‘hell’ would be putting it nicely. The poor bastard looks like someone put him through the wringer, either before or after running him over with a train.

“What the hell?” Mista asks, looking up at the room’s only other occupant. Abbacchio isn’t looking at him so much as frowning at the back of Bucciarati’s head.

“He had three seizures,” Abbacchio says finally. Bucciarati makes a noise in the back of his throat and flaps a hand uselessly in Abbacchio’s direction.

“Three?!”

“Yeah,” Abbacchio says shortly, “They did it on purpose. I need to--”

“Wait, what the fuck? I thought they were supposed to help!” That’s the whole reason Abbacchio took Bucciarati, right? Giorno had told Mista about it earlier after Abbacchio had apparently stopped by his office for long enough to explain why he was skipping out on work for the day.

Abbacchio pinches the bridge of his nose. Now that Mista’s looking at him, Abbacchio also looks wrecked, but in a different way. Exhaustion shows despite his makeup, and there’s black smudges around his eyes. It’s not significant, but enough that Mista has to wonder if Abbacchio attempted to clean it up after making a mess of it.

“They have to trigger them to-- I don’t know, evaluate them or whatever,” Abbacchio starts for the hallway. “I’ll be back in a minute. Just keep an eye on him.” He’s gone before Mista can respond. His voice has an odd waver at the end of his sentence that gives Mista a good idea of what Abbacchio is up to.

No problem, if the man needs a minute, Mista’s more than happy to keep Bucciarati company.

“I’d ask how you’re feelin’, but I’m guessin’ the answer’s ‘not so hot’?”

Bucciarati hums at him in lieu of an actual response.

“Yeah, thought so,” Mista shifts them so Bucciarati is tucked into his side. He wraps one arm around him, loosely, before letting the Pistols out to find perches of their own. They’re pestering him too much to keep them locked up, and the extra eyes can’t hurt.

They catch onto the situation quickly enough. Five snuggles up against Bucciarati’s neck, half obscured by black curtains of hair. The braid is still absent, which means there’s a lot more to hide in. Mista figures that that’s about where the rest of the Pistols end up, considering the fact that he can’t exactly see them.

As long as they aren’t fighting, Mista’s sure it’s fine.

He turns his attention back to the TV. He had only just started the movie about twenty minutes ago. Giorno had kicked him out of his office, claiming that he needed to focus on paperwork. Mista doesn’t think his presence was the problem, but he gets the nerves. They’re all a little on edge. It’s why he’s got a movie on in the first place. Something to distract himself, but now he has Bucciarati pressed against him. He remembers what Abbacchio said about stimulation the other day and decides to turn down the volume to near silence. He’s only interested in the gun-slinging parts anyway. Mostly so he can judge the accuracy (or lack thereof).

The two remain in silence for well over fifteen minutes before Mista is startled by the sensation of someone petting his head. Only it’s not his head. He glances down to see that Five has come out of his spot to cling onto Bucciarati’s shirt-- Mista takes a moment to appreciate the fact that Abbacchio got Bucciarati to wear something other than a suit in public, but that’s not important. He’s more concerned with the Pistols and what they might be getting up to.

But Bucciarati doesn’t seem bothered as he gently pets Five’s head with two calloused fingers. Five starts chattering away at him almost immediately. Talking about anything and everything. Mista’s cheeks heat up slightly. They don’t have to be so embarrassing, he thinks to himself, but Bucciarati doesn’t seem to mind. Nor does he seem to mind when One and Seven clamor in for their turns.

Mista startles again when he turns his head and ends up face to face with a blue helmet and a head full of spikes. They’re inches apart, and it’s a little unnerving to be stared at by something that he can’t actually meet the eyes of,

“Hey, SF.”

Sticky Fingers reaches past him and extends a hand out to the remaining Pistols. Two and Three climb on, each grasping a finger, while Sticky Fingers settles themselves on the floor, in front of the couch.

It’s a little odd to watch a stand so much larger than his own sit on the ground with their legs crossed, as if that’s totally normal. Mista has a feeling it has something to do with Bucciarati’s current condition. Five is always quick to pop out when he thinks Mista is in danger. Sticky Fingers must feel their user’s distress, and, if petting the Pistols is helping Bucciarati, they might as well join in.

Absently, Mista notes that Six must still be in Bucciarati’s hair.

“I thought I told you to keep an eye on him,” Abbacchio grouches upon his return. His footsteps give him away, thankfully. Mista doesn’t think he can take another shot at his ego. He’s already been startled twice. A third time would be absurd. (A fourth would be catastrophic. He’d definitely have to go check on Giogio with that kind of luck.)

“I am,” Mista says with a half grin, “Got fourteen of ‘em.”

Abbacchio grumbles something under his breath as he approaches. His fingers brush over Sticky Finger’s head carefully, “You know he doesn’t like it when you fuss.”

Sticky Fingers gives him a look that honestly amazes Mista. He doesn’t know how a stand with half their face obscured can be so expressive, much less expressive the level of unimpressed that SF is.

“Yeah, yeah,” Abbacchio pats Sticky Fingers and moves past them to take up the nearby chaise lounge.

Mista takes a moment to look him over. More so than earlier, and he winces. Abbacchio’s eyes are definitely red, despite his newly redone makeup. He must be trying to do his best to hide from Bucciarati. Not that Abbacchio walks around all that often with his face bare, but to take the time to redo his makeup and at least attempt to look like he hasn’t been crying from the stress… Mista feels for him, but he doesn’t know what he can offer.

He’s tempted to give Abbacchio his spot on the couch, so that the two can curl up together, but Bucciarati seems content where he is. Mista’s afraid to move him around too much, plus, Abbacchio isn’t exactly shy about asking (demanding) for something when he wants it.

The trio lapses back into silence. Bucciarati’s seemingly dozed off with two Pistols cupped under his hand. Two and Three join the pile when Sticky Fingers’ form dissipates, apparently recalled to their owner upon his falling asleep.

“They really take a lot out of him, huh?” The seizures, not the Pistols. Mista doesn’t think he has to clarify.

It’s weird to see Bucciarati like this. Two days in a row no less. There have been times-- in the past-- where Bucciarati had worn himself into complete exhaustion, but it’s a rare sort of thing where Bucciarati shows his weakness. Mista’s privileged enough to have seen it only because he’s been Bucciarati’s right hand a countless number of times. Plus, despite how he acts, Bucciarati isn’t that much older than him. He can’t soldier through everything. He has limits, like the rest of them. And trauma. So much trauma. Mista thinks anyone other than Bucci would have suffocated under it all by now.

“They gave him something to help relax his muscles. It’s supposed to help with the seizures, too,” Abbacchio explains, weary eyes flitting across Bucciarati’s form. He looks much more relaxed now, thankfully. Abbacchio doesn’t exactly like seeing his partner this way, but he prefers it to the painful tension that had been there earlier.

Mista frowns, “This all sounds crazy dangerous.”

“It is,” Abbacchio admits, eyes darting away.

“Oh,” Mista looks down at the man curled against him. Right.

“They wanted to admit him.”

“And he said ‘no’.”

“Nailed it,” Abbacchio sighs. “Look, it’s not exactly my place to tell you this, but… his father had seizures, too. One of the bullets,” he motions vaguely. Uselessly. He hates all of this, and he feels like he’s out of his depth, “Nicked his brain. Fugo and I think this is more uh-- he called it an ‘anoxic event’, but anyways. We don’t think it’s a hit that did it, but from when Giorno brought him back.”

“Oh yeah, Giogio said Bucci didn’t wake up when he healed him at the church. He had to do CPR.”

“Yeah, exactly, and it took him a minute. The brain doesn’t like that anymore than a bullet, I guess,” Abbacchio runs his fingers through his hair, only now realizing he never put his headpiece on. He can’t bring himself to care about it now.

Mista nods. That makes sense. He’s had his own head injuries in the past, and they usually throw him for a spin. He couldn’t imagine that being dead did the brain any favors. No blood flow, means no oxygen, and that usually means cellular death. That’s how Giorno explained it, anyways, and it makes sense to Mista

He runs his fingers up along Bucciarati’s arm. A gentle, comforting touch that he hopes isn’t too much. The man needs a break. Maybe they can plan a getaway for him.

“You said they gave him meds. They gonna always do this?” It’s honestly scary to see Bucciarati like this. Quiet and compliant. Mista doesn’t think there would be much protest no matter which way he might turn the man. He won’t. He doesn’t want to hurt him or set off something worse, but it’s disturbing all the same. This isn’t the man they’re used to, and he knows Bucciarati would hate it if he were more aware.

“Depends,” Abbacchio shrugs. He tries to sound nonchalant, but it’s obvious he’s failing, “Everyone responds to different shit differently, but this was more like what they’d give him if he went to the ED.”

It’s a lot to take in. Mista’s starting to get why Abbacchio looks the way he does. He feels completely overwhelmed, and he’s not actually dating the guy. He can’t imagine how Bucciarati is coping with all of this. Stubbornly, but it’s got to be a lot. More than anyone should have to deal with.

“I’d offer to get you something to drink, but I’m kind of pinned down by your partner here. But you look like you could use it. I still have seven sets of eyes… if you want to.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Abbacchio says after a moment. He wouldn’t consider it if Bucciarati were awake, but all he’s doing now is stressing over something that none of them can do anything about. He’s a coward for it, nonetheless. Bucciarati isn’t getting a break from any of this, except for when he’s unconscious. And Abbacchio has spent years trying to quell his tendency to reach for the bottle when life pushes him too hard, yet here he is.

“You’re overthinking it, dude.”

“Shut up,” Abbacchio grumbles as he gets up.

______

One glass easily turns into two, then three. Somehow he loses the bottle before it turns into four. He can’t figure out where to, and that keeps him busy and distracted for a while.

Whatever it takes to get Abbacchio out of his own head, Mista thinks. He teases him a bit, but he’s just relieved that Abbacchio doesn’t look like he’s going to have a breakdown if someone says the wrong thing about the color of his nails.

He doesn’t point out that the bottle is next to him and Bucciarati now. It’s not his own doing, of course. Bucciarati is firmly pressed against him, seemingly more drool than coherency. The Pistols can’t lift it either, at least not in any way that they could have gotten past Abbacchio unnoticed. The only thing that could do that would be the golden shine of a familiar zipper.

The other thing he fails to mention is the way Bucciarati had whispered, ‘shhh’, against him as SF made off with the bottle. It’s a little funny, and Mista’s happy to keep the secret for now. He figures Abbacchio’s good. Prone to drinking more than he needs to, he’s almost as likely to send himself careening back off the mental health cliff if given the opportunity (and enough wine). Right now, he’s perfectly tipsy and distracted.

Abbacchio eventually gives up his search for the bottle-- he never suspects his partner, nor his aptly named stand.

Bucciarati quietly restarts the movie and turns the sound up a bit. He doesn’t feel great, but his thoughts aren’t completely static now, which isn’t to say much about the coherency. There’s a full body nausea that he can’t shake, either, but the medication makes him feel somewhat detached from his body. Enough so that he doesn’t think he’ll be physically sick.

The television catches Abbacchio’s eye after a few minutes, and the man is scoffing almost immediately at some horribly inaccurate detail or another. Bucciarati says nothing, but he smiles in amusement.

“Thank you,” he whispers to Mista when he thinks Abbacchio is too engrossed to notice.

“No problem, Bucci.”

Mista grazes his fingernails over Bucciarati’s arm, a gentle press that feels nice against sore muscles. Bucciarati hums in response, once more grateful for his right hand. He’s not sure what he would do without his team.

[aire101]

Ferrum Ch. 6

Link to Master Post

They were being over run.

For every monster Peter took down, two more took their place.

This was a mistake— they never should have come here. And it was all his fault.

“Peter! Get out of here!” yelled Tony from across the room, where he was dealing with his own hoard.

“No! I’m not leaving!” Peter yelled back.

“Damnit Kid! We can’t beat this on our own! You’ve gotta go!”

“I’M NOT LOSING YOU AGAIN!” screamed Peter as he slashed through the last monster in his immediate vicinity. He needed to get to Tony, something was about to happen, he just knew it.

He spun around seeing Tony faced off with two monsters. He was smiling a pain-filled smile. Almost like when—

“You’re not losing me kid, because I’m—”

Tony’s eyes widened as a blade ran through him from behind, where another monster stood hidden in the shadows.

“I’m… Iron Man.”

Peter couldn’t breath.

He tried to walk forward but his feet wouldn’t move.

He needed to move. Tony hadn’t disappeared yet. If he could just get there before…

Tony fell to his knees, his hand held up in front of his face, which was contorted in confusion. As Peter watched, lines of burning energy began coursing through Tony’s body.

“Why Peter… why didn’t you tell me…? Why didn’t you help…?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I tried!” sobbed Peter as he too fell to the ground.

“It’s ok, Peter,” came a familiar, soft voice from beside him.

Peter slowly looked to the side, and there knelt Aunt May.

“Aunt May, I tried… But I couldn’t and he’s gone. I can’t…”

“It’s ok, baby,” she said, her hand gently running through his hair. “I know you tried. It’s just that everyone you love dies. That’s just the way it is.”

Her words were like a knife directly to his heart. They hurt. More so because they were true.

All around him stood his loved ones— Ned, MJ, Happy, Mrs. Leeds and Angie, his parents.

Uncle Ben.

They stood there with sad smiles on their face.

Until they shattered into polygons.

“Why?! Why do they leave?” cried Peter.

“You know why Peter… Everyone leaves,” said May, before she too shattered into nothing.

—————

Peter woke with a start.

Waking from nightmares was always an awful experience, but now that he was regularly sharing a room with someone it was especially stressful. He couldn’t let Tony know how bad his dreams were. If he knew that, he’d press into what they were about.

And he couldn’t explain that. Not without admitting to a lot of half-truths and lies.

So he just laid on his bed while his nerves and emotions roiled. Experience told him trying to go back to sleep was pointless, but getting up risked waking Tony—

Peter looked towards the other bed, only to sit up in confusion when he saw the bed empty.

Where was Tony?

Peter checked the lower left corner of his display for the Aincrad local time… definitely the middle of the night.

Concern about questions related to his nightmare was replaced with concern over Tony’s whereabouts, so Peter slipped on his shoes and stepped out into the hall of the inn.

Despite the late (early?) hour, the tavern down below still held a decent amount of people. A handful were slumped over on the table, obviously looking for a warm place to sleep but unable to afford a room. Others sat together over glasses of ale talking amicably into the night. But he found Tony sitting over by the hearth alone, helmet on and nursing what looked like a cup of that coffee drink they called ‘kaf.’ After their trip back to the Town of Beginnings a few days ago, Tony had gone asking around about where he could get his hands on the ingredients to make the stuff. Turns out getting the ingredients was the easy part, actually making a decent cup of the stuff required some points in the cooking skill. Despite that, Tony continued to make and drink his awful concoctions.

For a moment Peter considered just going back up to their room. But the thought of going back and lying restlessly in bed was as unappealing as sleep itself.

“Hey, you know that stuff won’t actually wake you up, right?” said Peter as he plopped down in the chair across from Tony.

“Just like the alcohol can’t make you drunk,” said Tony. If he was surprised by Peter’s appearance he didn’t show it.

“Wonder what the point is in incorporating them at all then,” said Peter.

“They’re habits. Good or bad, people depend on habits. Just another thing to lull us into a sense of normalcy. If we’re in here long enough, people will probably start to forget that they’re trapped in a digital prison, and begin to wonder why we’re fighting to get out,” said Tony, before taking another sip.

“Hmm,” hummed Peter, before settling into quiet, staring into the flames of the fireplace.

They sat there in companionable silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, before it was broken by Tony’s voice, soft with question.

“Are you sure about this Pete? Word is a good two thirds of the dungeon is explored already, but several hundred have died in the last few days doing so.”

Peter didn’t answer immediately. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure about it. In typical form, his hesitance had little to do with his own safety and everything to do someone else’s.

The memory of his dream and a creature running Tony through with a blade from behind returned.

No. Peter Parker wasn’t sure at all.

But Spider-man… Spider-man knew what needed to be done, and he did it.

He had managed to keep Tony from taking any hits so far, he would just have to keep doing it. He would get better. Faster. Stronger.

He would get them out of this game, and then he would find their answers as to where Tony was and how he had come to be in this game. Did Ms. Potts— er, Mrs. Stark know he was still alive? If so, why hide it?

“Considering our uh… RL life choices, there’s a pretty good chance of us dying on any given day,” said Peter, trying not to choke on the words, memories of blood and stones and ash rising. “I’d rather die doing the best I can to help others than sit around watching others die instead. It’s what I’d do in the real world, so its what I should do here. We’ve talked about this. All the way to Tolbana, in fact.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Tony, in the same uncharacteristically soft tone.

“How about you? Just because I’ve decided to work on clearing the game doesn’t mean you have to. I could probably find a clearing party to join up with. I’ve heard a few parties talk about setting up guilds even,” said Peter, with mixed feelings. On one hand, he really didn’t like the idea of letting Tony too far out of his sight. On the other, if he stayed back Peter would probably worry less about keeping Tony alive and could focus more on his own battles.

Tony scoffed at the idea though, so Peter guessed that was out.

“There’s no way in hell I’m sending you off into that labyrinth without me,” Tony replied.

“Well, guess that settles it then,” said Peter with finality.

“Right. Well, I guess I’ll go and check our equipment before we head out, since we’re both awake. Unless you want to try and go back to sleep?” asked Tony, standing up and slipping down his visor.

“Nah, I’m awake. So we can head out whenever. You did sleep some, right?” asked Peter as he stood as well.

“I slept as much as I need to,” answered Tony evasively.

Peter rolled his eyes. Tony’s sleeping habits in the game were as bad as they were outside of it.

“Ok, I’ll go pack up then.”

—————

The floor one labyrinth was a cavernous maze of halls and chambers crawling with Kobold Troopers— the first humanoid monsters they had come across in the game. Unlike the previous creature types, they could use sword skills like players and NPCs. This made Peter's 'don't let Tony take any hits' job far more complicated than he had expected.

"Damn it, kid! Stop taking my hits! You're going to get yourself killed!"

"No I won't, I'm careful about keeping an eye on my HP," responded Peter as he swallowed down a potion.

"You wouldn't have to keep such a close eye on your HP if you would just stop throwing yourself into hits!"

“Well, if you would stop getting yourself into positions where you’re going to get hit, maybe I wouldn’t need to! You’re not in an impenetrable armor anymore,” Peter grouched back. But as soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them.

He couldn’t see most of Tony’s face through the helmet’s visor, but he could tell by the tightening in his posture that the words had hit harder than he had intended.

Peter sighed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not the reason I’m getting hurt. But you really do need to stop leaving your back open. You can’t take hits in a fight like you’re used to, and there’s no FRIDAY to keep an eye on it. Just me.”

For a moment Tony didn’t answer, but eventually he nodded.

“No, you’re right. I’m used to having a margin of error in a fight because of the strength of my armor or FRIDAY having my back. I’m not used to being so squishy when I fight. Rogers used to gripe at me about the same thing,” said Tony. “Which was pretty hypocritical on his part considered how he threw himself into things— I guess I’m not too surprised about that at this point— but the fact still remains true. Sorry, I should be better at this than I am—”

“I don’t want an apology. And I know habits are hard to break. Just… try to keep more of an eye on it?”

“I will, but I also want you to stop taking all the hits. We’re both about the same level, so I can take a few as well, you know. I won’t shatter on contact,” chuckled Tony, though Peter could tell it was forced.

The visual of Tony shattering into polygons wouldn’t leave Peter’s mind.

“No promises, so you better keep up your guard,” muttered Peter, before he started walking further into the labyrinth.

From behind him he could hear Tony sigh in exasperation, but he followed along at Peter’s back.

In every RPG Peter had ever played, when you ‘entered the dungeon’ you traveled down through floors until you found the boss room. In SAO’s labyrinth it was all an up-hill journey with no definitive floor levels, plenty of trick rooms, and not a soul to be seen. He had snagged the map data from a large group of Clearers he’d met in the pub their first night in town, but even with four more days of exploring it, there were still massive chunks of blank spaces. One of which they were mapping out now, and five hours in they had yet to stumble on another player. All Peter could say was that they had to be nearing the top of the column soon. Or at least he hoped so. Enough people had died in here already.

The halls were mostly silent as they trekked through the labyrinth passages, the only sounds Peter could hear was the soft echo of their footsteps.

Eventually they came upon a turn into another hall, and as soon as Peter saw what lay beyond, he froze.

It was the Boss Room. It had to be. Rough hewn stone walls were replaced with smooth slate, and the double door set into the wall before him was like nothing they had seen in the labyrinth yet. Three times the height of an average person, ornate lattice scroll work ran from top to bottom down the middle of each door, with a central metal push plate featuring two intertwined serpents.

Tony came around to his side and gave a relieved sigh before pulling up his map. “Finally, I’ll update our map data with a notation.”

Peter nodded absently feeling lightheaded. They had actually done it. They had found the boss room. Just a little longer and they would move to the next floor…

And once they had proven they could… Maybe things would get better.

Peter smiled and turned to ask Tony if he wanted to head back to town now…

That’s when he heard it. The faintest sound of the shuffle of feet from the darkness.

“Mob!” shouted Peter, drawing his sword just as the first Troopers rushed them from the shadows.

Tony quickly switched into fighting stance, drawing his two-handed sword and parrying a Trooper’s slash away.

As Peter jumped into the fray, he tried to do a head count.

One—two—three…

Four—Five—Six…

Definitely outnumbered, but so long as he kept an eye on them it should be fine.

Vertical— horizontal— slant—

The trooper burst into polygons. From the corner of his eye he could see Tony disperse of another trooper.

As they fought, on habit the two of them drifted together until they were back to back.

A well placed sword swing shattered another kobold, only for another to take it’s place, its barbaric hand axe coming in for a hit.

Peter wasn’t quite quick enough and the hit landed, taking some of his HP down with it. Peter would not give the kobold another chance at a hit, and in a few moments it was dispersed just like the rest.

Over all, the kobolds were not especially difficult. But for every one Peter felled another took its place…

Then another.

And another.

This was far more than the six he had originally counted… they just kept coming.

Just like his dream…

He couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t. It was just a dream.

‘Everyone leaves.’

His next strike hit a little harder than he meant, causing the kobold he was fighting to shatter but also causing him to stumble forward away from Tony, allowing a kobold to step into place between them.

Fear froze him as he saw the kobold raise it’s axe overhead, coming in for a direct hit on Tony, who was turned away, unawares.

“TONY! BEHIND—!” screamed Peter, trying to get to Tony.

It was like slow motion. Tony turned, but the axe was nearly on him already. He wouldn’t be able to block. He wouldn’t be able to move.

No, no, no… he couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t—!

“DON’T TOUCH HIM—!” Peter cried, as he slashed his sword wildly.

He couldn’t reach him in time!

The axe struck true.

But it was stopped by a purple polygon with an identification tile that read ‘Immortal Object.’

For a moment Peter’s mind went ‘blue screen’ while it tried to compute what he was seeing.

Tony on the other hand didn’t seem to pause for a second, rather he threw himself with abandon into the throes of the fight, no longer bothering with attempts at defense, letting each hit bounce off the strange shield that apparently kept hits from connecting.

Peter pulled himself together, swallowing down a potion before returning to the fray. After a few more rounds the waves of the mob tapered off until only Peter and Tony were left standing.

Well, standing was relative. As soon as the mob was finished Peter sunk down to the ground, his head in his hands as the mental fatigue of the battle along with all the ones before it came crashing down on him.

Immortal Object.

“Come on kid, we need to get out of here. There’s no telling what the re-spawn rate is this close to the Boss Room door,” said Tony, putting a hand under Peter’s arm to pull him up.

Peter stood up and followed along as directed, keeping one hand on Tony as they went. Every now and then they would come across a pair of Troopers, but Tony easily dispatched them and they continued on their way.

Peter wasn’t sure how long they had been walking, but at some point he realized he could hear the sound of voices up ahead.

As they turned a bend a party of players came into sight. The player at the head of the group was a man with blue hair, dressed in bronze armor with a longsword at his hip.

“Hey!” called Tony, waving them over.

