#Is it too much to ask to get out my life wizard librarian that's dressed in autumn colors + his whole house is fall themed too

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Amoreena | Chapter Nine

chapter nine

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: date night!! this is very fluffy, very emotional and extremely horny. edgar allan poe is rolling in his grave at what they did in his enchanted garden

exhibitionism, public sex (no ones there tho), drug mentions at the end (let me know if I should tag anything else!!!!)

word count: 5.4k

from the beginning <3

He spent all of Thursday afternoon with Penelope in Richmond, setting up for his date that night.

Stringing lights on the trees, mowing the grass and trimming the flowers back, the staff ensuring that the museum was in pristine condition for them tonight, it was perfect. The cats were brushed, there were rose petals the fountain and the most beautiful picnic set up in the garden.

Penelope packed their dinner for them, keeping it in the museum fridge for when they finally arrived, it was the only thing Spencer needed to remember.

Y/N: just got home, about to get ready! Can’t wait to see you at 6 ♥︎

Spencer smiled at his phone, about to text her back when Penelope laid a hand on his back, “change into your suit and head back to her, traffic might be bad?”

“Thank you, for everything. You’ve always been my best friend, more of big sister actually,” Spencer pressed his lips together tightly as to not get emotional. “You’re wonderful Penelope, thank you.”

“Awe!” She swooned, wrapping him up in a big hug. “I will always love you, Spencer, you deserve all of this and so, so much more, now go before I cry.”

He laughed, pulling back, hand lingering on her shoulder as he walked into the museum. They let him change in the backroom, it felt incredibly strange to be putting on a suit inside Edgar Allan Poe's house to go pick up his wife. Not too long ago he dreamed about bringing a girlfriend here someday, life was moving too quickly, he needed a breather.

He kept his suit jacket folded and on the passenger seat as he drove home, where he lived with his family. Even just thinking that as he paid attention to the road made him smile. The wind hitting his face, his hair blowing in the breeze, he felt free at last.

He was where he was supposed to be, all roads lead to here.

Travelling up her driveway with a smile on his face as the dust followed him to her doorstep. She was waiting in a red dress on the porch, Amoreena and her nanny eating pizza on the steps as they waited for him.

Stepping out of his car, he straightened his tie and pulled his pants up more, looking at his wife like she was a star plucked from the sky, landing in this Virginia field for him.

She stood then, her satin dress flowing and exposing a leg as she walked down the steps to him, “Is this what you wanted?” She twirled in front of him to show it all off, her hair getting stuck in her lipstick and making her laugh.

“I love you,” is all he can say as she leaning in with a wide grin, surpassing the smile to kiss him gently, using her thumb to get all the lipstick off his bottom lip and chin.

“Love you too, cutie,” she winked, taking his hand and turning back towards Amoreena, “listen to Nanny, remember we love you and we will see you no earlier than 7:30 tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes ma’am!” She saluted, mouth full of pizza.

“And what are the new rules about coming into our bed in the morning?”

“Knock first, wait till you respond, don’t come in unless you say it’s okay,” Amoreena replied, sticking her tongue out at her as she remembered it all.

“Smartie pants,” Y/N smiled at her, “come give us a hug, don’t get pizza on my dress, please.”

Amoreena wiped her sleeve over her mouth before running into her mother's open arms, they shared goodbye kisses before it was Spencer’s turn. She held him so tight it felt wonderful, “goodnight Lovey, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, have the best sleep ever for me?”

“I’ll see you in dreamland,” she replied, kissing his cheek gently before she pulled back.

“Have fun!” Nanny called from the porch as Amoreena skipped back to her.

“We will,” Spencer replied, taking Y/N’s hand and leading her to the passenger side, he opened her door and helped her inside, insuring her dress was inside before closing the door.

Jogging back to his door, he got in and put on his seatbelt. He threw the car in reverse and turned around by the barn, heading down the driveway, not saying a single thing as Y/N stared at him.