Most of the group eyed with some suspicion, but the blue haired one walked over, a small but amicable smile on his face.

“Yes, do you need help?” he asked politely.

“Nah, we’re alright. You’re part of one of the larger clearing parties, aren’t you?” asked Tony.

“Yes, in fact I’m the leader of the group. My name is Diavel,” he answered.

“Good. Look, we found the Boss Room up ahead.”

That certainly got their attention. Diavel’s eyes widened for a moment and his face lost its politeness and settled into a more serious gaze. He glanced at Peter, who knew he was showing obvious signs of exhaustion.

“We didn’t open it so I’m not sure what’s inside, and we were swarmed by a large Trooper mob right afterward,” Tony said, answering the unspoken question. “If you open your map I’ll give the info to you.”

Diavel nodded, opening up his map. A few taps later and the exchange was done.

“We will go back quickly and start gathering a raiding party this afternoon. Should I expect to see you there?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just make sure this info gets out,” said Tony, a hand Peter’s shoulder as he starts to move away.

“I will see it done,” said Diavel, with a nod. “Everyone, lets hurry back to town! There’s work to be done!”

And with that the group turned and ran, presumably back towards the entrance to the labyrinth.

“Alright, that’s done. If you need to stop we’ll stop, but otherwise we’re going to keep going until we’re back at the inn. Don’t worry about anything other than putting one foot in front of the other, I’ll take care of rest,” said Tony, as they began to walk in the same direction.

Peter did as he was told, and put one foot in front of the other.

Step, step, step…

Immortal Object.

Step, stumble, step…

“I can’t remember things passed a certain point…”

“The last thing I remember is the meeting with Kayaba…”

What did it all mean…

Step, step, step…

“I’m thinking of skipping on meals for a while. I’m kinda curious how long it takes to actually start feeling hungry in here.”

Put one foot in front of the other, Parker. Almost there…

“I slept as much as I need to.”

Immortal Object—Immortal Object—Immortal Object—

AI Development

Peter stopped.

Peter couldn’t help but wonder… Was she aware of what she was?

No. No way. No fucking way—

“The problem was that in order to do further development and testing it would require me to deep dive into their systems, and for reasons I’ve discussed with you earlier today I was entirely unwilling to open myself up to that.”

“Peter… Hey, are you alright?” asked Tony, a worried crease in his brow that was so familiar. “Are you still with me, kid?”

Was it even possible? Who was he kidding, if anyone could figure it out it would have been him. But then how did it— he— end up here?

“Ok, now you’re really starting to scare me kid.”

Unbidden, the memory of the mural from the night he entered SAO came back to him.

Slowly, Peter started to take steps again.

“Good, that’s good. One step at a time and we’ll get there,” said Tony.

Peter did as he was told, and he slowly made his way out of the labyrinth while trying to come to terms with a fact he couldn’t look away from.

Mr. Stark was dead. He always had been.

Tony was an AI.

[yukipri]

On Koala and Fishman Karate - a One Piece Mermaid AU Story

Not an ask response, but here with another story which was posted last month on Patreon!

I never actually intended on writing this, because this was originally supposed to just be exposition leading up to Marco's Bauble 2, and kinda explaining why Luffy's being tutored in Fishman Karate. But, it ended up being too long and going off on WAY too many unrelated tangents, so I chopped it off and made it its own thing ^ ^;

Mostly introspective, with Koala x Luffy, mention of Sabo x Luffy, and some thoughts on Nami from Koala's perspective as well.

~~

~~

Koala gently nudges Luffy's hand a little higher, and the mermaid makes a tiny whine of frustration as she sways on her tail, trying her best to maintain the posture she's been taught. Luffy glares at her own fist with such adorable determined ferocity that Koala doesn't have the heart to tell her that she doesn't need to try so hard, and that if anything, staying relaxed is the point.

Koala's been trying to teach Luffy Fishman Karate during the few lulls between their adventures. She knows that the disciplined martial art is probably not Luffy's style, but Fishman Karate focusses fishmen and merfolks' innate sensitivity to water. It's honed for combat in this case, but it can be applied to daily life as well, which is why fishman karate is a regular part of grade school curriculum on Fishman Isand. When one lives surrounded entirely by water, ten thousand meters below sea level, it's remarkably beneficial to be in tune with it.

Even if Luffy never fully masters it, Koala's sure she can gain something of value to apply to her regular fighting style, and even if not, it's part of her heritage. It's why Koala had insisted on teaching her, and Sabo had grudgingly agreed (Koala knows the grudging part mostly comes from Sabo still being petty about being terrible at it himself. Which, shouldn't come as a surprise since fishmen arts are difficult for non fishmen and merfolk, but it gives Koala something to rub in his face, which is always wonderful).

It's nice, Koala thinks as she sings praises in Luffy's ear while fixing her posture once again. It's nice because even though Koala'll do any assignment thrown her way, and will do anything to further her primary goal of achieving justice for fishmen and merfolk, being an assistant Fishman Karate instructor is her actual formal position in the Revolutionary Army. It's so easy to forget, with the number of missions she's been on with her acting support for Sabo and others, and the increasing amount of time she spends away from Baltigo and her students. But suddenly, she's given an unexpected opportunity to actually practice and share her passion, and to someone who could really benefit from it too. It would be an utter waste for Luffy to not learn from Koala while they travel together.

(Even if it means Sabo sulks and stews with pathetically transparent jealousy over losing sibling bonding time. He can deal. He'll have plenty of time later.)

And well, Luffy's honestly a joy as a student too. Even if explanations mostly go over her head, she's got amazing physical intuition and picks things up fast. And she's so dedicated, staring at Koala with wide eyes like she holds the secrets to the universe when Koala shows her something new, always blurting out her awe exactly as she feels it and--it's endearing.

Luffy, everything about her, is honestly endearing.

The fishman karate tutoring sessions are honestly the only times Koala can have alone with the mermaid (or as alone as one can be, on the deck of a small vessel like Merry), especially without Mr. Nosy Possessive Big Bro butting in between them. So yes, maybe Koala enjoys spending time with Luffy for reasons other than just getting to do karate together, but she'll confess that to Sabo over her own dead body.

Not that Koala thinks it really matters; Sabo's already giving her the Suspicious Stink Eye (though to be fair, he gives that to everyone other than Ace). And yeah, in hindsight she honestly should have expected his suspicion, given how well her partner knows knows her dating history.

I'm warning you, Koala, Sabo'd grouched when they were alone, dropping his Cool Big Bro act to reveal the Shitty Little Dumpster Brat that Koala knows and grew up with. Don't even think about it with Luffy. Even if she's infinitely cuter than what were their names...Marinara and Cartwheels.

Their names were Marina and Kara. And I don't date every mermaid I meet!

Koala's honestly offended, but decides to let it go; Sabo's overwhelmed by his sudden wave of previously repressed Brotherly Love, and he's still not entirely rational (not that rational's a particularly good word to apply to him at any time). And she doesn't have a thing for fishgals and mermaids, she swears. She just happens to spend a disproportionate amount of time working with them, given her specific focus in the Revolutionary Army. It just makes sense.

Or fine, maybe she has a slight thing for them. And, well, maybe Luffy's her type. Just a little bit. On top of being, well, a super cute pupil. But Koala's not going to do anything, other than enjoy spending time together! Is she not allowed even that?

But, the point is, Sabo's being ridiculous! Koala's been his partner for years! Doesn't he trust Koala enough to know that she'd treasure Luffy, in the very hypothetical situation they ever dated?

(Koala knows the answer to that, knew it the moment she saw Sabo's expression melt as he cupped Luffy's face, and sighs. She never imagined she'd be love rivals against Sabo of all people, but well, shit happens.)

Anyway, Fishman Karate times are Koala's times with Luffy, and if Sabo comes poking his snooty little nose into their sessions, well, Koala's happy to volunteer him as a punching bag. Which he knows, hence why he's not here.

In fact, the deck is mostly empty, the other members of their limited crew occupying themselves elsewhere. Their sole observer is the navigator, sitting by the rail and marking up some maps, seemingly not paying attention.

But Koala knows that Nami's very much attuned to their lesson, her head jerking every time a particularly hard smack lands.

Koala doesn't blame her. She's aware of what Arlong did, had had to swallow bile when she accessed the full report when it came through, days before their fateful meeting with Luffy and the ASL pirates. She knows what Nami must think of fishmen, and to know that her impression came from former Sun Pirates leaves Koala feeling a special kind of numb.

Because that isn't what they're like at all, she wants to say. The Sun Pirates, to Koala, are a gleaming example of why fishmen deserve better, and are victims of human prejudice and ignorance. It's terrible that they mean the opposite to Nami. But given her experiences, Koala knows she has no right to preach at her. If anything, she just feels sad, and bitter, knowing that the cycle of hatred can come back to hurt those so very far away from where it started.

Koala guides Luffy's arms into position again, and despite Luffy struggling to remember everything mentally, the young mermaid's body easily accepts the form. It's an art designed for her kind after all, unlike the marine martial arts that Sabo said their grandfather had beaten into them. Koala's sure Luffy struggled with those, unable to fully copy moves that require certain feet positions, and an assumption of a more human perception of the world. But this, Fishman Karate, was made for her.

Nami twitches again, and Koala makes a note of it. She knows Nami has likely seen the form before; there were several martial artists in Arlong's group.

She knows it's difficult to watch, but admires Nami's stubborn determination in doing so. Koala's sure that part of Nami's reason for watching is to make sure Koala doesn't teach anything unsavory to Luffy, and she respects that wariness, because they haven't known each other long enough for Nami to open up to Koala and her history of friendship with fishmen.

But, and it's only a guess, but Koala thinks Nami also watches to try to learn and accept this part of her captain as well. Koala might not be important, but Luffy is the captain Nami's pledged to follow, for all that Ace is also her captain. And whether she likes it or not, Luffy's a mermaid, which, while not the exact same as fishmen, has plenty of things in common.

Now that she's no longer isolated on an island in East Blue, heading closer to Fishman Island which they'll inevitably have to cross in order to enter the New World, Luffy's learning more about herself. Specifically, the mer part of herself. And she'd be doing that, regardless of whether Koala's there to help her along.

Koala thinks it wise that Nami's forcing herself to learn alongside Luffy, so that there are no surprises, and that one day, she doesn't wake up and realize that her captain shares far too much with her tormentors for her to handle. Koala hopes that Nami's love and acceptance for Luffy will plant a seed of hope that eventually helps her accept other fishmen and merfolk, to see that they're not all Arlong--but Koala can wait.

~~

~~

Thanks so much for reading if you got through this~! <3 As always any comments/thoughts are super appreciated!

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[halothenthehorns]

OWL POST

OWL POST

Next morning dawned very bright and early for the household, despite their late evening they were all up and around well before a normal breakfast. Since he was the first one up, Sirius decided to make breakfast before Lily could kick him out of the kitchen, which also meant breakfast was a very quick affair. They were all settled down and ready to read within an hour of being awake, highly anxious to get reading again.

Sirius, having finished off last time, passed the book along to Harry for his start.

The narrative starts by stating the simple fact that Harry Potter was considered an unusual boy.

"Oh come on Harry, you're not that weird," James said bracingly, "odd stuff just seems to happen to you."

Harry grinned lightly without looking up, deciding to read the reasons he felt he was so weird before he really believed him.

Beginning to list the reasons, the first of which was that he hated his summer holidays.

"So do I," Sirius mock pouted, "so are you saying I'm unusual."

Before Harry could even answer, Remus really did mock him, saying, "Sirius, Harry doesn't have to say that. I'm saying it for him."

While Harry laughed at the pair, Sirius just huffed and grumbled a bit with a smile.

Another reason was that he actually wanted to do his homework,

"That's not so odd either," Lily chuckled, getting into this now, "I enjoyed doing my homework all the time. It was always something fun and unusual."

"That's just because you didn't grow up around magic," James rolled his eyes, "if you did, you'd just think of it as boring homework."

but was forbidden and now did it in secret during the nights.

Then they all grimaced in disgust as they now firmly remembered where exactly Harry was, and why he would be doing that.

The last of his reasons, he was a wizard.

"Right," James drew the word out in disbelief. "So what about all of that made you unusual again?"

"Well when you put it like that it's not," Harry chuckled, "but sitting around thinking about it..." he trailed off.

They all smiled indulgently at him, pleased he truly did seem to be relaxing and finally making more jokes.

The timing properly started at midnight, Harry lay awake under his bed sheet working on previously said homework, an essay about Witch Burning from the Fourteenth Century and why it was pointless, and gaining knowledge of the subject from his text entitled A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot.

"I actually remember that essay vividly," Lily giggled, "it was pretty funny to find out the lengths wizards go to hide themselves from Muggles, when Muggles can't hardly find us when we're not even trying to hide."

Using his quill he was scanning the page looking for something to add to his essay and came across a likely paragraph, going into details about one witch in particular deemed Wendelin the Weird who enjoyed being caught simply for the use of using a tickle charm she'd hidden in the flames.

"I can't imagine how she got her nickname," Sirius said, mock-puzzled and wondering why she didn't just perform that charm herself, rather than being 'caught.'

"How did that work though?" Harry asked, realizing the book wasn't going to explain further. "The Muggles would have been sitting there watching, and wouldn't they have noticed she wasn't burning up?"

Remus happily explained, "since the smoke was in everyone's eyes so much, they most often did these in open fields and such, they could just disappear before the charm wore off. Anyone who

heard the loud crack it makes, just assumed it was logs or even the bones breaking, stuff like that."

Harry nodded in understanding, having a pang in his chest as he realized this kind of answer would never go in his essay, because he hadn't been able to ask them this. It was the small, little things that still got to him and reminded him that his home life really had sucked.

Harry carefully pulled out a bottle of ink and then used his quill to carefully begin scratching notes on the topic, silently as possible. He feared that if the family he lived with, the Dursleys, heard the pointed sound,

"I always wanted to ask," Harry butted in again, "why do we use quills, instead of pens?"

Both Lily and Remus released bursts of laughter at this, Lily explaining, "trust me, I think every muggle-born's asked that at some point or another. Professor Flitwick explained it saying that it's just more traditional. He tried to give a muggle comparison, saying it's why some teachers still want you to use print instead or cursive on your homework, even though there's no real difference at the end results."

Harry shrugged and said thanks, happy that random little thing was explained.

he would definitely get in major trouble for it, likely being locked in the cupboard for the remainder of his holidays.

Their good mood was gone in an instance, all wanting to threaten or far worse to those Muggles Harry was forced to live with, but Harry wasn't hearing of it as he read on loudly.

The Dursley family of number four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer holidays.

Sirius began saying something rather foul at once, but Harry was still diligently ignoring them and continuing.

His Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry's only living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic.

"Medieval, that about sums it up," Lily agreed bitterly.

Harry's dead parents,

Even Harry couldn't keep a hitch out of his voice as he forced himself to read that.

who had been a witch and wizard, were never mentioned. For years in Harry's younger life Petunia and Vernon had done their best to keep Harry as miserable as possible, hoping to squash his hereditary magic out of him.

This time Harry had to cut across all four of them trying to continue their threats, but Harry refused to let them get on for long. He didn't want their tempers' spiking, and for them to possibly rile themselves up enough to go out and act on those threats.

To their horror, it hadn't worked, so they now lived in fear of what anyone would think if they knew where Harry had spent the majority of his last two years of life at Hogwarts.

"Who exactly is anyone?" James scoffed in disgust. "It's not like they have any friends."

Harry just sighed, not really wanting to indulge them and explain that the Dursleys were very neighbourly people, often boasting loudly about the goings on of their life. He didn't quite know what the neighbourhood thought he'd been doing the past two years at school, but he knew without a doubt the Dursleys hadn't been saying it in a good way.

All the Dursleys could get away with now was to take Harry's magical means, including his wand, school books, and supplies and stow them away in the cupboard and forbid Harry from speaking to any of the neighbours.

This time they didn't actually try and cut Harry off, realizing he wasn't going to let them, so they quietly simmered and grouched about that line.

This could have been a real problem for Harry, as he had summer homework and knew one teacher in particular who would never take any excuse for him not doing it. Professor Snape would take any opportunity to give Harry a solid month's worth of detentions for any reason.

"I can see that," Lily agreed fairly, before any of the boys could get in a more biased opinion, "a teacher would have the right to scold you for not doing homework. Though admittedly," she continued even more loudly when James looked about to cutting her off, "I do wish you had explained why you wouldn't be able to do your homework."

Harry just shrugged, knowing that Snape wouldn't have cared no matter what, and never having bothered with the other teachers either.

Harry had outsmarted them though, biding his time and found an opportunity the first week of holidays. Vernon had received a new car and had brought Petunia and Dudley out front to have a look at it, boasting loudly enough that surely the neighbours heard as well.

Remus muttered something under his breath that caused Sirius to release a bark-like laughter, causing James to scowl at them mostly because he wasn't in on the joke.

Harry had taken his chance and gone to the cupboard, picking the lock,

"Glad to see Fred and George taught you that nifty little trick," James approved.

and stowing away a majority of his school things. So long as he left no evidence of it, the Dursleys need never know he was studying magic by night.

"That's my pup," Sirius grinned from ear to ear, "stick it to those bloody Muggles."

All four of them were beyond pleased Harry seemed more and more likely to stand up to that rubbish family of his and even doing small things like this boosted their moral of the ratty situation.

Harry was particularly keen on staying out of their crosshairs as of late, as they were in an especially bad mood with him,

"As opposed to?" Lily asked, genuinely curious.

"Just, a normal bad mood," Harry shrugged, unable to really explain that any other way.

"So, what did they blame you for doing?" James asked without really wanting to hear the answer.

Harry sighed, remembering quite well that this essay marked the time passing from when Ron had called him. He explained the whole fiasco, which both delighted and infuriated them all at the same time. Harry regretted having told them this though when he realized the book was about to explain it, so it's not like they could move past this.

all because he'd received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into the school vacation.

"At least he tried," James sighed.

It had been Ron Weasley, Harry's best friend from school, who came from a family of wizards. This unfortunately meant that he wasn't very skilled in using muggle objects, like phones, hence his confusion when Vernon answered the call, and heard Ron bellowing at the top of his lungs 'hello?'

"Wow," Lily muttered, rubbing at her ear, "when you said he shouted, you meant it."

"Guess next time, you should go into a bit more details with Arthur," Remus sighed.

Harry was looking down at the pages sadly, suddenly realizing that he had left out the part where Vernon had shouted at him for this mess, but had merely said this is what caused them to be extra mad at him. Now the book was possibly going to show something he didn't particularly want his family to hear... sighing in defeat he pressed on.

Harry had happened to be in the room at the time, and could clearly hear Ron's continued shouting that he wanted to talk to Harry. Vernon turned on Harry on the spot, fury prevalent.

Not even Lily felt pity for this horrid man, she joined in as they laughed just a bit cruelly at his ignorance of the situation.

Vernon roared right back, demanding to know who was speaking.

"Poor Ron," Sirius chuckled, "he probably doesn't even understand he's doing anything wrong, since that arse is responding in exactly the same way."

"Where did he even get a hold of a phone?" James suddenly asked. "That's not something he'd have around his house."

"I asked," Harry shrugged, "he said his Dad apparated him into town to use one."

"Wait, you could still write to him?" Remus asked eagerly, misunderstanding how Harry had asked, "So did you pick the lock on Hedwig's cage this summer?" Remembering all too well the

injustice done to that poor bird last summer.

"Actually," Harry fully grinned this time, and deciding against correcting his assumption; really he had asked on the train ride home last year. "I really was just allowed to let her out at night. Uncle- err," he corrected himself at once for the slip that he knew they all hated for addressing them as

any type of family, "Vernon hated the racket so much he said I could so long as the neighbours didn't see her."

"Probably the most decent thing they've done in their life," Lily beamed, taking this small victory.

"Even if it was for the most selfish of reasons," James agreed.

Ron called right back in the same tones, speaking as if from the opposite end of a football field,

Sirius couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image.

that he was a friend of Harry's from school. Vernon's hate filled eyes narrowed in on Harry, who had been trying to edge back to his room.

"Uh-oh," they all muttered, Harry had left the part out that he'd been in the room when this happened.

Vernon steamed back that no Harry Potter lived there, now holding the phone as far away

from his head as if it were a ticking bomb,

"I wish," James grumbled, enjoying that for a moment longer.

Continuing to shout that no one had better come near his family!

"He is a bloody paranoid one, isn't he?" Remus said in an almost conversational tone of voice, if his hands weren't white knuckled from what he was dearly trying not to picture that man doing to Harry in retaliation for this. "Honestly, one stupid phone call, and he thinks Ron's going to kill them all?"

"Wish he would," Sirius huffed, "actually I wish Arthur or Molly would really go over there sometime this summer, and take Harry with them, and then never come back."

"If only," Harry agreed, though he really did want to move on now, never letting himself think like this for too long, since it wouldn't ever come true.

Then he slammed the receiver down so hard it was in danger of breaking. The following fight was one of the worst ever in that house.

Lily released a pitiful moan at that description, not even wanting to think on what this could mean...

Vernon rampaging that how dare Harry give out the houses number, to people like him. Ron seemed to have realized that he'd gotten Harry into trouble, because he had yet to try again.

"Wait, wait, back up!" Sirius demanded. "Is that all he did? Shout at you."

"Yes," Harry said quickly...a little too quickly. They'd all had this moment before, where they genuinely wanted to question what exactly Harry was hiding about his home life there. It was

something, of that they were all sure by this point, but the last time they had tried to press on the matter further Harry had gotten very uptight about the matter and had refused to speak on it, saying it wasn't important.

There were several options, none of them good, that would cause him to do this. They wanted desperately to know, but feared if they forced Harry to tell without making one hundred percent

sure he trusted them first, it could break the rather tentative hold they had on said trust. So they didn't question the obvious lie, and waited patiently for Harry to divulge the information willingly, well as patiently as any of them really could be. They weren't subtle about giving Harry looks that said quite clearly 'liar.'

Harry ignored all this, now reading on as fast as possible.

Harry's other best friend from school, Hermione Granger, hadn't made contact either. Harry had the suspicion that Ron may have sent her a warning against doing so, which Harry regretted as she did come from a muggle family and would have known perfectly well how to not only use the phone, but had enough sense not to speak of their school.

"Now that I'm not sure of," Lily disagreed, "since I can assume I'm right in saying you've never told your friends about how you're treated there. So Hermione wouldn't have found it odd at all to mention she knew you from school."

Harry just shrugged, muttering, "yeah, guess so," before quickly pressing on, they all noted Harry didn't exactly answer the first part of his mother's question.

So Harry had no word from any of his wizarding friends for five long weeks,

"Wait, what?" Remus snapped. "I thought you said Hedwig was allowed out? Why on earth aren't you sending them mail?"

"I said I wouldn't," Harry said like he thought it was obvious, rather annoyed he really couldn't just skip this part.

"Harry," James groaned, "this is one time you could have lied! Merlin, they wouldn't even know the difference."

Harry just shrugged again, which was all too common an occurrence whenever this type of thing was brought up. Usually the boy was more than willing to talk and interact with them, asking questions and demanding details, and always more than willing to say what went on around school where some of the deadliest things had happened to him. The fact that he was so closed up about this particular subject continued scaring them the longer this dragged on.

making the summer drag on as horribly as the last one. The one improvement on the situation was his owl, Hedwig. She'd finally been allowed out at night, after Harry promised not to let her send or receive mail.

They all clenched up and muttered a bit more, and were growing beyond frustrated at Harry's not letting them get a word in this time.

The only reason this had even been allowed was because of the racket she made when Vernon had caged her up last summer. Speaking of Hedwig, Harry rolled out from under his bed, eyes burning and putting away his homework for the night into a loose floorboard under his bed.

"Props for finding that," James grinned weakly, happy he had any reason to do so again. Merlin, were they only on the first chapter and he was already feeling like crap again?

Then he stood and glanced around his room, noting his owl's empty cage, before his eyes landed on the clock and he felt an odd jolt in him. The time now read one in the morning, meaning that Harry was now officially thirteen years old.

Then the four of them released pitiful sighs, knowing by now not to even ask about how this birthday was going to go, and only hoping it went at least a little better than last year...Merlin

almost anything would be better than last year!

Yet another unusual thing about Harry was how little he looked forward to his birthdays.

"Yeah, I've got nothing for that," James huffed in disgust, wishing with everything he owned he could fix that. His friends clearly couldn't do anything for Harry, even on this day in particular, so Harry's hatred for his birthday was both founded, and unarguable, plus just down right depressing.

"Congratulations Harry," Sirius said in a falsely bright voice, "we agree, you're unusual."

Harry really did laugh then, making them all feel just that little bit better.

He had never received a birthday card in his life.

Harry joined in on their wince of pain this time, not really appreciating that little reminder.

The Dursleys had made a practice of not even acknowledging the date, and Harry had no suspicions that this would change. His eyes again landed on Hedwig's empty cage. She'd been gone for some time now, but Harry wasn't exactly worried, she'd been gone longer. He was just hoping she would come back soon, as she was the only living thing in this area who didn't flinch at the sight of him.

"I can see how you would find that depressing," James sighed.

Harry then glanced in a mirror and reflected on his own physical appearance, thinking how he was still rather slight for his age with wild black hair, green eyes behind the glasses, and a lightning shaped scar. This scar just so happened to be the most unusual thing about Harry yet.

"Fair point on that," Remus agreed, "so you were right twice over now."

Harry just smiled weakly this time, knowing they weren't about to appreciate his remembering of how he got this scar, so hoping to get past this part quickly he speed read.

Harry had not received it in the lie the Dursleys had told him, that Lily and James Potter had died in a car crash.

'Pig's tail' Lily comforted herself when she made to start screaming all over again because of that lie 'just remember, they did get their due.'

They had been murdered,

James winced, and he probably always would whenever he was forced to hear that sentence. It didn't matter how many times it appeared, it would never not be weird, and heart-breaking.

by Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard to ever have existed. He had sought out Harry's line and dispersed of his parents, but when he'd turned his wand on then one year old Harry, it had backfired, causing Voldemort to disappear that same night, and leaving Harry with fame. Sadly Voldemort was not gone for good, as Harry had now come face to face with him twice, and all things considering, he felt rather grateful to have reached another birthday at all.

There were several times many of them made to interrupt during that summarization of his last thirteen years of life, but it wasn't anything he hadn't heard already, and it was depressing enough to think about in his spare time. He didn't want his family to be sitting around thinking about it anymore than he had to.

Harry wandered over to the window and leaned out, letting the night air blow against his face as his mind continued to travel, until his eyes caught sight of an odd something heading for him.

"Crap," they all muttered at once, thinking 'it wasn't possible!' Harry was in a town full of Muggles, nothing too dangerous could be happening to him...right?

He froze for a moment, hand on the window and prepared to slam it shut,

"Glad you at least had that sense," Lily said uneasily.

before he recognized the shape as it passed below a street lamp and Harry lept aside.

"What was it?" Remus asked, mixtures of eagerness and fear still lingering.

Harry chuckled when he told them, making Lily say, "aw, the poor thing," while the boys laughed at the scene Harry described.

Through the window came three owls, two supporting the middle one creating such an odd shape. The middle bird was half unconscious, and they all landed on Harry's bed with a whump.

"He's not really dead, is he?" Lily noted with worry even though she knew Harry would read that with more concern if the bird was harmed.

There was something tied to all three of their legs, and Harry recognized the middle owl that was currently passed out as Errol, the Weasley's family owl.

"Oh, hey!" James yelped, grinning with glee now. "So this means Ron did send you something! Ha, can't imagine why he hasn't done it before now."

"He knew he'd gotten me in trouble," Harry reminded.

"Yes," Sirius waved his hand, trying to avoid screaming about that 'trouble' all over again, "but that was because of the phone. Why wouldn't he have sent you mail again?"

Harry just sighed, he understood Ron's reasons, but he didn't know how to explain it to them.

"It's a good thing you were awake for this anyway," Lily said, going back to the original point of this, "because that would have been odd to wake up for."

Harry ran forward and quickly unloaded the owl, setting its package aside and instead carrying the bird over to Hedwig's cage so that he could get a drink.

Lily beamed with unsuppressed glee, happy to see Harry taking the time to help out this owl rather than go right to his mail.

Harry then turned his attention to the other two owls, the white one being his own Hedwig, but the last unfamiliar in colour though what it was carrying was clearly a marked package with the Hogwarts crest.

"Nice," Sirius grinned, "so you got your Hogwarts letter on top of everything else today, and," he continued almost bouncing with glee, "that'll contain your Hogsmeade letter?"

For just a moment, Harry went as bright-eyed as Sirius. He'd heard all about Hogsmeade from the older students, and he was as keen to go as anyone, then that smile trickled right off his face when he realized who he was going to have to ask to sign it. They all noted his changing expression at once, and sadly didn't have to ask what it was about.

They all dearly wanted to sit around and make threats that those useless Dursleys had better sign Harry's form, but recognized it would only make Harry feel worse the longer they leaned on the subject, so they just desperately hoped Harry found a way to convince them.

Harry untied his parcel as well, and the school owl departed again at once, leaving Harry to look after his own pet curiously and remove a parcel from her leg as well. Turning back to Errol's package first, he tore apart the paper to find a birthday card slipping out and a present still wrapped.

Harry couldn't help it, his voice spiked with emotion as well, feeling a little silly something so small would mean so much to him, but not any kind of ashamed the people in the room all looked as if it was their own birthday as well. Surely, since they seemed just as happy if not more than him about this, it wasn't silly at all.

He found a newspaper clipping as well, the title of which declaring who had won a Ministry Employee Scoop Grand Prize; Arthur Weasley.

"Sweet," Lily grinned, "no one deserves that as much as them!"

"Best thing that could have happened to them," James agreed.

The article then described Ron's dad's position in the ministry, and how the family were currently using the money to spend the holidays in Egypt, and would return shortly so that five of their kids could go back to school at Hogwarts in the fall. The accompanying picture showed the nine Weasleys.

Harry at once began wondering why this photo felt significant. Why would it mean anything to him, except a nice reminder of his favourite family (outside of his own right now.) He brushed past it, wondering if he was really losing it.

The picture detailed each of the siblings that Harry recognized, including Ron with his pet rat Scabbers sitting on his shoulder, both of his parents, all of his elder brothers, and his only younger sister Ginny.

"Wish I could see that picture," Sirius chuckled, "must be funny to see them all squeezed in so tight for the camera."

Harry gave a little start and gave Sirius quite a look, one the others didn't even know how to describe. It wasn't truly recognition, but Harry knew this sentence was important to him... it was gone. He just shrugged, not really letting himself think about it too much since it was probably nothing.

Harry was more than pleased to hear of this news, knowing that no family deserved the pile of gold more.

"Hey, you said there were nine of them in the picture," Remus pouted, "how come you didn't finally describe the mysterious Charlie and Bill Weasley."

"Cause the picture wasn't that good," Harry shrugged, "just an old black and white one, and I could pick out two I didn't recognize. I'm sure I meet them eventually," he finished with

conviction.

Harry then turned his attention to the written note attached in Ron's handwriting, beginning with a birthday greeting for Harry, and going on to apologize for clearly getting Harry into trouble. He'd asked his Dad, who had suggested maybe he shouldn't have shouted.

Sirius couldn't help but release a surprised snort of laughter, while James said, "a fair thing to think, if you'd never worked one before and didn't know."

Then he described his time there in Egypt, but did promise that they'd have enough left over for him to get a new wand before he went back to school.

"Thank Merlin," Lily chuckled.

"I don't know, I agree with Harry," Remus laughed, "it did come in handy there at the end."

"Yes well, it was gone now, so we couldn't have kept it anyways," Harry reminded, still grinning.

Harry remembered all to vividly how Ron's wand had exploded at the end of last year, after having spent the whole of the year nearly being snapped in half when their flying car had crashed into a tree.

"Just thinking about that sentence without knowing the background of it," Sirius cackled, "makes it even more priceless!"

"So, I forgot to ask," Lily said, having to speak a bit louder than usual over Sirius for Harry to hear her, "did you ever tell anyone about the car? Or is it still in the Forest?"

"I told Dumbledore and McGonagall how we got away from the spiders," Harry admitted, "but as far as I know, no one went in and got it out. It's still in there."

"Where I hope it stays," James grinned.

Ron then informed that they would be back in time to get some stuff in London the last week of holiday, and if Harry had a chance of meeting them there?

"That brings up a good point I hadn't thought of," Lily said, frowning once again as she asked, "how are you going to get your school supplies this year? There's no way they're going to drive

you up to London, and even if they did I certainly don't want them knowing about your Gringotts Vault."

Harry just shrugged, saying honestly, "can't remember exactly, but I wouldn't worry about it too much. I'm sure when Ron gets back from Egypt, I can go stay round his place again, and someone there would have made sure I'd gone." Harry frowned as he finished saying this, feeling how wrong those words were. He got his school supplies, no the part that was bothering him was in saying he stayed with Ron. He had a very bad feeling all of a sudden, like something had happened at the Dursleys... the thought was gone. Even now as he decided not to push it, he could feel the beginnings of a pounding headache returning even as he thought to try, so with nothing else for it he read.

Ron began to finish off by telling Harry not to let the Muggles get him down,

All four of them scowled heavily, wondering just how much Harry had told his friends about how that lot treated him. Just like with any other time though, whenever they asked Harry about it, he remained suspiciously closed up.

and hoped to see him soon. Then he added a P.S., pointing out that Percy was now Head Boy.

"Oh, this ought to be great," Sirius muttered sourly, as if that boy wasn't big-headed enough already, no now he was given even more responsibility.

Harry turned to the added on parcel now and unwrapped it to find a mini glass spinning top.

"Nice, it's a Sneakoscope," James said eagerly, finding this a rather fun toy when he was a kid.

"A bit useless around school, what with so much untrustworthy students hanging around," Remus chuckled, "but fun all the same."

Harry dearly wanted to ask what it was, or what it did, but hoping Ron might explain he instead read.

Harry read the attached letter, which was from Ron explaining that he'd given Harry a Sneakoscope which was used to detect people who were untrustworthy. Ron didn't put too much stock in it,

"Nonsense," Sirius scoffed, "they're plenty useful."

because even as he'd been sending it, it had been going off. Though that could have been because Fred and George had been putting beetles in someone's soup.

"That'll do it," Lily chuckled, "those twins are as untrustworthy as it comes."

"Well that's a bit harsh," James grinned without any real heat, knowing she didn't mean it. "I like them, they're good for a laugh."

"Which explains why I don't trust them," Lily smiled indulgently at him and all the other boys who were chuckling at their joshing.

Harry carefully placed his top down, watching it balance and stay still in the dim lighting.

'I don't know' Remus thought, frowning suddenly 'I don't trust any of those Dursleys as far as I can throw them, so I really wouldn't have been too surprised if it had gone off then.' It hadn't though, so he just ignored it for now.

Harry then turned happily to his other present, the one Hedwig had come with, which turned out to be from Hermione.

"Aw," Lily cooed, "Hedwig went out to find Hermione, that is so sweet! I love your owl."

Harry nodded in fervent agreement.

Her letter began by saying that she had indeed heard from Ron about that phone call, and hoped he was alright.

"About as alright as he ever is there," James muttered bitterly.

Harry sighed, wishing desperately the book would quite mentioning this now.

She was on vacation out in France and had wanted to send Harry something, but hadn't known how, what if they'd open it through customs?

"Which is another reason we invented our own postal system," Sirius chuckled.

Then Hedwig had arrived and Hermione was able to send her present which she'd ordered via owl-order, through the daily prophet.

"Why haven't you subscribed to that yet?" James asked curiously.

"Hadn't quite found it relevant enough yet," Harry shrugged, "reading the paper just didn't interest me."

Hermione then went on to say that she was learning a lot over here, but was slightly jealous that Ron was in Egypt learning about their ancient customs.

"Oh yes," Remus nodded, trying his hardest to sound serious as he continued. "I am so sure learning's exactly what's on Ron's mind as he goes around those pyramids," he couldn't hold the

expression much longer as he burst into laughter.

Hermione had learned so much that she'd rewritten their history of magic essay, which was now two rolls of parchment more then asked for.

All four boys gawked at this, while Lily simply smirked and shrugged, completely unsurprised by this.

Hermione finished by saying she was going to be back in London at the same time as Ron, and hoped to see Harry then. She also added a P.S. commenting on Percy's Head Boyship, and how unpleased Ron seemed about it.

They all chuckled, glad to see Hermione still had her sense of humour.

Harry laughed as he turned his attention on her wrapped gift, feeling how heavy it was, and imagining it to be a complicated book of advanced spells.

James and Sirius frowned at the thought, but Lily and Remus scoffed, as Remus said, "I doubt that. Hermione might be bad around exam time, but she's hardly pressured either of you to be

studying more. No, I'm sure Hermione got you something she thought you'd really like."

Harry looked very eager and curious now as he read.

It was the opposite. When Harry unwrapped it he found a Broomstick Servicing Kit inside.

"Nice," all five of them praised, Remus giving his two friends rather superior looks.

"Alright Moony," Sirius scoffed, "knock off that, so you were right, again."

Harry chuckled affectionately as Remus' look only increased.

Inside were several objects all geared towards maintaining and keeping up a broom. Apart from his friends, one thing Harry missed the very most about Hogwarts was playing on his house Quidditch team.

"Can't blame you there," Sirius agreed with a groan, it had been ages since he'd been out flying, let alone played a game.

Harry happened to own a very good racing broom, a Nimbus Two Thousand, which was one of his most prized possessions.

"One of?" James questioned, a teasing smirk lighting his features.

Harry smirked and said, "yes, one of. I'm sure you can guess the other."

Sirius and Remus both snorted in appreciation at James rather put out look, he had been hoping Harry would correct him and say that his invisibility cloak was his most treasured object, and here his own son was, obviously teasing him and purposely saying the exact opposite.

Harry carefully placed this present aside and picked up his last bit of mail, which he recognized as being from Hagrid.

"Oh, so Hagrid sent you a letter along with your Hogwarts' stuff," Lily beamed, "wonder what he's been up to this summer."

Harry had only begun to unwrap the present however, and caught the hints of a book cover, when the object began to move, and snapped at him.

"Snapped?" Remus yelped, fear coming back at once. "What on earth could Hagrid have sent you that snap's?"

Harry was frowning, trying his best to describe what he had only gotten a glimpse of, but he wasn't doing a good job, so he turned back to the book in hopes for a better description.

Harry froze, knowing from first-hand experience that Hagrid didn't always have a good gage when it came to dangerous things.

Sirius released a weak chuckle, no one was going to argue Harry on that point.

The gamekeeper had been known to befriend giant spiders and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his home,

"And that's just the tip of it all," James muttered.

so Harry's caution now was quite warranted. He gingerly began unwrapping the rest of the parcel, now clutching his lamp as a defence should he need it, and out fell a book.

"A book?" Lily repeated faintly.

"A biting book?" James probed, looking like he was sure Harry was messing with him this time.

Now knowing the book in his hands was going to properly explain he read on curiously.

Harry only just made out the title The Monster Book of Monsters, before the book rolled itself right off of the bed, landing with a thunk, and beginning to scuttle around on its cover like some odd crab.

Sirius released a low, throaty whistle as he said, "damn, points for originality anyway. A book about monsters, that's kind of a monster itself."

"Guess it's no weirder than the invisibility books on invisibility," James agreed, still frowning at the odd little thing, and unable to stop himself from wondering why Hagrid would have sent that to Harry.

Harry tensed up at once, fearing that any noise made would draw unwanted attention. Harry tried to creep after the object, being as quiet as possible,

"But this would have been such a sight to walk in on," Remus muttered, "a book attacking them." Still hoping right along with Harry that the momentary humour it would have provided at the

Dursleys freaking out over this wasn't really going to happen, in favour of what they might do after the shock had worn off.

Harry reached out to pick up the book again, when it snapped closed over his fingers and scuttled away.

"Must have been quite the sight," Sirius really did laugh this time, unable to help himself at the rather annoyed look on Harry's face that he was being bested by a book!

Harry scrambled after it, threw himself on top of it, managing to flatten it in place. From the room over, he heard Vernon give a cough.

Then all four of them winced, already sick of this constant enjoyment flashing to fear and anger every other paragraph, all because of the house he was in.

Hedwig and Errol watched with interest,

Even Lily couldn't stop herself from giggling at that image, it must have been quite a sight.

as Harry got to his feet while keeping the book clamped tight to his chest and staggered over to a drawer, drawing out a belt, and clamping the book firmly shut. The book shuddered in clear anger, but was no longer able to go anywhere as Harry sagged back onto the bed and found Hagrid's accompanying note and read first a birthday greeting, then a cryptic comment saying that Harry may need this for his next year.

"That's right," James suddenly brightened, "Harry's taking Care of Magical Creatures this year! Hagrid might have sent that to him, for a jump start on the class."

"Well that was nice," Lily sighed, "though I'd much rather he'd just sent him whatever the school says."

Hagrid didn't put any further information in the note, saying he'd explain more when he saw him.

"Tell you what?" Sirius asked in confusion.

"Why on earth would any of us know," Harry pointed out, grinning over at him. Sirius shrugged, smirking right back.

Then Hagrid signed off his letter, and Harry instead went to his very last piece of mail from school, which contained its normal Hogwarts school list, plus an extra note this year explaining all about Hogsmeade and how he'd have to get a signed permission form to enter. Harry's enthusiasm wasn't very high when he realized who he was going to have to ask to sign it.

They all sighed, that old pang returning with a vengeance. Harry shouldn't have had to worry about asking permission for this, it should have been as simple as him going to see his parents and

having a nice conversation about all the shops available. This horrid reminder that he couldn't do this hurt worse every time they thought about it.

Harry glanced over at his clock again and found two hours had passed, and itching with sleep, decided to worry about it in the morning. Leaning up to a chart above his bed, Harry crossed off another day passed until September first arrived and he could return to Hogwarts.

"I did that all the time," Sirius nodded in agreement, "it helps the wait not seem as long."

Harry shared another smile with Sirius, oddly happy they had such a random thing in common.

Then he took off his glasses and fell asleep facing his birthday cards. Though Harry considered himself an unusual person, for the first time in his life, he was happy it was his birthday.

"Well that was a depressing end," Remus said in a forced chipper voice as he leaned over to take the book.

"And it's only going to get worse," Harry muttered, now knowing that vague feeling from before was growing stronger inside. Something really awful happened on this birthday, which was

saying something when compared to his other birthdays.

HPHPHPHP

Because someone asked, and it's a very good question, no there will not be anyone else joining the reading series. I did seriously consider adding Hermione and Ron sometime during the fourth book, but I'm still enjoying my idea that they don't really know what's going on. If any other people did join from the future, then they would ruin all sorts of stuff like Sirius, and Dumbledore, and countless other death's I'm still going to enjoy being a surprise. I could erase their memory, but it's the same reason I'm not going to be adding anyone from this timeline. If I have any other characters from their own time join, like say Molly and Arthur, then I would have to constantly deal with go back and read the book themselves, or 'we'll explain later' and just yeah not worth it. The five that are there are what you guys got.

P.s. If there are any book mistakes you'd like me to explain feel free to ask, and I will try and go back and fix them. Geeze this chapter's almost as much my talking as the characters.

[secret-engima]

A thing for @sparklecryptid in the hopes it helps make your day feel a little better (sorry you no feel good Moose):

-Nyx and Libertus have been acting- weird lately, and it makes Ace a little on edge. He knows it’s something about their job, but for once, they haven’t been happy to complain about it over dinner and a bottle of something strong.

-Ace sees the way they glance at each other, the way Lib glares at Nyx like Nyx has done something stupid, but when he or Selena asks, they both look away and mutter something about being under orders not to talk about it.

-He wonders if it has something to do with the way Insomnia’s magic BUCKED with shock and surprise and new-old-strange-familiar about a week ago. At least until the day a group of strangers enter his bar and he immediately regrets EVER being curious. Because clearly the universe took that as a sign to screw with him.

-The teenage girl leading the group doesn’t even falter in her stride, just eyes him with bright, violet-tinted fascination as she studies him.

-Ace is suddenly very glad that its early enough in the day his bar is still empty, because he doesn’t want there to be witnesses to this if it goes the way he thinks it will go.

-The teenager (young woman? Hard to tell if she’s crossed that invisible boundary between teenager and official adult), who is so obviously a Lucis Caelum she might as well have been screaming it from the rooftops, settles at the bar counter with an almost childish kick of her legs, props her chin on both her hands and smiles at him pleasantly (as if that will hide the bright tint to her eyes and the way her magic is loosely, lazily curling around his bar)

-(Ace has to mentally sit on his magic to keep it from flaring possessively, to keep it from answering the unspoken question-challenge she’s sending out by filling up his space with her magic uninvited).

-The others filter in, and Ace … feels something akin to dread as he picks out what looks like a much younger Clarus, and a man with dark skin that looks vaguely familiar in among the other adults.

-His brain outright stops when he sees Ardyn lurking in the back next to the only other woman in the group, a young adult with pale blond hair and deep blue eyes, Ardyn looking subdued and … almost shy. Not at all like the uncle he knows.

-Ardyn glances at him as the woman coaxes him into sitting down next to her at the bar, and there is no recognition in his gold eyes.

-Ace swallows his screaming suspicions and confusion and politely asks what they would like to order. The blond woman and the dark-skinned man order on behalf of the group, with the one that looks way too much like an Amicitia for comfort firmly denying the Lucis Caelum girl before she can do more than open her mouth. She pouts at him, the Amicitia just deadpans at her, “You are not getting alcohol.”

-“It’s not like I can get drunk,” she protests with her bottom lip sticking out.

-“Not the point,” snaps the Amicitia, “You dragged us off on this idiot venture, so you don’t get to drink.”

-She hisses like a cat, but the magic still lazily poking its way through Ace’s space (how-dare-it-stop-that) doesn’t bristle or change, so Ace can tell she’s not serious.

-He almost wants to know what in the world she’s thinking. Being so free with her magic in Insomnia. Does she want her and her Shield to be caught here? (Though maybe she doesn’t fear being caught by her blood father the way Ace does, maybe she doesn’t feel the need to hide what she is from this group that is obviously family to her).

-(Ace carefully doesn’t acknowledge what he thinks of that).

-(He’s more concerned right now about the very subdued Ardyn staring nervously around the empty bar like something’s going to leap out and bite him, not once reacting to Ace like his uncle always has before).

-Ace serves them their orders, and somehow isn’t surprised that when he gets to the Lucis Caelum girl she does something to provoke him.

-He isn’t quite expecting her to grab his wrist, lightning fast despite his own reflexes, and uses the point of contact to poke him firmly with her magic.

-His own magic erupts from under his skin for just a moment, snapping back at the foreign presence that has been subtly nudging and nipping at him, trying to make him react for the past however many minutes. The world turns violet and purple of differing shades-

-Her magic retreats from his space and his bar like its never been and her smile is wide and eerie wild somehow in a way that makes Ace blink and half-think of jungle cats and ice, “I was wondering what it would take to get you to react,” she says as she calmly releases his wrist and raises her hands in placation, “sorry about that. I was trying to figure out who you were.”

-“You could have just asked my name,” Ace retorts blandly as he sets down her order with more force than necessary.

-The woman blinks at him, calm despite the violet tinting in her gaze, “That would tell me your name. It wouldn’t tell me what you were in relation to me.” She smiles and there’s something so genuinely happy about it Ace feels … taken aback, “Nice to meet you son-I-don’t-have-yet.”

-What.

-From the other end of the counter, Ardyn actually laughs, short and smothered, while the Amicitia, the oldest member of the group with a Leide accent, and the woman all sigh and facepalm. “So much for keeping our cover,” grouches the Shield (Clarus? Is that Clarus Amicitia?)

-“Oh it was about to get blown anyway,” says the woman (who is younger than him how can she, how dare she, imply that he is her son-) with a flap of her hand, she swivels around to focus on the bar door, “In three, two, one…”

-Lib and Nyx burst in, dressed in their uniforms and looking more than a little frazzled. They spot the group at Ace’s counter and the look on Ace’s face and Nyx winces, “I- uh- Ace. Hi Ace. I can explain?”