“You’re really not going to tell me anything?” She shook her head, licking her lip before biting it as she huffed.

“We’re going to Richmond, Virginia, to read,” he gave her one hint.

“Hmm,” she smiled, “I’m sure you won't tell me the title, so Mr. I can remember every book ever, what’s a random line in it?”

“You’re smart,” he teased her, “but for the brilliant green of the huge leaves that spread from their summits in long, tremulous lines, dallying with the Zephyrs—”

“We’re going to the Edgar Allan Poe Museum!” She cut him off with a cheer.

He slows down on the barren dirt road, mouth wide open as she got it right, he turns to her as they come to a complete stop, “how the heck did you get that?”

“Yes!” she laughed, tossing her head back as she clapped and kicked her feet a little, so proud of herself, “I’m a librarian, Spencer! Did you think I wouldn’t know Eleonora?”

“That’s the most random sentence in the whole poem?” Spencer was shocked, she recalled it faster than he thought he would be able to if she read a line to him.

“My brother’s first motorcycle was a Zephyr,” she smiled at him, raising her eyebrows. “My brain is kinda like a filing cabinet, if you give me a word I can remember everything I’ve ever heard with that word included.”

He started to drive again, shaking his head as he paid attention to the road but still astounded by how amazing she is. “Amoreena gets that from you then, she could have both our eidetic memories together, that would be very interesting to see.”

“Eidetic memory?” She questioned.

“It’s what most people call photographic memory,” Spencer explained. “You can remember everything you hear which is why you and Amoreena are able to recall songs, books and movie facts so fast, while I can read back to you anything I’ve read without having to see it again, it’s forever in my mind.”

“So we’re both geniuses, cool,” Y/N smiled at him again, “sorry I ruined your surprise.”

“You just know where we’re going,” he reminded her, laying his hand on hers, interlocking their fingers as he drove.

They had an hour alone before the real date started.

So she showed him all of her favourite songs, including some of Amoreena’s playlists so he could get familiar with them before their trip to Rhode Island. Her voice was impeccable, she knew all the words and harmonies, often opting to cove background voices he wouldn’t have even known were there if it wasn’t for her.

She loved music in a way that intrigued him, she enjoyed music with a story. Much like the reason she loved books so much, she enjoyed picturing the happy places in her mind that the songs were able to take her to, they filled her with glee and hope as she sang to her heart's content. Taking short breaks to explain the meanings of songs, to recite the best lyrics and why the songs are close to her heart.

“Do you want to hear the song that reminds me the most of you?” She asked between songs, pausing so that nothing else would start.

“Sure,” he blushed, nervous for what it could be and how she imagined him in her mind, hoping he could live up to it.

“I'm perfectly fine I live on my own, I made up on my mind, I'm better off bein' alone. We met a few weeks ago, now you try on callin' me, baby, like tryin' on clothes,”

She stares at him with a beautiful smile as she waits to see his reaction to the opening, finally singing when the beat drops, dancing softly in her seat as she belted the words out to him.

“So prove to me I'm your American Queen, and you move to me like I'm a Motown beat, and we rule the kingdom inside my room,” She brushed her hand across his jaw, teasing him as the words flow from her lips to his ears, she loves him and he can feel it with every syllable.

“And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for, King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa! And all at once, you are all I want, I'll never let you go King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa,” she sings so softly, with a purpose, turning it down a little so that he can talk to her.

“I love you,” he reminded her, “so much it hurts sometimes.”

“It’s like your heartstrings are tugging on each other, right?” She agreed, “like they want to jump out of our chests and run to each other.”

He nodded with a soft smile, reaching for her hand again holding it as he brought it to his mouth for a kiss, “queen of my heart.”

“Hmmm,” she thought over his words, “I’m pretty content with being princess still, Lady Amoreena is in line for the thrown, it’s part of her namesake after all.”

“Does the kingdom have a name?”