-“No need,” says the woman cheerfully, “I made this mess, I can explain it.” She ignores the skeptical mutter from the Amicitia and the scoff from the Leide-accented man as she tilts her head to face Ace and smiles, all too-sharp teeth and the lazy confidence of a predator in human skin, “Regina Lucis Caelum. You’re probably more familiar with my counterpart, Regis Lucis Caelum. We’re from another dimension, Solheim ruins and Astral nonsense. You know how it is. We’re going back to our world in a few days, so I decided to go exploring. And now I’ve met you.”

-She tilts her head in curiosity that, somehow, seems genuinely innocent and Ace feels … so Very Done™ with everything when she asks, right in earshot of the still frazzled Lib and Nyx, “Mind telling me your name? I should probably know what I’ll be naming my eldest son, after all.”

-“What?” Half yells Libertus in the middle of trying to pry the grouchy Leide man away from his drink, both his and Nyx’s heads snapping around to stare at Regina and Ace while Ace just- sighs. At the sky. Because seriously how is this his life?

-Regina tilts her head at them, blinks three times, then gives Ace a genuine look of apology and a sheepish little flare of magic to let him know she means it, “…Ah. They didn’t know did they.”

-Ace can feel a headache coming on, “No. No, they did not.”

-“Neither does Regis,” muses the dark-skinned man, “Or else he would have mentioned having a son other than young Noctis.”

-Regina props her chin on her hand again as Ace quietly contemplates the insanity of his life and Nyx and Libertus stare at him like he’s grown another two heads, then narrows her eyes and pokes his magic with hers again. Before he can snap at her, she stops poking and looks at Ardyn, “Oh,” she muses aloud, “That’s why he feels so familiar even though Regis doesn’t know him. Ardyn, he’s yours by adoption, I think.”

-The apparent Ardyn counterpart looks- resigned to all this, as if this is exactly a normal day around this female counterpart of Ace’s father (dimensional. Counterpart. Ace is still not sure if he’s more alarmed by the fact that this is happening, that Nyx and Libertus are overhearing all this, or that Ace’s life is such that he fully and unhesitatingly believes the claim) and responds, “I … had a suspicion of that yes. Ah, excuse us,” he apologizes, his voice soft and oddly formal, nothing like the dramatic, semi-dark tones Ace is used to, “Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private? It would hardly do for some stranger off the street to walk in on us at this juncture, I believe.”

-…Ace takes a long moment to glare at the female counterpart of his father (who just keeps smiling at him with a mix of wonder and glee and possessiveness that reminds him too much of a mother dragon), then tells Nyx to lock the bar door and flip the sign to closed. Because apparently this is how he’s spending his day today. Talking to the possibly teenaged possibly adult female counterpart of his royal parent and her entourage while Lib sputters at them all and Nyx quietly hisses that Ace has a lot of explaining to do later, now get out the good stuff Nyx is way too sober for this, on-duty drinking regulations be hanged.

(hope you don’t mind me playing with Ace again, I just found this bunny entertaining and thought it might entertain you as well.)

[yamayamawrites]

Call Me Friend But Keep Me Closer

A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks so much in your support of my most recent multi-chap MHA fic, Like Friends Do! I got a few requests to write a sequel (or rather, a prequel) going into detail about Kirishima and Bakugou’s relationship. The two can be read entirely independently of each other, but you can click HERE to find Like Friends Do on AO3 or click HERE to read Call Me Friend... on AO3. Or, you can read the first chapter to Call Me Friend... below! Thanks so much for reading!

Chapter 1

No matter how tough he acted, when Bakugou closed his eyes, he was alone. He was alone, vulnerable, and even scared, and no matter how hard he tried to stay awake and fend off the nightmares that fought for his undying attention, he always succumbed to sleep, and always succumbed to those nightmares.

When he first started at U.A., those nightmares that ripped at him were liquid and drowning him, like that villain idiot Deku had tried to fight all on his own. He still scowled at the thought. However, continuing on his journey at U.A. supplied nightmare fuel, throwing gasoline on the raging fire, spreading it up his arms and legs until he laid petrified in his bed, trying to control his body the way his dreams controlled his brain. His muscles strained and so did his mind. And, of course, when they moved into the dorm the nightmares only surged with the new impossibility to rush from his bedroom in search of his mother.

Not that he did it often, really – maybe once a week, or so. Most of the time his mother would be asleep on the couch, having fallen asleep there waiting for his father to return home from work. She’d turn her head, see Bakugou standing there with cold sweat clinging to his cheeks like condensation on a can of soda on a hot summer day, and she’d throw her head back and laugh weakly, ask what he dreamt about that night. And Bakugou would grumble something condescending, a “None of your fuckin’ business,” his mother would chide him for his language, and they’d go to the kitchen and make hot cocoa and sip it quietly together. Until his father’s key sounded in the door, then they’d forgo the mugs of hot cocoa and Bakugou would disappear into his room, and his mother would lounge herself on the couch again. And they wouldn’t speak about it until the next time it happened.

U.A. was different. His mom wasn’t waiting for him on the couch in the commons, and most of the time the hot cocoa mix was gone from the shared pantry. He retired to bed early, but he never actually went to sleep; he would lie down and keep his eyes open, count the ceiling tiles over and over and over. He knew how many there were, but the excitement that maybe the number would equate to something else one day kept him counting them in favor of his nightmares.

Bakugou relied on counting his ceiling tiles to keep him awake at night, but to stay awake during the long school day he relied on his coffee. He’d often make his way down to the commons and stumble the path to the kitchen to start a pot, usually waiting until five but sometimes going as early as two in the morning just to taste something besides the bile on his tongue from his ever-sleepy state.

Not that black coffee was a particularly good remedy, but at least the aftertaste clung to his tongue and gave him something else to be disgusted with.

It had only been about a week since they moved into the dorms and already Bakugou felt the homesickness, building its way from the lump in his stomach until he felt that dull, annoying pain in his throat. He hadn’t slept more than the impromptu naps when his eyes accidentally fell shut counting ceiling tiles, and even then those naps only lasted an hour or two. He knew he looked awful, couldn’t bring himself to look in the mirror to even try to fix his rugged appearance.

It was Sunday night. He excused himself to bed at eight o’clock that night from the commons, with little complaint from anyone aside from Kaminari, who wanted to play Wii and knew from personal experience that Bakugou always lost Wii bowling. He almost thought about staying, but then idiot Deku sat on the couch with that half-and-half bastard by his side, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of losing in front of either of them (or losing to Kaminari, really) and went upstairs. He’d laid himself on his bed, fiddled with his cell phone until the battery died, then counted the ceiling tiles. After the sixtieth or so time, he glanced at his digital alarm clock; it was nearly one in the morning, and if anyone was still downstairs they’d likely fallen asleep by then.

He threw his slippers onto his feet and grumpily stormed down the stairs; he didn’t trust himself to ride the elevator and not to fall asleep standing up in the short trip to the common area.

Bakugou wasn’t a quiet person, usually, and the same went for when he slammed open the stairwell door to the common area. If anyone was still down here then hopefully they were lucky enough not to be a light sleeper. The television was still on, Bakugou could see it splaying heavy shadows across the common area and partly into the kitchen, and he scoffed. Mineta probably left it on again. He trudged towards it, ready to shut it off when he heard a voice.

“Bakugou?”

He flinched, probably would have jumped in fear had he not been so tired. He craned his head towards the couch, his finger hovering just in front of the off button on the television. Kirishima sat there, one hand rubbing at his eye lazily. “Why’re you still awake?” he asked with a delicate yawn, that somehow even being the most well-built person in the class made him appear like a child.

“Couldn’t fuckin’ sleep,” Bakugou grouched with a scowl forming harsh lines on his forehead. He paused for a second, didn’t really care to know, even, but muttered a quiet, “What about you?”

“Game’s almost done,” he pointed to the television screen. It was a hockey game, probably super unimportant, in its third overtime. “I’m rooting for the red team,” he explained.

“You’re losing sleep over this,” it wasn’t so much a question as a blatant statement, an accusation, really.

“It’s the Stanley Cup final, Bakugou! Do you not understand how important that is?” Somehow Kirishima managed to animate despite his tired nature, and maybe Bakugou’s lips would have fought with the oncoming of a smile if he wasn’t so damn tired himself.

“It’s not important,” Bakugou countered sternly. “It’s a sport. They run at each other and try to move the thing to the other thing. It’s boring.”

“Oh, quit being so sour,” Kirishima teased. “You okay, bro? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Bakugou, despite himself, wandered over to the couch and flopped down beside Kirishima. “I haven’t,” he grumbled, his voice distant and quiet and raspy with the want to just go to bed.

“You’ve been really shaken up since—”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” Bakugou spat. He didn’t need Kirishima to worry. He didn’t want Kirishima to worry. He didn’t want anyone to worry, really; this kind of thing happened to heroes, and if he couldn’t take it like a hero, he couldn’t be a hero.

“If you don’t get any sleep you’re going to fall asleep during class,” Kirishima stated pointedly. His eyes remained on the television, and for that Bakugou was grateful, because the scowl on his face was probably quite ugly looking.

Not that he cared if Kirishima thought he looked ugly.

“I’ll be fine, Shitty Hair,” he muttered. Their shoulders brushed with how close they were, but neither of them moved away. Somehow, the atmosphere here felt much more comfortable than his quiet bedroom with a ceiling that had exactly fort-two ceiling tiles every time he counted. He watched the game, followed one player at a time to try and stay awake, but really the thing that kept him up was Kirishima’s quiet cheers and sudden eruptions of “oh, c’mon” or “good play” when Bakugou couldn’t even decipher what had happened.

A quiet settled around them after the game ended. The red team won, and while Kirishima looked especially happy about it, he kept his cheers to a minimum. Bakugou’s eyes had settled into an ever-squinting state with how tired he was, and even the dimmed television screen felt too bright on his oversensitive eyes. Kirishima turned the volume down on the television as the game transitioned into interviews with the winning team. “So, what’s up?” he asked, as if Bakugou had just gotten there.

“I still can’t sleep, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou shot back, though his insults lacked malice.

“Well, obviously,” Kirishima laughed. “I mean, why did you stay down here? Normally you’d have gone back to bed by now.”

“I…” Bakugou pursed his lips. Why had he stayed down here? Kirishima was right, as much as he hated to admit it; any other time he walked in on Kirishima watching some stupid sports match on the television, he turned on his heel and went the exact opposite direction. “I need to take a walk,” he grumbled finally, and dragged his body off the couch with more effort than he’d like to admit. Damn couch, why was it so fucking comfortable?

“In your slippers?” Kirishima hopped up just after him. “I mean, I won’t stop you, but I’m going to come with you.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Bakugou barked tiredly.

“Because you look like you’ll pass out if you go,” Kirishima shrugged. “I don’t want you to pass out and have some vultures try to eat you, or whatever.”

“Do you even know what vultures do? Do you know where vultures live?” Bakugou gripped the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have time for Kirishima’s idiocy right now.

“Around dead bodies,” Kirishima said with all the confidence in the world. “And if you pass out in the middle of the ground, you’ll look like a dead body.”

“That’s so—” Bakugou sighed, hoping it portrayed his irritation. “Look,” he said finally, “I’m going to go for a walk and I’m going to come back in an hour, and you’re not going to tell anyone about it. Got it, Shitty Hair?”

“Okay,” Kirishima nodded. Bakugou took a step towards the door. Kirishima followed.

“Why are you following me?” Bakugou hissed.

“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t,” Kirishima shrugged.

“Well, you can’t! Leave me the fuck alone!”

He took another step. Kirishima followed.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it,” Bakugou grumbled, weak sparks playing at his fingertips.

“I’m coming with you,” Kirishima said, stamped his foot down to prove how serious he was. And well, Kirishima was kind of a stubborn bastard, so eventually Bakugou sighed his defeat and together they walked out of the dormitory.

The U.A. campus was well-lit, even at night. Streetlamps illuminated their path as they trudged aimlessly through the winding trails on campus, passing over a bridge with a small creek running below it on the way to one of the lesser known trails. They didn’t speak the entire way there, not until Kirishima exhaled and threw his head back to stare at the sky above them. “Bakugou,” he started tentatively, “maybe you should get some counseling.”

“Fuck off, Shitty Hair!” Bakugou barked, loudly enough that some birds in nearby trees sprung free from their nests and flew off into the night air. Kirishima just laughed; Bakugou’s loud, demanding voice no longer had control over him. “Quit laughing! That seriously wasn’t fuckin’ funny, asshole!”

“I’m not saying it to be an asshole,” Kirishima replied quietly. He spoke softly into the night around them, as if afraid to wake anyone. “I’m saying it because I care about you.”

Bakugou frowned. His forehead creased in a tired, cranky scowl, and he wished more than anything to be curled up in bed and asleep – perhaps knocked unconscious, so that his dreams were less potent. “Will you punch me in the face?” he asked with a grunt, and Kirishima startled beside him.

“You’re joking, right?” a nervous laugh bubbled from his lips. “That was a joke. Ha ha, Bakugou. So funny.”

“I’m not joking,” Bakugou snapped back. “I can’t sleep. Knock me out, Shitty Hair.”

“Well, first, we’re like, half a mile from the dorms and I’m not carrying you back. And second, that’s a really stupid idea. Usually I have the stupid ideas.”

Bakugou huffed. He never wanted to admit vulnerability, really, but maybe if Kirishima just understood what he was going through, maybe he’d agree. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d get more than a few hours of sleep from the exchange.

“I can’t stop dreaming about it,” he said, voice suddenly dry and raspy and strained just to admit that.

Kirishima glanced over at him, eyebrow arched as if to encourage him to continue. They’d turned around and were crossing the bridge again, and despite Bakugou wanting to just go back, chug a scalding hot cup of coffee and stare aimlessly at his ceiling tiles, he sat and let his legs dangle over the edge of the creek. Kirishima sat next to him, and their shoulders brushed, and in the cool late-summer air the contact felt reassuringly warm.

Bakugou exhaled, stared at the creek below, listening to its soft lullaby of rushing water. “I just—all I see is them, and all I think about is how easily they could have killed me…”

“But they didn’t,” Kirishima reminded.

“…Right,” Bakugou nodded finally. “They didn’t. So why the fuck am I so…” he gestured wildly with his hands, a scowl on his face.

“Scared?” Kirishima supplied.

“Hell no,” Bakugou replied. Then, softly, “Heroes can’t be scared.”

“Why not?”

“That’s not what heroes do.”

Kirishima shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think that’s it,” he said thoughtfully. “I think it’s more that they act because they’re scared, not that they don’t get scared at all.”

Bakugou pondered this, but with his head so clouded with the lulling creek and the steady hum of crickets and soft hooting owls around them, he barely had room in his tired mind to contemplate a complete change of beliefs. His head hurt, it hurt like hell, and he just wanted to rest it somewhere. So he did; he let his head fall to Kirishima’s shoulder, with only a second of hesitation.

Kirishima tensed below his cheek. “Don’t tell anyone about this, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou grumbled. Kirishima relaxed, then, and a soft laugh escaped him.

“Sure, Bakugou.”

***

Sleep continued to evade him, even more so now that someone – Kirishima, of all people – knew his secret.

He laid awake, counted his ceiling tiles (still forty-two, just like six and a half minutes ago), idly passing a spark between his fingertips when someone knocked on his door. He tensed; the clock read nearly one in the morning, and he almost dreaded that his nightmares had become tangible and came to him another way since he continuously refused sleep. The knock came again, a little louder, and on trembling, fatigued limbs he crossed his room to the door.

He exhaled, relief practically visible in his breath. “What do you want, Shitty Hair. It’s like, one in the morning.”

“I didn’t think you’d be asleep,” he replied with a shrug.

“What if I was and you just woke me up, asshole?”

Kirishima shrugged again. “Were you asleep?”

“…No.”

“Can I come in?”

Bakugou didn’t know why, but he stepped aside, let Kirishima enter his room. He noticed then that Kirishima had a mug in his hand, one with a little tea bag floating unceremoniously inside. “Uh, I dug through the pantry and found this,” he said with a sheepish smile. He set the mug on Bakugou’s bedside table. “It’s supposed to help you fall asleep.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid, asshole!” Bakugou barked. Kirishima clamped a hand over his mouth to quiet him, and sparks erupted from Bakugou’s fingertips. Kirishima moved his hand away.

“I think you just need to sleep,” he said quietly.

“You fuckin’ think?” Bakugou replied in a mocking tone. “Fuckin’ Deku kicked my ass in training today. I must be nearly fuckin’ dead.”

“So then why don’t you?” Kirishima asked, settled down onto the desk chair and spun it with his foot idly.

Bakugou scowled, kicking half-heartedly at the chair to stop him from spinning so much. “Damnit, Shitty Hair, don’t you get it?!”

“Yeah,” Kirishima said quietly, his eyes settling on Bakugou’s uncomfortably. “I do. A lot of us do.”

“They thought I was a villain.”

Bakugou’s voice dropped barely above a whisper, and Kirishima almost thought he didn’t hear him properly, but seeing the way Bakugou’s body shrunk in its place he frowned deeply. “Katsu—”

“Don’t,” Bakugou shot, his small appearance vanishing behind his tough façade. “I don’t need your pity.”

“I’m not here to pity you,” Kirishima replied, his voice calm and quiet. “I’m here to help you get some sleep. You’re even more insufferably angry when you’re grumpy, bro.”

“The fuck did you say?!” Bakugou snarled, and sparks tickled his fingertips, but not much more came of it. He was weak, fatigued; his Quirk barely felt warmer than a candle flame now. He knew he couldn’t intimidate Kirishima even when his Quirk was at his strongest, because somehow Kirishima already knew that Bakugou couldn’t ever hurt him. Well, not seriously, anyway; if he didn’t stop spinning in that damn desk chair Bakugou might light his sock on fire.

“I said you need to go to bed,” Kirishima said sternly. He picked up the mug and forced it into Bakugou’s hands, which were still quite on fire and made the tea steam again. “Please, bro. I’m not the only one who’s worried.”

“Whoever else it is, tell them to stop being such fuckin’ sissies,” Bakugou grumbled, but still he brought the mug to his lips. The tea tasted better than bitter black coffee, certainly, but not by much.

Kirishima chuckled, and Bakugou felt the nerve to punch him in the face because it really wasn’t a joke, everyone around here was such a sissy. But he didn’t, because again, it was Kirishima, and Kirishima had to be the only student, nay, only person at U.A. who had the authority to not be subject to his wrath. Kirishima and All Might. That was it.

Kirishima rose from the desk chair, wobbled a bit because of how hard he’d been spinning the chair. “I’m gonna go get some sleep myself,” he said. Hesitantly, he laid a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder, suddenly looking quite serious. “Let me know if you need anything. Okay?”

Bakugou wanted to respond with a snide comment, but instead he only mustered a quiet “Okay”, and just as quickly as Kirishima had laid his hand there he was gone. Gone, and Bakugou was alone, again, the dark ready to consume him.

***

He slept. Four hours, his grand total for the week at seven and it was goddamn Friday, but somehow he felt even worse than when he hadn’t slept. It was four in the morning when he finally stormed the commons, threw open the stairway doors like he tended to do, and went straight for the coffee pot.

Which was already running.

“’Morning,” Kirishima grumbled, leaning casually against the counter just next to the coffee pot. He yawned, that delicate yawn that totally betrayed his entire being, and gave a casual wave. “I got it started for you.”

“Why the fuck are you awake, Shitty Hair?!”

“Why are you?” Kirishima countered. The coffee pot dinged, probably the only sound that had given Bakugou serotonin in the past few weeks (aside from Kirishima’s laugh, but that was an anomaly he’d rather tackle when he was more awake).

“Bad dream,” Bakugou griped, finally crossing the room and digging through the cabinets. He searched for his favorite mug – the one themed after him that he’d found in one of those cheap trinket-y hero merch shops – and slammed the cupboard door shut when he couldn’t find it. His scowl burrowed trenches in his forehead, and to be honest it hurt to frown this hard, but then he could keep his mind off the pain literally everywhere else.

Kirishima dangled the Bakugou-themed mug by its handle delicately from his finger. “Looking for this?”

“Give it here,” Bakugou said, balling his fists. His hands got hot, but they didn’t spark, and he wondered if he’d finally run out of juice.

Kirishima handed it over with a sort of sad-looking smile. “This isn’t healthy, pal,” he said softly.

“Fuck you, I drink it black,” Bakugou rebutted.

“I’m not talking about the damn coffee,” Kirishima snapped, and Bakugou didn’t know the last time Kirishima had sounded this angry with him. “I’m talking about the not-sleeping.”

“Who needs fuckin’ sleep?” Bakugou griped.

“You, asshole!”

They went quiet for a moment. Then, Bakugou snatched the mug from Kirishima’s outstretched hand and poured himself a full mug of coffee. His hands trembled as he did, and he wished he could control it. God, this was pathetic. He was pathetic.

“I know you think you never need help,” Kirishima said, his head upturned to stare at the ceiling. Bakugou wondered if counting the ceiling tiles in here would be more interesting than the ones upstairs.

“Heroes shouldn’t rely on anyone.”

“Bro, sidekicks are literally a thing.”

“What are you saying?” Bakugou sipped the coffee, still scalding, but at least the pain granted him a new source of focus besides the aches and pains across his entire body.

“I’ll be your sidekick,” he decided. “And you can lean on me. And I could…”

“What?” Bakugou barked.

Kirishima shook his head, laughed quietly. “I could be your sidekick, ya know? A partner in crime, or whatever!”

Bakugou watched him for a moment, deciphered that yes, he was being serious, and snorted a bit. “I’m going to work alone. Number one hero duty isn’t easy.”

“You plan to get there without help?” Kirishima raised his voice now. Bakugou couldn’t puzzle out why he was so angry; he thought Kirishima certainly didn’t want to be held back by the title of ‘sidekick’. He talked about being a top ten hero himself someday, though he never strived for number one because he knew that’s where Bakugou was headed.

“That’s how All Might—”

“You’re not All Might.” Kirishima’s lips pursed, and he trembled; Bakugou wondered how mad he was. “Nobody is All Might besides All Might, and All Might…” he drifted off.

Bakugou scoffed and turned away finally. “I’m going upstairs,” he grumbled. He began his journey back to the stairwell, hesitated just a moment at the door. Then, tentatively, he turned back. Kirishima still remained in the same place in the kitchen, yawned again. “Thanks for the coffee, Shitty Hair,” he muttered, and before so much as a ‘You’re welcome’ he stepped into the stairwell and slammed the door behind him.

***

“Bakugou, we’re going to train! Want to come with?”

Bakugou cracked an eye open. He’d reclined on one of the couches in the commons, his neck uncomfortable with his heavy head against the back of the couch but his limbs too fatigued to care. Sero stood above him, with Ashido and Kaminari by his side. “Fuck off,” Bakugou grunted in response, and he let his eye fall closed again.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Ashido whined, and she peeled his eye open. He swatted at her hand and she drew back with a nervous laugh. “C’mon, we could use your angry cussing to keep us motivated!”

“If you want motivation, ask fuckin’ Deku.”

“What was that?” Midoriya called from his spot at the dining table, where he, Iida, Ochaco, and Todoroki worked on homework.

“Fuck off, nerd,” Bakugou shouted back.

“Sure thing, Kacchan!”

Kirishima fell onto the couch next to Bakugou with a huff. “Bakugou and I are watching a movie,” he stated bluntly.

“Sorry, wouldn’t want to interrupt your date,” Ashido sneered, and Bakugou was about to yell back at her to go fuck herself, but he stopped himself when he noticed the way Kirishima’s cheeks erupted into a blush.

“Fuck’s she on?” he settled for instead, muttered under his breath as he scooted a bit closer to Kirishima.

Nothing had changed between them. Bakugou couldn’t recall a moment that could count as something ‘changing’ between them, at least. But he felt more…comfortable around Kirishima. More at ease, even a little happier. Which made no sense, because something would have had to change between them. It bothered him, that he couldn’t pinpoint a specific moment where the air suddenly shifted around them; but then, something had to have happened. Right?

Kirishima prodded his side with his elbow. “Something wrong?” he asked quietly. Tsuyu and Sato baked a cake in the kitchen and the aforementioned study group took over the dining table, and Kirishima really didn’t want their conversation overheard. After all, if Kirishima accidentally let slip his and Bakugou’s secret, Bakugou likely wouldn’t hold back his reign of terror.

Well, if he ever did manage to get some more sleep, that was.

“Nothing,” Bakugou grunted. “Turn on the movie, Shitty Hair.”

One movie turned into two. Students filtered through the commons, excused themselves to their rooms one by one. About halfway through the first movie Sato brought each of them a piece of coffee cake, Tsuyu a frog cookie for each of them. When Kaminari, Ashido and Sero returned from training, they settled for a while, booed at the movie at serious parts and laughed way too loudly at parts that weren’t funny. Bakugou would have blasted the television by now if he wasn’t so tired, his head lolling on Kirishima’s shoulder every once in a while. If Kirishima minded, he certainly didn’t say so.

Shortly after the second movie started, Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari decided they were bored and instead flocked to Sero’s room to play cards. By then it was nearing nine o’clock, the time that the common area cleared out significantly. Kirishima and Bakugou’s dishes from the sweets were stacked neatly in front of them on the coffee table, and Bakugou fought to keep his eyes open. Once he was certain they were alone, Kirishima hesitantly wrapped an arm around Bakugou’s shoulders.

Bakugou tensed. “What are you doing, Shitty Hair,” he said with a little apprehension in his voice.

“Nobody’s here,” Kirishima insisted. “Just…go to sleep.”

“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do, asshole.”

“It might be better with someone there.”

Bakugou froze, glanced over at him. “Fuck do you mean?”

“Like—” Kirishima blushed, playing with his hair with the hand that wasn’t on Bakugou’s shoulder. “I dunno. I always slept better when someone was there, ya know?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Just like—go to sleep, Katsuki.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then go to sleep and I won’t.”

Bakugou scowled, but eventually he relaxed in Kirishima’s half-embrace. They continued to watch the movie, but about halfway through Kirishima noticed that Bakugou hadn’t made any snide comments about the main character in a while. He glanced down, saw that Bakugou’s eyes had fallen shut, his breathing nearly completely leveled out. And he sighed, a bit grateful he’d been able to play off such a bold move so well, and let his head rest against Bakugou’s.

He fell asleep too, and only awoke when the early-morning weekend chatter of Midoriya and Todoroki filtered through the commons. They had a tendency to get up early – usually seven or eight on the weekends – and today was no exception. Kirishima glanced at his phone; it was barely seven fifteen. He quickly hoisted Bakugou off him, who grumbled something and slumped to the other side of the couch, continued to sleep peacefully.

“Oh, did you sleep down here?” Midoriya asked, seeing a head of hair poke up from the couch.

“Yeah,” Kirishima rubbed his neck, trying to work out the soreness that always came from sleeping on the couch. “Movie ran long.”

“We’re going to train,” Todoroki spoke from behind Midoriya. “Want to come?”

“No thanks,” Kirishima waved his hand dismissively. “Too tired still.”

“Ah, sorry for waking you!” Midoriya chirped. He and Todoroki filed unceremoniously out of the dormitory, quieting their conversation to whispers in order for Kirishima to go back to sleep.

He thought about going upstairs, catching the last few hours of rest in his own bed. But then, he didn’t want Bakugou to wake up without him here. There was the worry that Bakugou would be mad if he stayed, though; Bakugou tended towards irrational anger, and Kirishima felt he was damned if he did or didn’t. He settled for the most in-between option he could and hoisted himself from the couch, padded across the floor to the kitchen. His clothes were wrinkled and a little smelly, his hair lost most of its volume, and he probably had imprints from the couch cushions along his face, but he didn’t care.

He started the coffee pot, and that unceremonious ding made Bakugou’s blond head shoot up from the couch, looking this way and that before finally turning around. The bags under his eyes were still visible from here, as was the grumpy scowl on his face, but he looked a lot better than he had even the night before. Kirishima smiled to himself, poured a mug of coffee for each of them (his loaded with vanilla creamer, of course) and sat on the couch beside Bakugou.

“Shitty Bed Hair,” Bakugou grunted in greeting.

“How’d you sleep?” Kirishima handed him a mug.

Bakugou hesitated. “Great,” he admitted quietly, and he might have commented on the slight blush on Bakugou’s cheeks if he’d lost his will to live.

“I’m glad,” he settled for instead, sipping his own coffee.

“Not because of you,” Bakugou clarified with a grumble. “These damn couches are just so fuckin’ comfortable.”

“Oh, right, of course.”

They sat there and drank their coffees together, words unnecessary between them as they occasionally bumped shoulders and brushed thighs. More students filtered through the commons as the sun rose outside, and eventually Kirishima rose and drew the curtains back from the windows to let the light in. He sat back down while Bakugou grunted a protest, but he didn’t make a move to get up and put the curtains back himself.

Tokoyami settled himself down on one of the other couches, and Jirou and Yaoyorozu joined them as well with mugs of hot cocoa. Conversation drifted around Kirishima and Bakugou, and while occasionally they’d add their commentary (mostly Kirishima; Bakugou glared straight ahead, probably looking for a way to escape the situation), their nonverbal conversation continued up until their last elbow-bump. Then, quite suddenly, Bakugou rose to his feet and left his mug in the kitchen, then went upstairs with the excuse of going to bed.

“Did you guys have a movie marathon, or something?” Jirou asked as she sipped her drink.

Kirishima shook his head. “No, we fell asleep down here at like, ten.”

“So why’s he going to bed, then?” Yaoyorozu pressed, though Kirishima knew they were only asking him because they were too frightened to ask Bakugou themselves.

Kirishima hummed in thought. He knew the most likely answer was that Bakugou wanted to escape the situation, but part of him wondered if he’d meant it; that part of him hoped, truly, that Bakugou would shut himself in his room and re-emerge that evening fully rested and back to his normal cranky. Because, frankly, his fatigued cranky was a little mean.

[hpdabbles]

Little Matchmaker.

“Hi. My dad said you’re famous”  

Harry looks up from where he’s trying to get Albus to hold still long enough to clean his son’s face. By their table is a small little blond boy, maybe around Albus age, staring up at him with big round grey eyes. 

For a moment he almost gets whiplash of memories because those eyes are very familiar. He hasn’t seen them in years though, the owner of them disappearing into who knows where after the war.

“Um, I’m not that famous,” Harry says awkwardly. He glances around trying to spot the kid’s parents. He thought they wouldn’t be bothered here since this was a muggle town. None of the people here should know about Harry Potter’s legend.

James is already making a face and Albus is pouting up a storm. He resisted the urge to sigh. Harry promised them this visit would be away from all the Wizarding World’s awestruck staring, would be with all his attention on them and he wishes for once he could come through for them.

Their relationship is rocking enough after the divorce. 

“My dad said you are. My dad doesn’t lie” The boy says narrowing his eyes at Harry like he’s daring him to disagree. “You’re Harry Potter. You have glasses and a scar on your forehead. You save people.”

“Go away” James grouches with all the venom of a seven-year-old. “We’re eating” 

Despite James being older and sitting in a higher chair the blond kid still manages to look down at him. Harry gets another sprung of memories but the kid turns to him again.  “You are Harry Potter, right?”

“Well I-”

“He’s my Daddy!” Albus hisses, actually hisses, and Harry whips his head around worried someone heard his boy’s parseltongue. Luckily no one is paying attention to them.  “Stop trying to steal him!”

Harry winces. Albus still thinks people varying for his attention was someone trying to steal him. Thinks it’s the reason he left their home, even though it’s been almost a year since they lived together. 

As if through the crowds screaming his name were more important to him then his family.

That’s what drove Ginny away, wasn’t it?  

Okay, maybe not the reason, both just didn’t feel like their relationship was working anymore. Both of them wanted different things and they were still great friends. She understood him in ways no one else did as he did for her but both had to admit that the spark was lost. 

Oh, it would have been easy to stay together, but then they would be living a lie. They were friends but nothing more. Staying together and dragging out the marriage wouldn’t have done them any good, may have even turned them bitter against each other and neither wanted that. 

 Ginny was tired of the “Boy-Who-Conquer’s Wife” fame, always overshadowed and reduce as a simple wife despite being one of the best bloody quidditch’s professional players out there. Harry was tried in general, tired of work, tired of fame, tired of life but then again he’s been tired since he was fourteen.

It was his kids nowadays that keeps him going. Moving out of his old house and sharing custody with Ginny over his three pride and joys was hard, harder still that she had them longer than he, but it was refreshing in a way too. 

He packed up his bags, moved to the countryside with his Potter wealth and just started to farm, away from the crowds and noise. Heaven knows it did wonders for his mental state. 

The blond kid raises one brow then hisses back  “The moon is a cow in blue heels” 

Baffled Albus closes his mouth, looking like someone slap him with a fish, making Harry chuckle. He highly doubts the strange kid knew what he was saying likely just wanting to hiss at his son. Little kids tend to mimic each other when insulted. 

James sticks out his tongue to the kid and the blond doesn’t back down copping the action with a mocking “blah” added to it. Both his boys look impressed.

“Are you Harry Potter or not?” The boy demands after a long stare off between James. He stomps his little foot making Harry raise a brow. Little spoil isn’t he? 

“I am,” He says watching the delight bloom over the kid’s face. 

“Great. You’re Harry Potter and you save people” Quick as a snake the boy spring forward wrapping his tiny finger’s around Harry’s in a death grip. “You need to save my Daddy”

Wait, what? The blond turns tugging on his hand as if though he’s strong enough to make Harry move on his own.  “He’s sad and you need to save him. I heard Uncle Blaise tell Aunt Pansy he’s going to die if he stays sad, but he needs a hero to save him from himself you see. So come save him”

Mildly alarm now Harry stops the boy by pulling him backwards.  “I’m sorry what do you mean by-”

“I can pay you!” The little boy says almost desperately and- oh no, big silver eyes are filling with tears. His sons have fallen silent, aware something terrible was happening before them. “I have four pounds and I can give you all my toys! All of them!”

Harry gets up from seat kneeling before the child who is sniffling now rubbing at his eyes. He places his hands on his shoulder’s gently. “I don’t want your toys-”

“I do!” Albus chirps in but is silenced by James who hisses “Be quiet!” so Harry ignores them. The little boy is staring at him with such broken eyes he wants to punch anyone who hurt him. It surprises him a little, such protective urges are usually only reserved for his own three angles.

“-I just want to know why you think you’re Daddy needs saving?” He says gently, reaching up to wipe at the tears spilling over the boy's cheeks. 

“Mommy went to sleep” The boy whispers.  “She not gonna wake up anymore and Daddy’s really sad...I don’t know what to do. I’m not a hero but you are..so please..please can we come live with you? Until Daddy’s happy again?”

“Er...well-I don’t think-”

“Scorpius?” A man calls. The two turn to see a blond man looking around. Harry’s breath catches in his throat. Draco Malfoy? Was that Draco Malfoy? After all these years? Or was it just some man that may look what he thinks Malfoy would look like now?

The blond man looks in their direction, and his face twists into rage. “Get your bloody hands off my boy!”

Nearly everyone on the street turns and Harry hastily backs away from the child as if he’s been burn. The blond rushes over, scooping up his child and glaring with all the might of a dragon.  “What did you do to him!? Scorpius love, did he do anything weird to you?”

“It’s Harry Potter Daddy!” The boy blurts burring his face into the blond's neck “He’s here to save you! We’re gonna live with him now”

“Potter?” The man says relaxing. He blinks silver eyes at Harry and then his lips turn into an odd smile. Warily and apologetic all rolled into one. “What’s the Wizarding Savior doing in these neck of the woods?”  

  And yes, that’s definitely Draco Malfoy. Holy shit, the time has done him so many favors.  He’s been pretty back in Hogwarts but the sharp and cold features always made him a little off-putting.

He’s got more of a softer tone to him, more mellow somehow.  Harry dumbstruck by it, unable to work his jaw around his astonishment.

Mommy went to sleep. 

Hadn’t he read in the Daily Prophet a year back, around the time Ginny and he were working out the details of their divorce about Astoria Malfoy’s death? It wasn’t that big of a deal to him then, only finding out she married Draco from the fact, her husband refused to allow Daily  Prophet to cover the funeral and the reports trashed him for it.

It hadn’t hit him that Draco Malfoy was a widow until this very moment. 

Because despite the fact he was softer there was exhaustion and sadness clinging to every weary part of the man’s body, The desperate hold he had on his son, like he may disappear too, made Harry’s stomach turn.

Without thinking he found himself saying “Having lunch with my sons. Would you two care to join us?”

Draco looked surprised but he was unable to say no to his very eager son who cheered at the idea. The Malfoys sat with them, at first stiff and unsure but somehow Albus and Scorpius started talking about some game or another and the two roped James into it.

The fathers sat back watching the new friendship blossom with faint smiles. They avoided looking at each other for too long before a weary Draco offhandedly mention creating brooms as a job now. 

Harry soon found himself discussing the man’s job while admitting he was the proud owner of a farm and the rest of the afternoon turns into an outing with the two men and their kids. It’s been a long time since Harry had this much fun, taking the boys to the local park and watching them run about screaming. 

Draco stands next to him  “I thought you had three kids?”

Harry turns to him with surprise and the blond says almost defensively  “It was all over the Daily Prophet when she was born.” 

Ah yes,  he forgot about that article. Lily was born with a heart defect that had Healers speculating her survival. At the time Harry was a mess of stress and worry not paying attention to the articles being published. When his sweet little girl pulled through he went about with sues, angry they gotten his daughter’s medical record. 

“She’s with her mom. She’s doing some witch night daughter-mother tradition” Harry wasn’t really sure what it was about but Ginny hadn’t taken no for an answer. “Tomorrow she would bring Lily over.”

 “Ah yes, The Stargazing.” Draco nods then with a slight smile he adds on “They sent Scorpius an invention mistaking him for a girl and I had to spend four hours explaining the wards wouldn’t allow him in to get him to stop asking to go.”

“Sexiest Wards” 

“I know right?” 

They share a laugh and just then Harry thinks he misses this. This weird comfortable understanding, of want and longing with the hints of desire under every word.

 He used to share it with Ginny, and he wishes he could share it with someone else. Before he can think better of it he finds the words “Say Malfoy would you mind joining me for dinner?”

Two years later, he picks up his three kids, bringing all three back to the farm and smiling as they run inside of their step-dads workshop with loud shouts of “Did you make me a broom Draco?!” in three different voices but with the same eager tones.

Scorpius’ voice rings over all of them “I did!”

followed by his husband’s very alarm “NO! THAT’S NOT FIT FOR FLYING-JAMES GET OFF OF IT!”

Harry smiles. 

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

In Sickness and In Health

Based on a prompt request from @like-waves-on-the-beach for some sick!Killian.

Summary: Emma is sick and tired, literally. As always, she perseveres by pushing through her bout of the flu because only Emma takes care of Emma. When Killian comes down with the same flu, how will he handle it? Is he a cut above the average ailing male, or will Killian manage the man flu the same way he does most things... with panache?

Thank you to my beta @xhookswenchx. I appreciate you knocking this out so quickly!!

Rated M

7.7K words

Read on ao3         

Emma’s head was pounding, she felt as if it might pop like a balloon at any moment, and her eyes actually hurt. Sitting at her office desk with her eyes closed she softly rubbed her temples.  Who messed with the goddamn heat, it’s freezing! She groaned aloud when she realized even her internal voice sounded whiny and sick. She didn’t dare verbalize any of her complaints, of course; she couldn’t have people thinking she couldn’t handle something as simple as the flu.  This was the third day, and although she wasn’t running as high of a fever anymore, she still felt like shit. The past two days she’d gritted her way through work, not wanting to shirk her responsibilities. This morning she had decided enough was enough. She put on her favorite new blouse, a pair of ultra skinny jeans, and opted to leave her hair down, curling it. She was determined to at least look good if she couldn’t feel good.

“Emma, why don’t you go home and rest? Your father and newest deputy are more than capable of holding down the fort in your absence.” Killian had walked up behind her and was gently massaging the base of her skull.

It felt like heaven as Killian rubbed her aching neck. “Newest deputy, I like that,” she mumbled.

“I’ve heard he’s quite dashing, and rather well endowed,” he whispered into her ear.

Emma laughed then grabbed her head, “It hurts to laugh.”

“I would never know by looking at you that you still feel unwell love, you look positively radiant.” Killian wasn’t just putting her on either, she was dressed in one of her flowery shirts, and jeans that only served to enhance her every curve. She’d even curled her hair and left it down. She’d been red-nosed and puffy eyed the past two days, but she looked like her normal self today. “We are fine here, Swan, quit being stubborn and go home to rest,” Killian told her again. “No one will think you weak, I will duel anyone who says otherwise.”

Emma just rolled her eyes, “Such a chivalrous gentleman, even when threatening physical violence.”

“Fine, Swan, I will beat up anyone who talks shit,” he said in an attempt at modern day colloquialism.

She laughed again at his antics, “Is that your impression of not being a gentleman?”

Just then the phone rang and Emma picked it up before Killian could reach for it, “Sheriff’s Office.”

Killian watched as Emma rolled her eyes at the person on the other end of the phone, which judging by the caterwauling, was Leroy. He waited for her to explain the situation as she stood up from her chair.

Emma opened her top desk drawer, pulled out a package of Dayquil and took two while chugging a bottle of water, hoping they would kick in by the time they got to the mines. “It seems there is a thief down at mines,” Emma said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I swear, one day you’re going to be arresting me Deputy Jones, for kicking that over reactionary-”

“Calm yourself love, before you say something you don’t mean.” Killian threw a comforting arm around her shoulder and squeezed her arm. “You know this is the dwarf’s repertoire, just as you and I go to Granny’s each morning to grab coffee and cocoa, he likes to cause a stir, I’m pretty sure he tries to interrupt us whenever we have a quiet moment. He probably saw me rubbing your neck through a spyglass and picked up his phone.”

“Why the hell would he do that?” she laughed.

“Can’t say I’ve any clue, love. Why do bluebirds love your mother? Sometimes there is no reasonable answer.”

“You’re driving today, babe,” Emma said as she tossed him the keys to the bug.  

“Wait, you’re offering to let me drive? You must be sicker than I thought.”

Emma tried to give him the best ‘unamused wife’ look she could muster, but couldn’t help the snort that slipped past her lips. It was true, she still wanted all the control in some instances, like being the one to drive… always. In her defense she was pretty sure she’d spotted her first gray hair the day after Killian’s first driving lesson.  It had been easier to teach Henry!

The fresh air, sunlight, and medication were starting to kick in, despite Killian grinding to an abrupt halt three times on the ride over.

Killian, ever the gentleman, walked to the passenger side of the bug to open the door for Emma, then hurried around to the driver’s side side. Sitting down at the helm, it never failed to make him smile that Emma had outfitted the steering wheel with a special attachment for his hook, so he’d be able to successfully operate the stick shift vehicle.

“Alright, let’s go solve this ‘crime’” Emma said, putting the word crime in air quotes.

~K ♥ E~

“It’s about time,” the angry little man sputtered as he emerged from the mine. “Someone’s been stealing our lunches! If there’s anything that makes me grumpy, it’s an empty stomach.”

“Is there anything that doesn’t make him angry,” Killian whispered in her ear, causing her to chuckle.

“This is no laughing matter, Sheriff, there is a thief in our midst, what are you going to do about it?”

“Do you have any other information for me, Leroy?”

“Nope. All I know is we keep our lunches in the mining train which is about 30 feet down yonder.” Leroy pointed to the depths of the mine. “We work our way toward it, when we reach it, it’s lunch time.”

“Okay, so if the lunches are further inside the cave then whoever took them still has to be in there,” Emma reasoned.

“Have at it, Sister.” Leroy indicated for her to enter further into the mine with a sweep of his hand. “We are going to go grab lunch at Granny’s now that the law is here.”

“Got a flashlight?” Emma asked, holding her hand out expectantly. Thank god, for modern medicine, she thought, she was feeling much better, and not a moment too soon. Grabbing the flashlight she was handed, they headed into the cave. “I have no idea who we are going to find down here, hopefully no one from the Lion King has made it to Storybrooke,” she muttered, “just stay alert.”

“I’m a pirate love, I sleep with one eye open.”

Ten minutes into the cave they were unsure how long the damn thing went on for, and if they were going to find anyone this far in. They had come to a fork, and it was anyone’s guess which path to take.

“Bloody Hell, do you suppose we’re even still in Storybrooke?”

“Shhh, I hear something,” Emma whispered.

Listening intently, Killian heard rustling down the path that lead to their right. He drew his sword, still more comfortable with that, than with the standard 9mm he’d been issued upon taking this job. He made to step forward but Emma put her arm out, blocking him. She put her finger to her lips then motioned for him to follow her.  He just smiled adoringly at her need to lead, then followed closely.

“What the hell?”

Killian heard the questioning, but amused tone in her voice and knew immediately there was no danger. It didn’t surprise him, seeing as Leroy was the one who call in the complaint.  Stepping beside her and looking in the direction where Emma had the flashlight pointed he caught sight of what she was seeing. He laughed loudly, startling the family of thieves. “Our resident grouch and his crew were burgled by a family of raccoons. Bloody perfect!” He sheathed his sword, confident there would be no battle here.

Emma chuckled along with him, returning her gun to it’s holster. “Well I guess there’s really nothing to be done here, can’t arrest them.”

“Maybe you can magic them away to the woods, so they aren’t stuck in this infernal mine with the likes of Leroy.”

With a flick of her wrist the raccoon family and their lunchtime loot were whisked away.  As she started to walk back the way they came Killian reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Come here, you.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her without ceremony. “I love it when you’re all take charge-ish,” he told her between kisses.

“You do, do you?”

Before Killian could kiss her again he found himself pinned against the wall with her magic. “Just like that, love,” he growled, watching her as she sauntered toward him.

When Emma reached him, she released her magical hold on him, opting to hold him in place with her body. She laced her fingers with his, grabbed his hook on the other side, and pinned his arms against the rough cave wall. She rested her forehead to his, and smiled as he tried to kiss her, his mouth trying to capture hers.

“Don’t tease, Swan, it’s not very nice.”

“Who said I was nice?” she asked, pulling her head back to look him in the eye.  

“You forget, I know you better than most. I can read you, and I am madly in love with you. I know you can be nice. Perhaps you’re just feeling naughty right now?” He moved in to kiss her, but again, she pulled her lips just out of his reach, even as she still held him against the wall.  Her teasing was making him hard. He loved when she teased.

“Mmmm, maybe I am,” she whispered, “or, maybe I’m… sick. Yes, that’s it, I’m sick,” she said dropping the sultry timbre that she’d had only a moment ago.  

“And?”

“And I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Emma, we share a bed where you snore in my direction all ni-”

“I do not snore, and if I do, you’re not supposed to say,” she admonished.

“Ooookay, you don’t snore, you breathe... loudly, in my direction, and I haven’t gotten sick yet.  I haven’t lived over three centuries without learning how to keep myself healthy. Besides, I can handle the flu, my darling, just as you have.”

Killian had that smirk on his lips, the one she always wanted to kiss and lick and bite. He was nuzzling his nose against hers, trying like hell to reach her lips as she kept them just beyond his mouth’s reach.

“Please, Emma,” he whispered then gave her his most pout filled smolder.

She couldn’t resist him when he begged, and he knew it. Bastard! She hated when he used her weaknesses against her. Who was she kidding, she loved it. She gave in, sealing her lips to his, releasing his hand and hook in favor of running them through his hair. She felt his hand immediately grab her ass, just how she loved it, his fingers grazing her core from behind, his palm massaging and squeezing her cheek. The groan she heard come from him allowed his tongue to press against her mouth, and good idea or not, she couldn’t deny him. Emma opened, and her breath stuttered when she felt the long stroke his tongue gave hers.

As soon as Killian’s tongue was in her mouth, he knew she was putty in his hands. He continued to squeeze her ass knowing she appreciated his massaging touch. He used the position to pull her closer against him, wanting something to rut against. He grunted when she rolled her hips into him. “Fuck, I really want you right now.”