“You know the Elton John song Goodbye Yellow Brick Road?” She waited for his nod, “my grandma called it Ozellous so it’s like wizard of Oz but I added the 'ellous' because people always said they were jealous of our farm.”

He’s trying his best to keep his eyes on the road when all he want’s to do is look at her smile, to see her pupil change as she recalls the loving memory, it’s his favourite thing to do. Better than any movie or play, seeing her face was better than looking at the most expensive art piece. He was so in love with all of her.

“Were you like Amoreena as a kid?”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed, “bullied hardcore for it too, kids always told me to shut up cause I’d add facts to conversations I wasn’t a part of.”

“I would have loved to listen,” Spencer replied softly, knowing the feeling all too well.

They were only a few minutes away now, turning into the small town and passing quaint little homes and cottages. “Amoreena would love this drive, these are some interesting townspeople homes for her imagination, we should come back sometime this summer.”

His heart was going to actually explode, she was everything he never knew he needed.

“I’d love that,” he added as they pulled into the museum. “I’m a museum member and I’m a patron, so sometimes I donate rare pieces I find, they love me here.”

Her mouth opened to speak, but her eyes got caught on the twinkling lights in the distance, mesmerized by everything. Old cobblestone streets, brick buildings and wooden gates, it was straight out of the 1800s and absolutely fantastical.

“And it’s all ours for the night,” he put the car in park and turned to her, “wait here?”

She nodded, speechless as she continued to look out the window at everything. Spencer got out of the car, opening the back seat to grab and put on his jacket, straighten out his suit before opening her door and extending a hand to help her out.

“Princess,” he extended his arm for her to tuck her own under, he closed her door and escorted her through the gate and towards the garden.

The sun was just starting to set, 7 pm in early June being the most beautiful time of year in rural Virginia, the sky was a perfect purple as he leads her through the stone arches towards the picnic.

Her eyes sparkled with all the lights, wide and pupils blown as she took it all in. It was a fairytale, she was in a princess dress, he was the king of her heart and this was just the beginning of happily ever after.

“Spencer, whatever your middle name is, Reid,” she gasped, swatting his arm lightly with a smile growing on her face.

“It’s Walter,” he smiled right back.

He let go of her hand then and walked over to a table, turning on the record player and dropping the needle in the right spot. He did his research into some Taylor Swift songs, finding one that reminded him the most of Y/N and how much he loved her.

“May I have this dance?” He asks as she notices the all too familiar guitar strumming.

He reaches a hand out for her, pulling her in as she takes it, “I was so so lost before I found you in the park,” he explains the first verse, barely a whisper beside her ear as they start to sway.

There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place Walls of insincerity Shifting eyes and vacancy, vanished when I saw your face

“All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you,” he whispers once more, feeling the goosebumps bursting on her bare arms.

He spun her around, extending both their arms as she twirled out and then back into his embrace again with a giggle. She swayed back and forth, dancing with him like the night they got married in her field.

Your eyes whispered "have we met?" Across the room your silhouette starts to make it's way to me The playful conversation starts Counter all your quick remarks, like passing notes in secrecy

“And it was enchanting to meet you, All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you,” he sings them this time, spinning her out again as the chorus hits, her eyes widening as she began to smile wider than he’s ever seen before.

They sang the words together as they danced, smiling and laughing as they moved around the cobblestone. Finding a rhythm so perfect, so them, it was silly and not on beat in the slightest, mostly spinning, it was a spinning song if the album cover was any indication.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you!

“The lingering question kept me up, Two a.m., who do you love? I wonder till I'm wide awake! Now I'm pacing back and forth, wishing you were at my door, I'd open up and you would say, hey! It was enchanting to meet you, all I know is I was enchanted to meet you,” Y/N’s voice softer than ever as she sang her anxieties into his ear, remembering the day at the museum where she wondered if she could have him all to herself.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you

Spinning around in circles she leaves his grasp, dress circling in the wind and he watches her. She takes both his hands and spins around with him in a tight circle before pulling back in, their chests bumping as they laughed, happier than he’s ever been in his entire life, and she’s made him pretty happy in the last few weeks.