Emma gasped when he pulled her against his erection, and her hips thrusted into him of their own accord.  She continued to kiss him, the ebb and flow of his tongue in her mouth was exactly the motion she needed below. Removing one hand from his hair she slipped it between them to palm him through the denim of his signature black jeans. “God, you’re rock hard,” she panted into his mouth, feeling wetness pool between her legs.  

“Aye,” was all he said. He was very aware of his current state. Killian turned them around so Emma was against the cave wall, then rutted his hips against her. He broke from her mouth and began placing wet licking kisses along her jaw, continuing down her neck until he reached the opening of her blouse. He bit at the top of her breast when she gave his cock a gentle squeeze.

Emma tugged hard at his hair when his teeth sunk into her delicate flesh. Wanting to feel his mouth on her skin she reached up and unbuttoned her blouse, then ripped her bra below her breasts trussing them up for Killian’s perusal.

“Gods you look delectable, like this,” he murmured leaning back to ogle her.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer, I want to feel you.”

Killian’s head shot up at her words. “Are you quite certain, love?” he asked, already digging in his pocket for his phone.

“What?” Emma said, exasperation leaking into her tone.

“You would let me have a picture of you... for later use?” he smirked.

“It’s a figure of speech, Killian,” she deadpanned. When she saw his face fall, she almost giggled. “But you know what, I think I like the idea of you keeping a picture of me in case you ever need inspiration when I’m not around.”

His smile turned predatory as she spoke. She was leaned against the wall, hair framing her face and perky breasts. His hand almost shook as he unlocked his phone and searched for the little camera button, once he found it, he brought the phone up to capture a still of his gorgeous wife. Killian almost lost it when the screen focused in on her. She’d unbuttoned her pants and had one hand dipped inside her panties, while the other cupped her breast and pinched at her nipple, her face was the physical embodiment of titillation. “Fucking Hell,” he moaned, trying to concentrate. He snapped his pictures then rammed his phone back in his pocket and was back on her. He sucked her unattended nipple into his mouth and slipped his hand into her panties, joining hers. Her digits were already slick from being inside her.

Emma didn’t know what had brought on the courage to perform for him, she’d never dabbled in nudies or home films, but she could see herself wanting to with Killian. “Yes,” she called out when he slipped two of his fingers inside her, joining the one she already had there.  “Fuck that feels so good, Killian.” She pressed down onto their joined fingers, and pushed his head against her breast with her free hand. The sounds of his mouth suckling her sent new arousal between her thighs. “Kiss me,” she demanded, coaxing him up by his hair and attacking his mouth as soon as she was able. Reaching down, she unfastened his jeans and wrapped her hand around him.

Killian quickly withdrew his hand as soon as Emma grasped his dick. “As much as I love the way you touch me... and yourself,” he started while pulling her hand from her panties, “and I do,” he continued, pausing again to suck her finger into his mouth, tasting her arousal, “I really need to be inside you, because I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

Emma moaned at his dirty words and wasted no time pushing her pants and panties down her legs. She licked her lips in anticipation as he lowered his pants just below his ass, allowing his erection freedom. “You were, wrong.”

“About what?”

“The newest deputy is more than well endowed,” she purred, wrapping her hand around his cock and lining him up to her entrance.

Killian was lost watching her hand around him, listening to her praise. He looked into her green eyes and knew he would do anything she told him to. So when he heard her say the words, “Fuck me, Killian,” he didn’t delay in shoving his cock into her depths in one fluid thrust. He filled her so perfectly he thought his dick may have been made to pleasure only Emma Swan.  Her walls squeezed him perfectly, making it difficult to not be selfish and let her pull his orgasm from him immediately.

Emma bit down on her lip when he slammed home, silently adjusting to the sudden but delicious penetration. She concentrated on everything she felt, his hook at the small of her back, it’s tip poking at the top of her ass, his hand cupping the weight of her breast while running his thumb over her sensitive nipple, his mouth nipping at her ear and her jaw, his scruff as it dragged along her throat and shoulder. She felt herself contracting around his perfect cock as she allowed every sensation to assail her body and mind.  “Move.”

Without hesitance Killian withdrew and slammed home again, continuing with long, deep strokes. “You are so tight, love.” He took his hand from her breast to brace Emma from hitting the wall, then slid his hook from her back to her abdomen. Killian was hypnotized by the goosebumps that followed in his hook’s wake, he’d never get over how turned on she was by his metal appendage. Gliding it lower he pressed the rounded edge to her clit and massaged her in little circles, while continuing to pound into her.

Emma was watching his every move, and couldn’t stop the needy whimpers as she climbed higher.

“I can feel how close you’re getting, let go, for me? Let me feel you come all over my cock, Emma.”

His words made her breath hitch in her throat as she felt the beginning of orgasm starting deep inside where he bottomed out and propelling out in sparks of pleasure. She felt the blazing sensation in her clit throbbing with her rapid heartbeat, and the warmth of new arousal coating her thighs. She panted out his name, overwhelmed by the pull of her release.

“Oh fuck, Emma, yes just like that, bathe my cock, darling” he moaned. Killian’s head dropped forward and his eyes rolled shut as her channel rhythmically gripped his shaft, calling forth his own release. He thrust home, starting to spill into her while continuing short strokes, not willing to leave her heat as he came.

It was silent within the mine, save for their ragged breaths. Emma nuzzled her nose into his neck, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, kissing along her cheekbone, “I think that is the longest I’ve gone without bedding you since the first 6 years you made me wait, please never get sick again.”

“Oh my god, Killian this is the third day, you act like it’s been a forever.”

“With the way I crave your body, it felt like forever.”

“Oh, you poor thing, all that suffering,” she laughed. Like he was the one sick for the last three days! “Ugh, now we have to walk a mile back to the car, and deal with Leroy.”

“I have a better idea, how about you poof us back to the car, and give the alarmist a call to let him know he was bested by a rodent.”

He gave her one of his winning smiles, and she melted just a little. “Are you just using me for my magic?”

“Of course not darling, I am using you for your tight little-”

She clamped her hand over his mouth before he could say another word. “Alright, Hook, let’s go.” Holding his hand she transported them back to her bug. She’d found that transporting, or poofing as Killian called it, and all her magic for that matter, had flourished while living with Killian and Henry.

Killian was surprised to see himself in the driver’s seat again, but decided to just go with it. He started to drive in the direction of their home as she put in the call to Leroy, letting him know that the thief was merely a scavenging family of furry friends.

“No, we are not taking them to be put down! I sent them to the woods, they shouldn’t be bothering you again.” Emma hung up the phone, and looked at Killian. “He is truly exhausting.”

“Aye,” Killian laughed.

Emma sat back in her seat and rubbed at her temples, she could feel the dull throb of her headache returning. She would be forever grateful when this passed. Rolling down her window for fresh air she noticed he’d taken a wrong turn. “For a three hundred year old pirate you sure have a shitty sense of direction,” she teased.

Killian just side eyed her, “Do I?”

Before Emma could tell him he was going the wrong way she realized just where he was heading. “Killian, I am fine! I do not need to go home.”

He pulled up in front of their home a few moments later, then turned toward her. He knew the actual reason she didn’t want to go home. She was still unsettled from the last time he’d been taken from her, and she was trying to keep it from happening again by sticking to his side. “Listen, love, I know you don’t need to go home, but it makes absolutely no sense for you to be on duty when your father and I can handle things. I promise you, I will be fine. Please, for me, rest, so you can get better. I do not wish to go through another drought if you fall ill again.”

“Fine, you win,” Emma said grouchily, she crossed her arms over her chest before continuing, “I’ll see you tonight. And Killian? Please stay safe.”  

He leaned over and gave her a chaste kiss, “As you wish.”

As Emma entered the house she pulled out her phone and shot a quick text message to her father.

2:41 p.m.

E: Please take care of my pirate?

D: Uhhh, you’re his wife.

E: He’s making me rest at home, so I can get better. I just don’t want him disappearing again.

D: Got it. I’ll keep an eye on him.

E: Thanks Dad ☺

D: That’s what dads are for.

Emma smiled. Since when were dads for taking care of pirate husbands who had a habit of finding trouble? Grabbing a bottle of water, she headed upstairs, showered quickly, put on warm jammies, then hopped into bed. She was out the minute her head hit the pillow.

~K♥E~

When Killian’s shift ended he headed to Granny’s to pick up dinner for himself and Emma. His mind wandered to their escapade earlier in the day. That must be why his body was sore.  Come to think of it, he was pretty achy all over, and quite tired. Bloody Hell, if this is what getting old is like we may have to move to Neverland, he thought. As quickly as the thought came he dismissed it, because fuck that.

Arriving home, dinner in hand, Killian found the house dark. He climbed the stairs and halfway up he heard her snores floating from the bedroom, he snickered remembering how offended she’d been at his mention of her snoring. Perhaps he should record her and show her tomorrow. Something told him she would find it neither enlightening nor as humorous as he does. He went downstairs and put their dinner in the fridge, then headed back upstairs. Despite feeling tired he had a hard time falling asleep, he was achy all over, and it felt positively glacial in their room, but when he covered, the sheets chafed irritatingly on his skin.

~K♥E~

Emma didn’t wake until the next morning. Stretching thoroughly, a wide smile hit her lips as she realized she felt like a new person. Her body wasn’t achy, she didn’t feel run down, and her head no longer felt like exploding. “Thank Zeus that is over,” she mumbled. She picked up her phone to check the time, and was shocked to see it was already half past ten. Killian was still asleep, he never slept late. He must have worn himself out with yesterday’s activities, she mused. They were both off duty today, and while she appreciated the day off, she was a little annoyed that she couldn’t have had a scheduled day off while she was sick.

Stretching out once more Emma decided this was the perfect morning, they’d both slept in, she felt normal again, and so she decided to wake Killian in his favorite way. As soon as she threw back the covers she was greeted by the sight of her husband’s body on display. He was flat on his back, his blunted arm behind his head tucked under the pillow, and his right hand flung over the side of the bed. She appreciated the chill that crossed his body, hardening his nipples. Placing her hand over his heart she was surprised to find his body already heated. Maybe he was having a hot dream. Running her hand the length of his upper body she caressed each scar and massaged each muscle. He groaned in his sleep, one of those deep, growly noises she loved, which is why when she slipped her hand under the waistband of his boxer briefs she was a little shocked to find him flaccid.

Emma honestly couldn’t remember a morning where he wasn’t rigidly erect and ready for action. Wrapping a smooth hand around him she gave him a few gentle strokes, but still nothing.  Deciding to take another route, she scooted down between his legs and pulled down his waistband just enough to free his cock. She kissed his tip, before sucking and licking her way down the underside of him. Out of nowhere she was blanketed in darkness. “What the fuck?” she muttered, realizing Killian had thrown the blankets over both of them. He was dead wrong if he thought he was getting a blow job while bedded down and still half asleep. She ripped the blanket off of herself and him, irritation sinking into her skin, but before she could get a word out she was cut off by the most pathetic sound she’d ever heard from Killian Jones.

“I’m cooooold!” he whined. Grasping for the blankets, he curled toward the middle of the bed, pulling his legs up into himself as if Emma wasn’t even there.

“Well I could’ve warmed you up, but never mind,” Emma pouted. She sat up facing away from him, arms folded across her chest, and feet on the ground, ready to walk away.

“But Swaaan, I need you,” he whimpered.

Before Emma got to her feet she felt his arm come around her middle and halfheartedly try to pull her in. “It’s too late, pirate, don’t try to make nice now.”

“Please, love.”

Knowing she could never resist him, she rolled her eyes… at herself, before turning toward him. Scooting closer into his grip she layed down next to him, prepared to let him atone. Instead of kissing her, undressing her, dirty or sweet talking her, he was burrowing into her bosom.

“Cover me, I’m so cold,” Killian lamented.

When Emma finally took a moment to assess the situation she realized he was shaking all over, and there was a fine sheen of sweat over his forehead. Oh shit, she thought, he’s fucking sick.

She pressed her lips to his forehead, and sure enough he was burning up. She pushed his matted hair away from his forehead, and let him snuggle into her. He was like a space heater, and before she knew it she was drifting back to sleep, holding her feverish pirate.

She was woken a short time later to a raucous cough that shook his body, and reverberated through hers.

“Bloody H-” Killian started, but couldn’t finish as his hand flew to his throat grasping it in pain. Looking at Emma, he whispered, “I feel as though I’ve been swallowing swords.”

“Mmhmm, I know the feeling-”

“No, love,” he continued in a raspy whisper, “I am in severe pain, I need syrup of snail and willow bark.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she looked at him in disbelief, was he really going to say she didn’t know how he felt? “Umm, I was sick until yesterday, Jones, and what the hell is syrup of snail?”

“It is what one takes,” and here he was shook by another fit of coughing, “pleeease, Emma. I need it.”

“Have you ever taken it before?” she asked, thoroughly grossed out that her husband was going to possibly use snail slime as some sort of cure.

“Yes, it is for sore throats.”

“Wait, you had an issue with Adder’s fork… snake’s tongue, but you’ve ingested snail slime before? And you kiss me with that mouth? No, absolutely not, I will get you some Chloraseptic, or Robitussin, no snail slime.”

It is syrup of snail, not snail slime!”

“Whatever it’s called, I’m not getting it.”

“Swaaan, in sickness and in health, love.”

“Sorry, that doesn’t cover snail slime.”

She smiled at the whiny pirate. “I’m going to get ready then head to the store to get what you’ll need.” Ten minutes later she stopped at his side of the bed, placed a kiss on his cheek, and whispered a goodbye, as he’d fallen asleep again.

Once at the pharmacy she picked up cough syrup, she hoped the word syrup would appease him, because whether they carried snail slime or not, he was not having any.  She also grabbed, Dayquil and Nyquil, before checking out. Next, she stopped at the market to pick up some foods that wouldn’t hurt his throat, including his favorite, Jell-o.

~K♥E~

Back at home Emma made the Jell-o. When she put it in the fridge to set she noticed the Granny’s to go bag and pulled it out. Inside the bag she found what was probably supposed to be last night’s dinner, of course he’d gotten her favorite. Then there was a tall cup of something red, opening the container she smelled that it was tomato soup. She poured it into a bowl and heated it. Placing the soup, a glass of orange juice, water, and his medicine on a tray, she headed upstairs.

The sight that greeted her was pretty pathetic. Killian was lying propped up on all of their pillows, fully dressed now. He was wearing a white t-shirt, gray flannel pajama pants, a pair of her fuzzy socks, and his pirate duster. She bellowed at the sight, “What in the world?”

“It’s the warmest thing I own, Swan,” he grumbled.  “I wanted a hot bath, but was worried I might fall asleep in the water, and since there was no one here to see that I didn’t drown, I had to make due.”

She tried, unsuccessfully, to curb her laughter, but he was just too precious all cranky and salty.  “Oh, I’m sorry, babe, but I’m here to take care of you now,” she teased, a hint of patronization in her tone. “No baths though, and you shouldn’t be bundled up either.”

“Why in the blazes not?” he snapped, causing him to cough painfully. He held out his hand and beckoned her, “snail syrup.”

Emma placed the tray on his nightstand, sat down next to him and lowered his extended hand. She palmed his cheeks in her hands, smoothing her thumbs under his tired eyes. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips then told him, “You shouldn’t be bundled, or exposing yourself to any form of heat because a fever already raises your body temperature. To add more heat could be dangerous.”

“I daresay you’re making no sense, I am colder than Arendelle in the winter. Snail syrup… please, my throat is on fire.”

She handed him the medicine cup with the cherry red cough syrup, and waited for his dispute. She was going to hold her tongue about his crankiness, she was positive she hadn’t been a ray of sunshine while she was sick.

He lifted the small cup to his nose sniffing, “I can’t smell a damn thing, but I know that snail syrup is not colored Swan, what is this?”

“It’s cough syrup, Killian, you drink it.”

“Fine,” he pouted, scrunching up his nose as he downed it, “were you able to procure the willow bark?”

Shit! She hadn’t even looked for it. “I forgot,” she admitted, a slightly sheepish look on her face. “What is it for?”

Killian closed his eyes in defeat, “If this ailment doesn’t kill me, you just may.”

She slapped his arm, and stood up from the bed, “What the hell did you do when you were on the Jolly in the middle of the ocean all those years? Did Smee wipe your nose, and hold you tight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Swan, I managed. Plus, we had willow bark, snail syrup, meadowsweet and a host of other remedies for any ailment. It will not be my fault if you have to bleed me!”

“Bleed you?”

“Bloodletting darling, one of the tried and true treatments for a great many illnesses.” Killian rubbed his hand over his throat again, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, I’ll go get the damn willow bark. Anything else, your highness?”

Killian had the good sense to look ashamed. “I’m sorry, Emma, please forgive me. I feel like shite and I’m taking it out on you.” He reached his arms out to her and gave her his best apologetic pirate look. “My throat does miraculously feel better, a little numb.”

“Fine, I accept your apology. I am just trying to help. And it’s not a miracle, it’s medicine. Will you tell me what willow bark was used for?”

“Willow Bark was used for fevers, muscle pain, and headaches, which I feel as though I am freezing to death, my whole body aches, and my head may burst.”

“Well, while we don’t use the same cures you once did, the orange pills that I took yesterday are what I got for you. They help with fevers, cough, body aches, headaches, and a runny or stuffy nose. I think you’re probably a little stuffed up given how whiny you sound,” she giggled at his appalled expression.

“I do not whine, my dear.”

“I beg to differ, buddy. Swaaaan I neeed it,” she mimicked his earlier whining. She laughed when he rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest like a petulant child. “Just let the cough syrup work for a bit, then I will give you the Dayquil. If you’re hungry I brought up the tomato soup you got yesterday.

An hour later he’d eaten, taken a dose of the ‘magic orange pills’, and fallen asleep again. Emma wished she’d been able to sleep while she was sick. She’d gotten up to go to work everyday!  She quietly worked in the kitchen making a few more things Killian would be able to eat. Looking at the clock she saw it was already after three. The day had flown by, as it always tended to do when she slept half of it away. Making herself a cup of cocoa she sat down to watch her beloved I.D. channel for a bit before checking in on her patient.

~K♥E~

“Emmaaaaa!”

She heard the sick baby tone to his voice again and just rolled her eyes before heading up the stairs. Crossing the room she sat down next to him like earlier. “Yes, Captain Hook?”

“I fear I’m worse off, love.”

“What makes you say that, Oh, Scourge of the Seven Seas?”

Killian narrowed his eyes at her, “I know what you are doing. I am not acting like a baby. I’m dying, I am sure of it.” He wrapped his arms around her middle, and nuzzled his head in her lap.

“Killian, you’ve died how many times?” She asked while running a hand through his hair.

“Enough to know what it feels like,” he muttered.

“Fair enough, but you’ve always come back to me, and now you’re telling me that you are going to succumb to a case of the Man Flu?”

“The what flu?” he asked, sitting up abruptly.

“The Man Flu,” she smiled widely at him.

“I’ve never heard of this man flu, what is the mortality rate? Bring me raw yeast and tell Archie to bring Pongo.”

“Ok, you’re delirious,” she spoke soothingly while coaxing him to lie back down. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It may be too late, but I’d rather know my fate, and only Pongo will be able to help. Your medicines are nothing against this malady, alas they have not worked their magic.” His tone took on a deep sadness as he continued to ramble.

“They worked good enough for you to sleep comfortably.”

“Aye, but now I am worse than ever.”

“That’s because you’ve been asleep for hours, it’s time for another dose, you overly dramatic but cutest pirate ever. If Blackbeard ever sees you like this he is going to revoke your Pirate Card.”

“I am not cute, I am devilishly handsome. And there is no card darling, I am a pirate through and through.”

“Okay, here take this you swashbuckling dread pirate,” she placated him while slipping two Nyquil pills into his palm and grabbing his water.

“These one are not the magical orange ones, what are you giving me, Swan? Are these to numb my pain as I slip into oblivion?”

“Oh my god, I love you like this. These are the nighttime version of the orange pills,” she explained, while massaging the base of his neck.

“Oh,” was his only response before he quickly took the pills.

“What happened to, ‘I haven’t lived over three centuries without learning how to keep myself healthy,’ and, ‘I can handle the flu’?” Emma teased him. “It’s official, men from every realm are big babies when they get the Man Flu.”

“What is this Man Flu you keep mentioning?” he asked as he snuggled into her again.

“It’s an illness that affects men,” she stated the obvious, knowing that her curious pirate was going to make this so easy to needle his pride.

“What are the symptoms?”

“Well for starters whining, crankiness, and the general need to act like a wuss,” Emma began in a matter-of-fact tone. She was trying her damndest to keep a straight face, but he was making it hard as his face morphed from one emotion to the next; inquisitive, to confusion, to evil eye, to eye roll. “It also makes men helpless and sicker than any female in the house that may be ill, and sometimes their balls are rendered useless.”

By this point he had crossed his arms over his chest and rolled to face away from her. His huff of irritation had her slapping a hand over her mouth to keep in the giggles. “The good news is,” she continued, rolling toward him and leaning over his side as he pouted, “it is totally curable. It usually only takes one dose of ‘man the fuck up’.”

Outraged or not, Killian couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. It was pretty funny, and she was adorable when she cracked herself up.  Turning to face her again he wrapped his arms around her. “I am glad you are having such fun at my expense, love,” he whispered before making himself comfortable in her embrace again.

“You sure are snuggly when you’re sick,” she said, running her hand through his hair.

“I am always snuggly, Swan. You’ve only forgotten since you were so prickly while you were ill,” he told her, as he ran his fingers up and down her left arm.

“I was not,” she argued.

“Of course not darling, you were an absolute delight.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he gave her arm a playful squeeze.

“Shut up, pirate, or I won’t nurse you back to health.”

“I suppose I am being slightly melodramatic. I guess I’ve become spoiled and overly comfortable in your world. There is an easy fix for everything here,” he admitted.

“Slightly? You had your hand cut off, and I’m positive you were tougher through that, than today.”

“Aye, it wouldn’t have earned me any favor to be a sniveling sissy before my crew. I think I just like having you take care of me, love. I don’t have to be Captain Hook every moment of every day.” He confirmed his statement by sighing contentedly when her arms pulled him in tighter against her body.

Emma thought about his words, and felt slightly chagrined. She also realized just how much she adored comforting him. “Leave it to you to make a lesson out of the man flu,” she deadpanned.

“And what lesson is that?”

“That it’s ok to be vulnerable sometimes. And if I’m honest, I love getting to take care of you like this.”

“Maybe next time I can reciprocate?” he asked looking up into her eyes. “I do want to take care of you to, you know?”

Emma’s heart skipped a beat, she was still amazed each time he unknowingly showed her just how much he treasured her. She leaned down to place a kiss on his lips. “Killian, I’m sorry I didn’t let you take care of me when I was sick,” she murmured. Emma took a deep breath before she continued, steeling her nerves to share a piece of herself with him. “You do take care of me, more than you know. You are the only person who’s held my heart and kept it safe, the only person to love me, for me, and unconditionally. But with the way I grew up, it wasn’t okay to show vulnerability or weakness. Whether I was sick, sad, hungry, or hurt, I only had myself to depend on.”

Killian listened to her, and although he already knew what she was telling him, it warmed him to have her willingly share it with him.  “I understand, darling,” he started, then her finger was on his lips, quieting him.

“Let me finish. I don’t always have the words, but right now I really want you to understand how I feel.” He kissed her finger, but didn’t say a word. It was positively unnerving the way he saw into her, always knowing what she needed from him, whether it was encouragement or silent acquiescence. “I had to show everyone I was strong, that I could take care of myself. Each time I forgot that, the world was sure to find a way to remind me. I’ve worn my armor for so long, sometimes I forget I don’t need it with you.”

A beatific smile lit up his face. He had always taken pride in helping her to remove some of that armor, tear down those walls. To hear her say it though was another feeling altogether. One he couldn’t put a name to, but melted his heart. “Emma,” he whispered reverently, as if her name held all the answers and emotions he felt.

Her smile matched his as she scooted down so she was eye level with him, “I love you, Killian.” Combing her fingers through his hair, she kissed him chastely. “Why don’t you get some rest, it’s late. Unless you’re hungry? I made some Jell-o.”