The girl of his dreams, dancing around him with a smile like she was making her own music video. This was a dream of hers he didn’t know, making it come true as it became a dream of his own.

He places his hands on her cheeks as he stares into her eyes, “this is me praying that this was the very first page, not where the storyline ends. My thoughts will echo your name until I see you again. These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon, I was enchanted to meet you,” he whisper’s the words, barely singing, more talking.

“Please don't be in love with someone else. Please don't have somebody waiting on you. Please don't be in love with someone else. Please don't have somebody waiting on you,” she sings right back to him, staring into his eyes as they stand still in the garden.

She pulls him into a kiss, breathing in deeply through her nose as they hold each other’s cheeks, unable to get closer as they kissed. Pulling away with a loud smooch sound, smiling before taking her hands in his, once more.

Spinning her around again as the beat drops once more, her smile more beautiful than the first time he saw it. He was so madly in love, he firmly believed he was in heaven.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew!!

This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you!

Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you

“Now go stand in the corner and think about what you did,” Taylor Swift's voice cuts into the beautiful moment as her songs change and the mood drastically changes.

Y/N bursts out in laughter, jumping lightly as she enjoyed the song, head-banging along as she danced by herself until Spencer turned the music off once again, “you’re so cute.”

“Thank you,” she bowed, “this is cute!”

“There’s a picnic basket in the fridge inside, and some wine if you think that’s a good idea?” Pointing towards the main house, she followed him towards the door.

“Oh, hello?” Her voice changed as she noticed the two black cats on the window, letting Spencer head inside for the basket as she talked to them.

“That’s Edgar and Pluto, the groundskeeper found them in the shed in 2012,” Spencer explains as he comes back out, basket in hand but she’s too busy with the cats to notice.

Petting both their faces, they stretch into her reach and bask in the feeling of her nails on their skin, Spencer would agree it felt nice. He loved the feeling of her hands in his hair, he must have been a cat in his last life.

“Amoreena wants her own indoor cat,” Y/N smiled wide at him, “she always wanted to call him Hercules like the Elton John song, almost like she knew you were her dad all along.”

She took his free hand then, following him towards the blanket in the grass, “how?”

“There’s a line in the song about Greek gods, but it says Hercules on her side and Diana in her eyes, and she does have your mom's eyes, right down to the colour of her iris,” Y/N looked at him like he was everything to her.

Spencer couldn’t speak, he just set the basket on the ground and ushered her to sit down beside him. She held the skirt of her dress up so she could sit crisscross applesauce on the blanket, draping her dress over her legs so she didn’t show anything off just yet.

“Every time I look at you I understand all her quirks and her facial expressions,” she added like she was trying to make him cry, “I’ve been looking at her for almost 8 years now, wondering who you were and now I know, and you’re so much better than I ever imagined.”

“Would you have looked for me when she turned 18?” Is all he can ask through his sniffles, trying to hold it together for her.

She nodded, “I was going to tell her soon anyway, she asks a lot of questions I’m not sure if you noticed.” Her giggle was priceless, “she had lots of questions when the goats were born this year and that meant her asking more about making human babies and I just said a special man helped me make my dreams come true, and she thought it was Rumpelstiltskin.”

Spencer couldn’t fight the laugh that erupted from him, leaning forward as he chuckled, making her laugh too. “Does she even know the whole story?”

“She’s only seen the 4th Shrek movie with him, she has no idea that he also takes the babies,” Y/N placed her hand on his knee gently, “If I get pregnant again, I’m going to tell her about how it all works as simply as possible, I want her to feel included in this and she’ll be less jealous if she sees this as a learning opportunity.”

“That’s a good idea,” he agreed, “I still can't believe she almost punched Michael for hugging me.”