“You spoil me, I am actually feeling quite good. The magical pills have worked. I am not really hungry, but I am enjoying laying here with you,darling. It only took an illness to afford us a quiet day together.”

Emma blushed a little, that something as simple as just lying with her made him happy. Although she didn’t know why it should surprise her, she too loved the way they were just holding each other, face to face, open and honest, calm and content, as lovers do.

“I love that color on you,” he teased, cupping her cheek.

Wanting to switch the subject from herself, Emma remembered something that had been puzzling her since earlier in the day. “Why did you need yeast and a dog?”

It was Killian’s turn to blush, “I’m afraid that was another theatrical overreaction.”

“Oh, do tell Captain!”

Rolling his eyes he explained to Emma how a dog could detect one’s mortality expectation. “Many years ago, an ailing person would powder their hand in yeast, you see, and if the dog licked the yeast from their hand, they were expected to live, if however, the dog did not lick the hand, then they needed to get their affairs in order.”

“Oh, Killian,” Emma laughed. “Your flair for the dramatic is one of the things I loved about you from the beginning.”

“Is that so?” he questioned, running his tongue along his lower lip, “tell me more.” He slid his hand from her cheek down the length of her body before snaking it down to her ass and giving it a healthy squeeze.

Emma could literally feel how much better he was feeling as his length pressed against her. “Mmmm, someone is better. I was afraid there was going to be another, what did you call it? Oh yeah, another drought.”

“Even the man flu cannot keep me from making love to my beautiful wife,” he proclaimed.

“It did this morning,” she mumbled.

“Are you issuing a challenge, lover?”

“Oh, just shut up and show me, pirate,” she growled. Killian had a knack for getting her riled up at warp speed.

“That’s what I thought,” he said smugly, leaning in to kiss her fully. He puller her astride his hips and bucked into her, “But perhaps you should be on top, I am ailing after all,” he exaggerated, giving her a devilish grin.

“As you wish,” she whispered, before properly ravishing him.

~K♥E~

Emma couldn’t help but feel a little bitter about his speedy recovery when he woke up feeling like a brand new man the very next day. Perhaps being a 300 year old pirate had afforded him an affinity to recoup quicker than most.

Sensing her inner turmoil, Killian was sure to let her know the only reason he had recovered quicker than her was because she had so thoroughly fucked away his illness during the night. He couldn’t help but add that had she let him do the same before her third day of being sick, she might have only had the flu for a day as well.

Emma and Killian decided they better make extra sure that the illness had passed, and wouldn’t come back. They were only an hour late for work.

[ellayuki]

01.03.’17

unextected birthday shenanigans 

yuri!!! on ice, yuri pov,

yuri plisetsky's 16th birthday is nothing like he thought it would be. on top of that, it's hours before he even realises that it is, in fact, his birthday.

happy birthday, precious tsundere kitten son!

(ao3)

~*~

to say his birthday is a crazy clusterfuck full of surprises is putting it mildly.

the fact that it’s almost noon before he even realises that it is, in fact, his birthday, is even more surprising.

~

he wakes up early, weary and tired to the bone from a relentless few days of practice, to a surprisingly quiet house, only to find yakov and lilia and his grandfather cooking in the kitchen, exchanging pleasantries and tales of yuri’s life and upbringing, and acting like this is not absolutely unusual.

he puts that thought aside, though, at least for a while, because his grandpa is there and he needs to hug him first and foremost. he’s so happy to have him and his delicious piroshky (both normal and katsudon) there, he forgets to ask why he’s visiting.

not long after breakfast, just as he’s preparing to head out to the rink (because his grandpa being here doesn’t mean he can skip practice all day), he gets yet another surprise, this time in the shape of one otabek altin.

they haven’t spoken in a couple of days, and there have been no plans (that he remembers in his tiredness and excitement) to meet up until worlds, because practice is more important during this part of the season. so yuri’s a bit (a lot) bewildered when he sees his best friend in lilia’s home in st. petersburg.

otabek looks a bit tired, and kind of sheepish, with a travel bag in one hand and a stuffed tiger almost yuri’s size in the other, but yuri’s happy to see him and thoroughly distracted by the plushie, so he doesn’t really question neither his presence, nor the gift. (not as much as he should, anyway.)

he takes the plushie immediately his room and puts it on his bed and smooshes his face into. just because.

lilia sets otabek up in a guest room across the hall from yuri, while yuri properly introduces his best friend to his grandfather and to katsudon piroshky.

~

at the rink, everybody keeps patting his head and waxing poetic and hugging him, and mila even manages to kiss his cheek before he explodes at her. victor and yuuri are even more disturbingly gross than usual, and he tries to keep otabek and his grandfather as far from them (and all their embarrassing everything) as possible. ‘tries’ being the operating word. because obviously he fails.

so he keeps grouching about how weird everybody is today, how weird the world is today.

‘why is that?’ yuuri asks him, during one of his tirades. the smile on his face makes yuri want to kick him.

‘because you’re all acting weird?’ he says, like it’s obvious. because it is. to him, anyway. ‘because you’re all smothering me, because grandpa and even otabek came over without telling me first, because victor actually offered, without prompting, to choreograph my short and free for next season?’ need i go on? you’re all weird today.’

yuuri starts laughing a little, and it only annoys yuri more.

‘and you don’t know why? really, yurio?’

‘will you stop calling me that already!’ he can’t help the raised tone. he also can’t help the embarrassed flush spreading on his face when he realises he’s making a scene in front of his grandfather. ‘and no,’ he continues in a quieter voice.

yuuri just snorts and, with a soft ‘wait here’, skates away shaking his head. he gets off the ice, rummages through his bag and skates back to yuri, a package in hand.

a package which he gently places in yuri’s hands without a word.

‘wha-?’ comes yuri’s very intelligent reply to the whole situation.

‘open it.’

and he does, gingerly, almost afraid that something might jump at him from within. but nothing does.

inside, sitting innocently in a leopard print frame, is a photo. it takes yuri a moment to remember taking it, a few days before the onsen on ice. he’s standing in the centre, surrounded by the katsuki family and minako and victor, and there’s a knot forming in yuri’s throat. he’d forgotten about this photo.

he looks up at yuri, who is still standing in front of him, observing him and smiling patiently, fondly.

‘what?’ he says, again, because he can’t help it. yuuri lets out a laugh.

‘happy birthday, yurio!’ he says, and oh.

oh.

that explains everything and yuri suddenly feels a tiny bit overwhelmed.

that’s why his grandfather is in st. petersburg despite his health. that’s why otabek is here, huge plushie and all, despite the fact that he should be in almaty training for worlds. that’s why all the fussing and the hugging and the everything.

suddenly he feels kind of stupid and annoyed.

‘what? it’s presents time already?’ comes mila’s voice, sudden and loud and close and he startles. he can feel his face burning, and the only thing he can do is turn around and skate as fast as he can out of the rink. he barely manages to put on his skate guards before he hightails it to the nearest bathroom.

he’s still holding the framed photo as he does.

~

the following hours, after he comes back from the bathroom, red-faced and embarrassed and trying not to show it, are a chaotic and, quite honestly, if yuri’s honest with himself, the most he’s ever had on his birthday.

he’s showered with more gifts and more hugs and praises and victor shows him a few ideas for a new program (with yuuri pitching in when he thinks victor’s being ridiculous). mila keeps lifting him above her head whenever she manages to catch him (which is often, to his complete annoyance), and then that devolves into everyone lifting him and passing him from one to the other (even otabek, that traitor).

this, somehow, becomes a group skate with him in the center of it all, and it’s it exhilarating and terrifying and he loves it.

and while all this is happening, his grandfather, lilia and yakov all stand by the side of the rink, watching the madness with the fondness of the old looking over the young in all their glorious joy.

by the time the cake is brought in, yuri is breathless and giddy and absolutely spoiled.

~

dinner is at lilia’s, and he sits at the head of the table with his grandpa on one side and otabek on the other, table full of piroshky, and borscht, olivie, and even katsudon. because victor insisted yuuri make it for them.  

and, honestly, russians don’t really celebrate birthdays like this, yuri is well aware of that, so he can’t help thinking that this, all of this, all of today, is somehow yuuri’s doing. or better said, yuuri and victor’s doing.

and he’s grateful.

he’ll probably have to thank them in the morning (he’d rather not, but he knows he has to), but for tonight, he’ll simply enjoy the rest of his birthday at his leisure.

and then he’ll go and snuggle his awesome new tiger and have a slumber party with otabek. just ‘cause.

[eschapters]

Chapter 34: Glister City.

"Liar!" Alair looked to his left to see Etalt again. "Oh hey, you're here!" Alair had stated. Etalt stared, somewhat in confusion, "Wha...? What are you..." "Didn't you... just leave?" Alair had asked. "...No?" Etalt paused slightly. She seemed to be thinking, as if she were about to come up with some kind of conclusion for Alair's confusion, "Wait... Did you have a flashback?" "More than likely...." Alair placed down his bag before proceeding to dig through the contents within his bag. He pulled out the orb, just in time to see its glowing come to an end. "...Guess I can confirm it, then," Etalt had said, "What'd you see?" Alair knew that he would sound completely delusional from trying to explain. He strung the words together in a sentence, "This might sound weird, okay? I... I just..." he inhaled deeply before attempting to explain, "There's... this short person... I can't tell as to whether it's a girl or a boy... It's confusing, but they're kinda... small." Etalt rollled her eyes a bit as Alair laughed at the last detail, "How funny." "I'm not kidding, though. They were short, and I thought it was kind of cute," Alair had placed the orb back into the bag, "You don't know anyone who wears a black coat, dark colored hair, somewhat light skin and is up to my shoulder or chin... or ear, do you?" "Hm? That description sounds like..." Etalt shrugged, "Sounds like someone a family in Glister City had lost. Want to ask them about it once we get there?" "Heck yeah. I've gotta figure out who this kid is! Are they linked to the creator, though?" "No guarantee but you wanna see them anyway, right?" "Of course. It wouldn't hurt to do so." "Well? Why are we still here?" Etalt had pushed herself up from her place, "Let's go." "Okay, but... Where are the others?" Alair asked as he got up as well. "I... Have no ide-" Etalt turned around. Speak of the devil - they were just standing right there. "...Hiya guys..." Alair had waved slowly, "...How long have you been there?" Fabian fumbled with his hands slightly before placing his arms behind his back, "Uhh... W-Well... Only for a good few... minutes." "Ten minutes," Logan had stated, "It didn't take us THAT long to catch up." Hugo, of course, decided to add in something, "You bet! We were faster than lightning!"

"Okay, not that fast," Logan gently shoved Hugo to his side, "Now about this 'kid' you've described in your visions... We can probably find out about them while we wait for the others to get here. We need Dunn to melt the ice, after all." "Guess you're right," Alair had flashed a smile, "It's off we go, then!" Without the word of the others, Alair had started to make his way down the road... Even though he had no knowledge as to where to go. The others, on the other hand, had started to go another way. "This way, liar!" Etalt called from the opposite side. "Whoops, sorry!" Alair had ran right back to the group to tag along. The walk wasn't quite as long. Along the way was similar to Glister Bay. The only exception was that some of the gems actually glowed. Before Alair knew, he was stepping on a road. "A-Alair... You should probably... get off that part of the road..." Fabian had quietly said. "Why? What's wrong with this?" "You should get off unless you wanna be as flat as a pancake," Hugo had added. "Oh, wait what? Whaddya mean?" Etalt had opened her mouth, "Idiot, there's-" "In case you're still a clueless twit, we're not in Sequía Village anymore. They have vehicles here," It seemed as if Logan wanted to at least give Etalt a break from her chiding and take the job instead. "Oh... Heh, whoops... I got you," Alair chuckled out of slight embarrassment as he stepped on the sidewalk. The snow-covered pavement had reminded Alair of the time where he had went out to play outside in the snow with Elio and his parents. Alair, before his height has skyrocketed, had been buried by the snow at the age of eleven. Elio was only seven at the time. Despite the height of the snow, Alair had attempted to give Elio a ride through it. They even had done it at night, when their parents were asleep. The two had gotten sick and scolded by their mom, but they knew that it was worth the fun. Alair smiled, inhaling the light cold air upon recalling the memory. "Welcome to Glister City," Etalt had said, "Looks nice, doesn't it?" Alair decided to look around to study his settings.

She wasn't lying. Glister City was a big highlighter of the whole adventure. Everything was just like back in his area. There were buildings that towered above them, countless lights shining brightly from them. Everywhere Alair turned, he was able to see at least one vehicle or way of transportation. There seemed to be nothing to hate about the place at all, except for what would've seemed like the occasional frosty road and the traffic. The place was practically bursting with people and city life. "It's just like my place," Alair had said. "Seems like it," Etalt had tucked another piece of her hair behind her ear, "You might as well live here if you can't find your way out of this world." "I... g..." Alair shook his head right as he was about to say it, "No. I need to get back, of course. If there's a way in, then of course there's a way out." "As much as I like your thinking, you should consider it." Logan had cleared his throat, or rather made a sound that was similar to it, "Ahem... That kid's family?" "Oh, yeah..." It seemed as if the view of the city had somehow gotten the thought of the destination out of Alair's mind. It was like the view alone had casted a spell, "Alright... Take me there!" "Not so fast, sir!" Hugo had butted in, "They say that whoever hears that story are never heard from again!" It was plausible... except, not really. Alair just had to ask, "How many people have asked about the story?" "Well..." They all had looked at Fabian, who only stuttered. "U-Uh..." "No one asked, did they?" "Um..." Fabian sighed, "...No..." "I thought so," Alair smirked, "Now-" "No need to rush," Etalt said, "At least enjoy the place for a bit. Go around. Explore. Just don't rush." As if the two were in sync, Alair and Logan had glanced over at Etalt in shock. "What's wrong with you?" Logan backed away a little, "You seem a little more relaxed than usual." "Why? Can't even the most brutal one be relaxed?" Etalt had shrugged, "Besides, I've figured that it's time to be less of a grouch."

"Way to go, Esalt," Alair muttered. "...E...salt..? Really," she muttered back. "I'm bringing it back right here, right now." "Well, whatever floats your boat," Etalt had started to walk away from them, "I'll be going to the mall if you need me." The four had watched as she disappeared into the crowd of people. "Well... I'm definitely going nonetheless!" Alair had chuckled. "Huh? Whatever you say," Logan said, "You sure?" "Yeah! I don't take orders from people who are younger than me!" "...Okay." Logan had started to walk ahead. He walked along, his posture still straight. He didn't even look back, but rather towards the direction he was leading. He didn't look scared at all. It was almost as if he had walked this path more times than he could count. A community of houses had came into sight to welcome them into the area. The path that they walked along had quiet a familiar aura, as if it were greeting people who walked within it. Alair breathed in the gentle winter air that had touched his cheeks carefully, "Why do I feel like I've been here before?" "Not sure," Logan had said, "I've been here a lot, though. That's all I'll say." "Why, though?" "It's best if you don't know." Everything around them had made Alair feel at ease, unlike the previous places. He was still curious as to why Logan wouldn't tell him what he wanted to know. "Why?" "It just is." Obviously, he wasn't gonna get anything out of him. They were already near a pastel blue house in the distance. It finally had clicked within Alair as to why the place was familiar. "Wait... That's the house that got me into this world!" Alair had exclaimed. "It is?" Logan looked over at the house as well. He stared at it for a good few seconds. It looked to Alair as if someone had just shoved an invisible knife into either Logan's throat or stomach. "...This is actually... The Botan Household." "Let me guess... That's the family that lost their kid?" "Mhm. I..." Logan shook his head, "Well, yeah. That's them." A light tap had been felt on Alair's shoulder. He slightly turned his head to see Fabian. "We... never really got your last name," Fabian's speech was pretty straightforward, but a bit too fast to the point of almost not being hearable, "What is it?" "You wanna know my last name?" Alair had chuckled slightly, "It's..." his chuckles had came to a stop. His face crinkled a bit, "...Would you guys think I'm stupid for forgetting my last name? I'm pretty sure I've known it since birth before I came here." Hugo spoke quickly, "Nope!" Fabian was next, "No..!" The same couldn't be said for Logan. "...Okay, be honest," Alair sighed. Logan had then released what looked like laughter that he was trying to hold back, "Yes."

Hugo only slowly nodded his head. "...Wow, thanks for the worldly support." Logan had tried to stop his laughter, but it looked like he couldn't even calm himself down, "Maybe forgetting things may be a side effect of entering this world." For a moment, Alair had looked relieved, "Phew..." "But that doesn't excuse the fact that you've forgotten your last name." "Oh, come on!" Fabian had ran up to Logan, as well as Hugo. It'd only be a few more steps until they actually enter the property around the house. The house looked much more inviting and friendly towards its visitors, unlike the one Alair had seen back in his world. The one that Alair had seen was more haunting than friendly. As soon as they had gotten close, Logan's smile had gone away. He drew in a deep breath as he took in the view of the pastel blue house, "We're here," he looked back at Alair, "You said you were the son of Kano and Luna, right? These people... They might know who they are." "They... might?" "Yeah. It wouldn't hurt to try asking where they are, especially since they seem so familiar with them." "Mhm. I'll do it, then." Logan had walked up the steps to the front door. The steps were wooden, having a wooden railing where the end of the porch would be. Logan had pushed the doorbell of the front door. A gentle ring had resounded from within the house. Alair, now behind Fabian and Hugo, had stepped forward. ...There was nothing. Logan had pushed the doorbell again. Still, no response had came. Logan had reached into his pocket before pulling out a bunch of keys that dangled on a ring. He inserted the keys into the respective keyholes. "Wait, what are you doing?" Alair had asked. "...They won't mind," Logan had said, "After all, I was given this key for a reason." Logan had picked out the final key and was about to insert it into the last keyhole. When he placed the key, he immediately drew back. "Dammit!" Logan gasped as he gripped his hand. The keys had fallen to the ground with a clatter, causing Fabian to tense up and Hugo to hold on tight to him. Alair looked around quickly to scan for anything strange. "Who... Put that...?" A groan had escaped Logan's mouth had he had bent down to pick up the keys, "It's like there's an electrical forcefield..." Almost as if on cue, the place had started to fog up. Alair remembered that the fog was due to Fabian's uneasiness. "H-Hey..." Fabian was now visibly shuddering. It was obvious that a threat was nearby, "I-I can't sense A.I....! What if they're here?!"

"...What?" Alair looked back at Fabian, "What do you mean?" "The Bounded Viabilities can sense each others' presences... But Fabian, in particular, can sense when anyone is nearby," Logan had said, "He can even pick out a person from a crowd and find them within five minutes... But it might be useless because of his anxiety." Fabian had stopped shaking before looking back. He shaking swung his head from one side to the other, "N-Nevermind... I thought they... Might've been here..." Logan nodded before attempting to insert the key into the keyhole again. The moment he inserted the key again, the area around the keyhole had flashed brightly. It seemed as if Logan wasn't even able to hold back a shout as he fell back. "Logan!" Alair had fallen on his knees next to Logan before attempting to shake him awake. In response, Logan had immediately sat up, rubbing his hand. "Agh... Calm down, I'm not dead... or knocked out..." He groaned as rubbed his eyes a bit before getting up, "It... looks like there's something protecting the door from being opened. It's almost as if whoever put this doesn't want us to hear the story... One more shock from that door, and I'll most likely be dead." Fabian had held up his shaking hand. A rush of air could be felt as the key had went flying into his hand. He slowly walked up to Logan before holding the key out to him. "Thanks..." Logan had muttered before taking the key, "We probably shouldn't go right now... Not until that forcefield is taken down... We won't be able to see them by then." "...I'm with you," Alair backed away from the door, eyeing it, "Looks like its voltage is high..." Logan had walked down the porch's stairs, "If it helps, though... I do know the story behind the creator." "Anything would help, probably." "I had a feeling you'd say that..." Logan had said, "Let's go back to the city. I'll tell you the whole thing about the creator." They all had strolled away from the house, and into a path that had been greeted by the snow and trees that had been stripped of their life. "This might seem a bit confusing, so try to keep up. It was about thirty years ago that it happened... Or so, someone would think that it's four years," Logan had tapped the blue device as a screen had came into view, "There was another creator before the one we're about to face. He was corrupt, but he'd grant the wishes of any outsider that comes along." "How do you know it was a guy?" "Don't ask... But anyways, he liked to play games... So if an outsider wanted another wish, then they'd have to play this 'game' that he made up." "That's... convenient, I guess?" There was some doubt in Alair's voice. He already knew that gaining something wouldn't be so easy, "It has a drawback, doesn't it?"

"Of course. The game seems simple. You're teamed up with two other people to defend a star within your base. That star can bring a team member back if they're somehow killed. If that star gets destroyed by another team, then the people on the team with the destroyed star can no longer come back to life," Logan had tapped the screen before a glowing sphere had came into view. It was radiating with countless colors, "This is it. The creator and their team were able to defend the star and kill the last team standing," Logan had placed his palm on the screen, causing the screen to disappear, "When the creator was asked what their wish was, they said it was to override the current creator and degrade them into a commoner. Up to now, the old creator is trying to track the current one down to get their powers back." "Have you... ever met them?" "Not that I remember." "Darn... Thought you'd know something..." "Actually..." Logan's eyes had quickly focused on Alair's bag, "Don't you have that book from that library near Gustswept Town?" Realization had slapped Alair in the face once again. He slapped his palm to his face, "Right! I forgot about that! But..." "But what?" "For some reason, Etalt didn't really want me to open the book... And I can't really understand why." Logan just shrugged, "Probably because she doesn't trust you. If I were you I'd be careful around her, too." If it hadn't been for a single thought that Alair had brought up, he would've just left it at that, "But why? You guys seem close... Maybe a bit too close. I don't know, but it's like you two know each other really well." "It's just my humor... or so that's what my friend had told me," Logan had said with the shake of his head, "The relationship we had does not concern you, or anyone." Of course, a lot of people would've assumed what Alair had thought, "Wait, did you two..." "What do you think? After we tried to strike each other down? No way. Guess someone doesn't know a thing or two about us being mortal enemies," when Logan had opened his palm, the blue device had came zooming right back to him. He closed his palm around the device before putting it into his pocket. Logan looked up, breathing in the winter air. The city was starting to come back into view. Logan sighed, "We're back already." Surprisingly, Fabian had ambled in front of them. He looked out into the view, "It looks... nice." "Mhm. Brings back memories," Logan had muttered. Just as they all were enjoying the nice view in front of them, Hugo had declared loudly, "Hey, guys! I know the view is nice and all, but shouldn't we go find our walking carrot?" It took him a bit to get but when he did, Alair couldn't quite help but attempt to snort back his laughter. He chuckled before covering his mouth, "Etalt would shoot you if she heard that!" Logan smiled, seemingly trying to hold back laughter as well, "We probably should before she destroys something." They didn't notice, but Fabian's teeth were now starting to click against each other. He was desperately trying to warm himself up, "Y-Yeah... and while w-we're at it... I-I need to buy a w-warm jacket..!" Logan had pulled the blue device out of his pocket again before pressing a few buttons on it.

"Hold this," he said as he placed the device in Fabian's hands. "W-What does this-" At once, Fabian had been greeted by a large puff of smoke. When the smoke subsided, he seemed to shiver less. There was a cheeky grin on Logan's face for some reason, "There. Problem solved. You shouldn't be cold for the next few hours," he took the device back, "Okay... Let's go, then." Ironically, it didn't take too long for them to get to the mall since Logan had simply called on a taxi to get them there. Throughout the whole ride, Fabian had looked as if he were going to throw up. Alair and Hugo took the time to relax while Logan just messed with a screen from his device. They arrived at a huge and wide building that emitted an almost countless amount of lights. Alair, Fabian, and Hugo seemed to enjoy it. However, it seemed as if Logan was having some trouble with the taxi driver. "I... I don't have enough... Hehe, sorry!" Logan had smiled, but did it nervously as the taxi driver had stared him down. "It's either you pay or you go to jail!" The taxi driver had shouted. "I don't actually think it works that w-" The taxi driver had pulled out a gun and pointed it to Logan's head, "Pay or you die!" "Do you really want to do it that way?" "I can and I will if I have to!" "Alright... Your call," Logan sighed as he pushed a few buttons on the device. "...What the fuck are you doing? I asked for mo-" The device had quickly unfolded, taking on the shape of a tranquilizer. Logan had aimed it at the car before a dart had left it. Before the taxi driver could tell, the driver was sitting in a yellow puddle with black swirls on the ground. "I'll pay for that..." Logan had said as the tranquilizer had folded back into its normal oblong shape, "...If the world doesn't end by then." Alair, Fabian, and Hugo had watched as their guide had made his way over to them. "So... Where exactly do you think she'll be?" "The weapon shop." "THE FOOD COURT WITH A CARROT!" "T-The... I don't knowww..." Logan laughed slightly, "My best bet is, ironically, with Alair's answer. Being the violent person she is, she's more likely to be in the ammo shop than anywhere else." "She's bound to be somewhere..." Hugo had put a hand to his chin as if to mock a thinking person on a tv show. He snapped, and then pointed, "I know! I'll just ask that guy over there!" Not so far away from them, there was another person. The person had a black long sleeved jacket with an orange turtleneck sweater underneath. The hood of the jacket was covering their head, so it couldn't quite be identified as to whether they were male or female. The person also had black... tights? Pants? No one could tell. The only thing that was left to make out were the black boots they had. The person had plastic and paper bags around them self. "Eh, I'll go with you," Alair was carefully observing the person. He shrugged nonetheless. "Excuse me!" Hugo had went over to the unidentified person with Alair following. Hugo began to tug on their sleeve, "Have you seen a girl walking around with white hair, an orange sweater, green jacket, looks like a carrot..." Slowly, the person had turned their head towards them. As soon as their face had came into sight, both Alair and Hugo had started screaming uncontrollably before holding on to each other. Fabian had joined in on the screaming, clinging on to Logan.

"What the...?! What happened?!" Logan had exclaimed before swinging the device and converting it into a sword. He looked up at the stranger before slapping himself on the forehead. It was just Etalt. "...What the heck?" Etalt grunted, "Did you find A.I. or something?" Her hair seemed shorter than usual. "NO! IT'S JUST...!" Alair had released Hugo before proceeding to continue his screeching, "YOU LOOK LESS LIKE A FASHION DISASTER NOW... AND YOU'VE CUT YOUR HAIR, TOO!" "Calm yourself! I heard you guys, and if it makes you feel any better... then I actually didn't cut my hair!" Etalt had pulled off her hood and pulled out the two tied strands of long white hair. They just reached up to her waist like before, "See? I also did go to the ammo shop, so there!" She bent down to grab a can out of the bag before popping open the lid. "Did you... steal that?" Alair had asked. He was still quite doubtful, up to this point. "What? In MY own city? No!" Etalt snorted before taking a sip from the can, "I actually bought it, so zip it and-" "But-" "Calm-" "But-" "Down!" Alair looked around, then back at Etalt, "Did you... lie about stealing that can back then?" "Oh that? Probably not." "I'm not surprised." "Okay, but is there any need to actually ask about this stuff?" Etalt asked, "I may not look like it, but I've struck a fortune. I just kinda left a lot of my savings at home." "You? A rich fourteen year old?" Alair had laughed, "Really? Because most of the kids I know would spend that money right away." "But unlike you uncultured swines, I know how to save," Etalt had muttered, "Anyways, I need you to be quiet about that. If you haven't noticed, it's past twelve and this is the time where A.I. usually becomes active... So I'd probably suggest finding a spot to stay for the night." "So... a hotel?" "Those are a bit expensive around a place like this. You better be lucky I know someone around here who'd let me stay at their house. Maybe she can allow you guys in." Logan sneered over at Etalt, "Better not rob them." Etalt had marched past Alair and right up to Logan, "Why you little-!" "Hey, hey, heeey! Not now!" Alair had grabbed Etalt by the hood before pulling her back and squeezing in the middle of the two, "So, this place that you're talking about... Where is it?" "It's some distance from the lost kid's house. You didn't try to go there, did you?" Alair looked away to the side, in hopes of Etalt not being able to tell, "No." "You guys went, didn't you?" "No." "Liar, knowing who you are... I'm gonna confirm you did." "Okay, fine. We did," Alair sighed before running a hand through his hair, "But... We couldn't even talk to the family or even get in! It was like there was an electric forcefield or trap... whatever it was!" Etalt had groaned, "That's why I told you not to go. You guys never listen..." "Hey, be thankful that I actually tried to verify what it was!" Logan had said. "Just... tell me everything along the way," Etalt had said before starting to walk down a road. She looked back at them, beckoning for them to follow. The trip took quite a while. Once they had gotten there and were shown their rooms, Alair had fallen right asleep as soon as he had flopped down on the bed. He couldn't quite remember what happened beforehand. The sleep was worth it, though.

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (13/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: Annnnnnd time for stuff to hit the fan : ) ) ) )

Special thanks to Isame, @secretlystephaniebrown and squiggol for the feedback! I really appreciate it!

Part III: The Risk of Saving the Guilty Chapter 3.3: Speaking with Guilt

Windblade should have been relieved to have been ‘escorted’ by Starscream’s personal guard to his private chambers rather than the detention center. Should have been. But she was far from it. 

She did not exactly take kindly to being put in handcuffs while in public. 

“Stascream!” she spat out the moment she saw him over by the balcony. He didn’t even have the decency to be turned to face her. “What he Pit is the meaning of this? You had me arrested! And you did so while I was in public! I never took you for such transparent dictatorship.”

“You’ve never paid that much attention then,” Stascream said flatly, half turning toward her. With a nod, he sent the guards away. 

“You think this is all fun and games?” Windblade all but snarled, uselessly testing the restraints for what she already knew would happen. A slight shock tested her system and she flinched back despite herself.

“I do not,” Starscream said, fully tuning toward her and walking closer. “That is why, the moment Knock Out confirms that the stasis and medically induced coma are simply a ploy, I will have your partner in this conspiracy of betrayal arrested along with you.”

Positively confused, Windblade tilted her helm back. A slightly irrational fear took over her for all of her friends. “What are you talking about, Starscream?” she demanded. “Have you absolutely fried your circuits? What conspiracy? What betrayal?”

His optics narrowed to red, intimidating slits. “You can’t play dumb with me, Windblade. I know about the cult. I know about you and Rodimus working for Error.”

At that, Windblade had to actually cycle her optics. She had not been sure what Starscream had meant before, but she certainly had not expected the complete nonsense she got. 

“Excuse me... what?” she asked, baffled.

"You heard me, Windblade,” Starscream said the utmost seriousness. “I know that you are involved with the cult. I know that Rodimus is faking his injuries. And I know that all of this is somehow to undermine my rule of Cybertron. Entrapment perhaps? How clever. Unfortunately for you, I learned of your deceit and can act first.”

She stared at him, still processing all the accusations flung her way before she reached up and rubbed the side of her faceplate as best she could with the handcuffs. 

“I’m sorry, what?” she repeated. “Starscream, I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about? What evidence do you have of... any of this?”

“A live witness, despite your leader’s greatest efforts to keep him from being that way,” Starscream said smoothly. “I suppose your conscience got to you in the last minute. A pity. I genuinely was not onto either of you until you made that misstep of trusting Rattrap to keep your secret, Windblade. Maybe you thought you could earn his trust, get him on whatever twisted side Error has concocted to entice you into the cult.” He smirked at her knowingly. “I never had to concern myself with such things, neither trusting anyone else so much nor worrying about a conscience. Well... for the most part. Until recently.”

Windblade stared at him like he was mad -- and, perhaps, he was. 

“Starscream, I am not working with Error or the cult,” Windblade said firmly. “And if you believe I am on Rattrap’s word, then you are trusting someone and it is making you out to be the fool. I am sorry to tell you.”

“You think you’re so clever,” Starscream snapped. “The problem is, Cityspeaker, that the reason you have to be so nosy is because while you’re playing the game, you’ve never once managed to get out ahead.”

“I don’t think I’m clever,” Windblade admitted before motioning toward the hall door. “But I think it doesn’t take a clever person to know that there is no faking what Rodimus’ injuries or stasis are. And Rattrap’s going to have you look like an idiot in front of everyone in this building the moment Knock Out comes up here and tells you that himself.”

"Rattrap knows better than to speak falsely to me,” Starscream said without concern. 

“You two are certainly a pair,” Windblade grouched when the doors opened behind her and in came Knock Out and Rattrap themselves. 

“We should be getting a second opinion here! From someone who’s obviously not biased!” Rattrap was crying out hysterically.

Windblade could not help the smile that formed on her faceplate as she glanced toward Starscream and saw his own confidence melt from him. 

“Bias?” Knock Out scoffed. “I have no bias -- I could care less about the internal affairs of Cybertron. I owe nothing to these bots. That is why Lord Starscream asked for my opinion to begin with.”

Starscream leered at them. “What is going on here?” he demanded. 

“I’m afraid we’ve been duped, Chosen One,” Knock Out said wryly. “There is absolutely no doubt in my processor that the patient there is in stasis and, beyond that, with the extent of the injuries and the incapacity of his proto-healing, there is no way he has left that chamber in at least the last forty-eight hours.”

There was an immediate rage that radiated from Starscream. Windblade could not help the satisfaction she somewhat felt at it.

“Don’t believe a word of it, Lord Starscream!” Rattrap cried out. “I saw it with my own optics -- look at the singe on my armor!!! And everyone knows that Rodimus has that outlier ability -- with the flames? It’s the cult’s main way of attack.”

Her attention to detail not failing her, Windblade honed in on the information about Rodimus and looked at Rattrap with scrutiny. “Outlier ability--”

Without warning, the power to the restraints on Windblade were cut and she looked back to Starscream with surprise. 

“Delegates,” he said firmly, “I will have to ask you to leave my chambers. I need to deal with a personal matter with my good friend here.”

Windblade and Knock Out glanced toward each other before following suit, to the crying objections of Rattrap.

They had waited for Swerve to all but clear out the bar for them -- a favor in mutual understanding and debt to Skids. 

Their gathering was small, but most importantly it was away from prying optics and audials. 

“Okay, Brainstorm, spill what you know,” Nautica demanded, hands on her hips. “We’ve been placating your amnesiac answers since we got to Cybertron. We’re your Amicas. We deserve the truth. We deserve to be able to help you.”

Brainstorm had suspected it would come to this rather quickly. Still, he hadn’t expected it to quite be that quickly. He was cornered by Velocity and Nautica with no escape routes and not even a Swerve to pry.

Camiens didn’t know how to play fair.

“What makes you think I wasn’t telling you everything from the start?” Brainstorm asked, tilting his helm.

“Because you keep bringing up your stupid briefcase,” Velocity said, arms crossed.

“Because I know you,” Nautica argued even more directly. 

Not coming up with any proper responses to that, Brainstorm rubbed his servos together nervously. “Look, I really don’t remember much. And why I’ve got briefcases on the mind? It could mean literally anything -- I always have my greatest invention, and greatest failure and mistake -- on my processor. You don’t spend years constructing a perfect plan to save the mech you loved and every other bot ever taken from us as a species because of the War without having it take up a decent portion of your consciousness.”

“And that’s your big explanation?” Nautica asked critically. 

“No, I’m just saying that whatever happened on Eukaris, everyone else’s injuries were heavy, if they survived at all,” Brainstorm rubbed at the cables of his neck. “I’m kinda grateful to just be jumbled in my head.”

“More like suspiciously avoided,” Velocity argued. “Whoever attacked the others didn’t care to kill them or maim them. But for some reason you were spared. And that has to be for a reason.”

“But what reason?” Nautica asked, bringing a hand to her chin. 

“If I could propose something,” Nightbeat finally spoke up from his seat nearby, he had been pouring four energon cubes for them all and then brought them over. “We have to take into account that while a genius weapons inventor--”

Brainstorm puffed up at the compliment. “Why thank you--”

“Brainstorm’s been proven useless in combat. So there is always the possibility that he was seen as non-threatening to these attackers,” Nightbeat continued.

Affronted, Brainstorm crossed his arms. “Well, that’s not completely fair--”

Nightbeat then steepled his fingers before his face and turned to face all of them at once. “But it wouldn’t explain the prominence of your briefcase in your thoughts since the incident. That seems to indicate some sort of representative associative memory.”

Nautica tilted her helm. “Meaning?”

“Either the briefcase symbolizes something Brainstorm’s subconscious is trying to tell him, or it is exactly what it’s meant to be, and he’s got some sort of clue in there as to what really happened down on Eukaris,” Nightbeat surmised. 

“Those are two very different possibilities,” Velocity said calmly. “How are we supposed to figure out which one it is?” 

“Finding clues isn’t always so simple when you’re looking at the bigger picture,” Nightbeat shrugged. 

“So, what, you want me to get psychoanalysis?” Brainstorm asked. “No thanks. I find it to be a pseudoscience. Unless it’s Rung. I’ll talk to Rung.”

“We left Rung on Cybertron, remember?” Nautica sighed, crossing her arms. “I wish I could talk to him right now. He always knows the right thing to say, and is so kind and gentle. And always has energon sticks--”

“You realize he’s all of those things because he is a trained doctor, of course,” Nightbeat partially teased. “But you’re right. It is a shame we don’t have access to Rung at the moment. But... there are more simple ways. Maybe Chromedome--”

“Absolutely not,” Brainstorm snapped, surprising everyone. Taking a deep vent, Brainstorm pinched between his optics and shook his head. “Look, I worked at the Institute. I’ve been friends with Chromedome since before he was named Chromedome. He doesn’t perform mnemosurgery anymore, doesn’t even have his needles. And even if he did, it kills him bit by bit. I would never ask him to do that again. Especially not for me.” He then pointed to his helm. “Also, no one has permission to scramble this genius.”

"Sorry,” Nightbeat apologized almost immediately. “I was getting carried away. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Brainstorm agreed readily. 

“I don’t disagree with the idea of never volunteering mnemosurgery again under any circumstances,” Velocity spoke up, “but we really do need you to try to remember anything that could be helpful, Brainstorm. We’re wanting to help. Not just the others and the investigation, but you. It’s... not normal seeing you have such a lack of curiosity about something. Especially something that happened to you.”

Brainstorm couldn’t argue with that. 

But he also couldn’t explain why he feared trying to remember. 

Except...

He lowered his head and rubbed achingly at his helm. “I think the reason I was uninjured had to do with the briefcase. I don’t think it was an accident.”

“Yes!” Nightbeat called out excitedly, only to get shushed by the glares of the Camiens. 

“But I really can’t dig further than that,” Brainstorm explained. “The only thing that comes to mind is...”

“Is what, Brainstorm?” Nautica asked gently, gripping his shoulder. 

He looked up at them. 

“Burning,” he replied. “Burning alive. Screaming. That’s all there is other than.... briefcases.”

If Ratchet could have ever before been described as fighting mad, it wouldn’t hold a light to the rage surging through his cables after the nonsense double checking of Rodimus’ CR chamber. 

As if Rodimus’ spark hadn’t nearly gone out on them multiple times beforehand, as if Ratchet and every other scientist and doctor weren’t enough to determine whether or not a bot  on the brink of extinguishment was faking or not. 

Ratchet’s grip on the control panel to the CR chamber nearly dented the metal. “Unthinking, incapable Starscream cronies!” he hissed, not caring in the least that at least two guards were still standing by the doors. “Look at the mess of the systems they made! And Knock Out! I’ll have his license expunged, he’ll never work as a doctor on this planet so help me--”

“You shouldn’t have let them touch him!” Drift shouted at Ratchet angrily, hovering so close to Ratchet that the old doctor could practically feel him venting hot air. 

“How the frag was I supposed to stop them, Drift?” Ratchet demanded. “Pull out guns against them? Set up a coup?”

“I would have sliced down anyone who tried to get to either of you,” Drift responded coldly. “You held me back--”

“You’re full of scrap, now pipe up your vocalizer so I can restabilize Rodimus’ stasis before he fully comes out of it!” Ratchet bit back, watching the percentages of the various chemicals within the bath slowly recalibrate. “Come on, he’s been out of the cryogen too long!”

Drift somehow managed to hover even closer. “What can I do? Are there supplies you need from anywhere I can get?”

“You know what you can do? You can go sit your aft down and let me work!” Ratchet snapped just before Rodimus’ vitals began to start up at an alarming rate, the waves detected from his processor spiking. “Frag it! Rodimus, don’t do this yet--”

“What’s happening!?” Drift demanded. 

"He’s waking up!” Ratchet snapped back before looking, optics wide, toward the glass of the CR chamber. 

There was noticeable twitching as the cables along Rodimus’ protoform attempted to activate limbs and armor that wasn’t quite there yet. His forcefully peaceful face squinted together, nose curling before his jaw opened. 

His optics were still offline, but Rodimus was trying to speak. If him waking early from stasis wasn’t such a terrible thing in his current state, Ratchet could almost make a joke of it. 

The handprint that was burned across Rodimus’ faceplate and exposed the intricate metalwork and mesh beneath was disturbed by his immediate attempts to talk, and his jaw slackened and gave on that side that was still exposed. 

Choking on the cryogen and chemicals around him, Rodimus thrashed. His optics flashed on at once and he swung wildly against the various wires and restraints that had been placed there to keep him from a moment just like this. 

Drift finally left Ratchet’s backside to near the glass and hold up his hands in a soothing motion. “Rodimus, calm down! We’ll put you back in stasis, just cool it for a second. I know it hurts and it’s confusing--”

Ratchet assessed the spiking vitals and growled before submitting to the only thing to do, throwing the switch for the CR cahmber and beginning the drain of the liquids out of it, after they had spent all that time attempting to refill it. 

At first, Drift seemed shocked and confused as the liquid began to visibly drain from the chamber, then he turned and looked at Ratchet. “What are you doing!? You said he needs to go back in stasis--”

“It’s not going to work with him having a panic attack, we need to calm him down first before he gives himself a spark attack,” Ratchet answered, pressing the final termination sequence before rushing to Drift’s side and waiting for the door of the pod to open. 

The moment the glass was no longer restraining him, Rodimus let out a gulping vent and fell forward into Drift and Ratchet’s awaiting arms. He sputtered and coughed, straining to balance on his pedes beneath him but they were still underarmored and unblanced. He could barely find purchase against the slick floor of the laboratory. 

“I-I -- what!? Where!?” Rodimus cried out, spurring the guards to step closer from the door.

Ratchet freed one of his hands to hold up a finger and shake it at the guards. “You step one bit closer and I’m going to unleash Drift on you. You know. The one who’s been chomping at the bit for a fight for a week now?” he warned angrily. 

The guards looked at each other before stepping back into place. 

Relieved somewhat that it had worked, Ratchet vented then turned his attention back on Rodimus.

Drift was trying, with great difficulty, to soothe the captain. “Rodimus, you’re safe. We’re no longer on Eukaris -- Ratchet and I came back for your team. We got you. You’re still being patched up.”

“Me!?” Rodimus cried out. “Th-the crew!”

He took another step without realizing the pede no longer had a stabilizer beneath the wheel. It flung him back and while his left arm flailed against Drift to stop himself from completely falling into it, Ratchet took immediate notice how his right limb hung limply by his side. 

Biting back on his words, Ratchet tried not to alarm either Rodimus or Drift before he could get a full assessment of the limb. His processor immediately came up with a list of differentials for what could be causing the paralysis of the limb.

Maybe the others had been right, maybe Ratchet had been holding off on full surgical repair too long in hopes of the protoform reassembling what it could. 

Ratchet hoped not. It was hard to deny it now.

“Scrap,” he muttered under a vent. Drift was holding Rodimus up almost entirely on his own and looking to Ratchet worriedly. Ratchet snapped a finger toward the nearby slab. “Help get him to sit up on it if he can.”

"You don’t understand!” Rodimus cried out nonsensically as Drift managed with almost too much ease to lift him up and set him on the table. Rodimus struggled, but with little frame and only one arm cooperating, it didn’t get him much. “I’m dead! The crew--”

“You’re not dead, Rodimus, calm down,” Ratchet ordered, coming over to his side. “And... not all the away team with you died. We lost two, but the rest have been repaired, awakened, and Brainstorm’s even back on the Lost Light by now as we speak. Not that we’ve got many answers--”

Rodimus’ left hand reached up to his face, almost knowingly. “I’m supposed to be dead!” he said, tenderly touching the handprint melted into his faceplate on the right side. 

Ratchet stared at Rodimus, processing the information.

Drift, though, wasted no time on Rodimus’ seemingly random actions and inactions. He gripped onto Rodimus tighter, keeping him upright. “You’re not, Rodimus! By the Thirteen, you survived! Optimus Prime himself boosted your spark at least twice--”

That seemed to cause at least something to click with Rodimus and the mech steadied. His optics flickered up toward Ratchet and to him it seemed almost as if there was something haunting the captain’s blue lights. 

“Ratchet,” he all but gasped, “I n-need to talk to Optimus. I-I have to tell him!”

Composing himself, Ratchet held up his hands. “You’re in no condition for anything. We’re putting you back in stasis as soon as you get your bearings. I’ll knock you out myself if you don’t take a moment to vent.”

“You don’t understand!” Rodimus shouted, vocalizer cracking.

“Rodimus, calm down,” Drift tried more softly, but Rodimus didn’t even look his way. 

“I’ll send word to Optimus that as soon as he’s back on-world he needs to talk to you,” Ratchet tried to assure him. “Until then, we’re going to have a lot of procedures we have to do on you.”

At first it didn’t seem as though nay of Ratchet’s words were making an impact on Rodimus. He stared nearly through them, optics shifting without concentration for a moment before he jerked away from Drift’s hold to no avail again.

“Th-then lock me up! Get... I need to be stopped!” Rodimus near yelled, reaching with his left hand again to cradle his head. “I have to be put away! I’m dangerous, I can’t-- I can’t control--”

“Stop talking,” Ratchet ordered.

“You’re not making any sense, Rodimus -- you’re damaged, but Ratchet’s going to fix you,” Drift attempted to soothe.

“Don’t you get it!?” Rodimus cried out. “I don’t deserve fixing! I’m... I killed them! It was me!”

Ratchet bit back on his denta. “Rodimus, calm down, you’re talking nonsense--”

“That’s not how I hear it.”

Swearing with every foul word he could pull from his processor, Ratchet turned toward the door and saw not only Starscream, but at least four of the so-called delegates by him, including a very shocked looking Windblade who looked nearly ready to tip forward and pass out from the exclamation from Rodimus. 

Starscream continued walking forward. “You heard it yourself, Council of Worlds. And without any further objections, I want to place delegate Windblade under arrest once again along with Captain Rodimus of the Lost Light.”

To Ratchet’s horror, Rodimus almost seemed to ease up in relief. 

Drift was the opposite, stepping between the approaching guards and Rodimus with his swords drawn. “Not another step--”

“Drift!” Ratchet tried to snap. 

“Really now?” Starscream sighed before snapping his fingers. “Someone arrest anyone else who tries to resist as well. I won’t make any exceptions when it comes to protecting the safety of Cybertron and this coalition. These horrific crimes on Eukaris will be answered for.”

Windblade hardly resisted, still looking to be somewhat in shock as she was grabbed by the nearest guard. The other delegates looked simply mortified by everything that was going on but also seemed fairly determined to be on Starscream’s side in the matter.

Drift narrowed his optics and raised his sword as the soldiers neared, guns drawn, but Ratchet lunged at Drift and forcefully lowered his arms. 

“Are your wires crossed?” Ratchet demanded.

“Are yours?” Drift snapped in retaliation.

Lowering his voice, Ratchet lowered Drift’s swords further. “Frag it, Drift. Surrender willingly that way we can at least have you keep an eye on Rodimus in prison and make sure nothing shady happens there. I’ll work from up here to get myself and First Aid access so we can perform medical procedures -- Starscream can’t have a bot kept in inhumane conditions let alone put on trial--”

“There won’t be any trial!” Drift snapped.

“We can’t stop one until Prime’s here, now surrender!” Ratchet snapped. 

Angrily, Drift finally listened to logic and threw his swords to the ground, allowing the soldiers to swarm him. “You better be right, Ratchet.”

“I know,” Ratchet muttered, mostly to himself as he locked optics with Starscream. “I know.”