“Oh, I can,” Y/N laughed again, “she was being bullied last year by an older kid and I said if someone upsets you or hurts you, sometimes it’s not that bad to hurt them back. Make them know you’re not weak and you care about yourself, and she gave a kid a black eye for tugging on her braid.”

Spencer couldn’t stop smiling, “that’s my girl.”

Y/N opened the picnic basket then, taking everything out with a smile as Spencer stared at her, thinking a million different thoughts about future kids, how Amoreena would grow up, seeing her as a big sister to hopefully many.

They both leaned forward and kissed softly, smiling as they pulled back, “so you like charcuterie?”

She laughed, “Amoreena called it shark coochie once, I can’t not think of that now.”

“How many kids do you want?”

“Have you ever read cheaper by the dozen?” She teased him. “As many as I can have, I have the funds thanks to my job and the farm and not having to pay a mortgage, I was going to have another baby next year anyway, I had an appointment and everything scheduled, I even tried to get them to contact Amoreena’s father for another sample but they said they couldn’t ask you outright for me.”

“They asked me if I wanted to give another sample when I asked if I could know my kids,” Spencer remembered the words exactly, “she said ‘You have four offspring so far, none of the other samples used have produced a child, the women were all IVF as well so it wasn’t your swimmer's fault if you wanted to donate again.’”

“I don’t want to know the truth, are you okay if we let her decide if she wants to find out at 18?” Y/N asked softly, “I’m content thinking you’re her father, I don’t want to know if it’s some other tall who-lookin’ genius, okay?”

“That’s perfect actually,” Spencer agreed, “and on the kids front, you don’t mind me being in my 70s when they all start going to University?”

“My dad is 68 with no signs of stopping, and he’s still fantastic with his grandkids,” Y/N always had a fact to combat his anxiety. “You have a lot of life left in you, I’ll take good care of you so that they have the best dad ever for as long as possible.”

Spencer was so in love with his family he felt like he was floating, laughing and smiling all meal long as they shared facts back and forth about their lives. Getting to know each other more and more as the seconds passed, he imagined it would be like this forever. She was like a bottomless pit of information, facts, stories and secrets. He loved every single one she shared with him.

She poured herself a second small glass of wine, “you know they say that one glass of wine every once in a while is actually good for the baby?”

“It doesn’t work that fast,” he reminded her, more like he reminded himself. He didn’t want to hope in the chance it didn’t happen right away.

“I had a nightmare last night for the first time in a long time, so I think it worked,” she teased him. “I won't know till June 10th, that's when my next period would be.”

“Nightmare?” It was the only part he picked up on, worried for her and wondering why she didn’t wake him up.

She nodded softly, “I found out I was pregnant and you never came home, and I got lost in the forest looking for you and then I remembered I could wake up.”

He rests his hand on her knee, rubbing his thumb against her bare skin softly, “I’m always coming home to you.”

“I know, when I got pregnant with Amoreena I had bad dreams in the first few weeks too, mostly about giving birth to nothing and being alone all over again, the subconscious and pregnancy hormones are mean as fuck when they hang out,” she laughed away the pain, “I know none of it is real.”

“Good,” he whispered, not knowing what really to say, he wasn’t used to soothing other people yet. Most people didn’t want his facts or concernment when something happened, just a hug normally.

She took a deep breath, pushing everything away, “good news, either my anxiety disorder is back in full swing or something’s working in here,” she laid her hand over her stomach, “either way, I’d like to try again tonight?”

He laughed, “we don’t need to make a baby every time you want to have sex?”

She got onto her knees then, crawling over the blanket and sitting right in Spencer's lap with her hands on both of his cheeks, “I want all your babies.”

He held her waist, pulling her in closer to his chest, “right now?”

She nodded, moving her dress out of the way to undo his belt, “no one is here right? It’s not like anyone would know?”

“Mhmm,” he agreed, kissing her neck as she unzipped his pants, moving his underwear out of the way just enough to free his hardening cock, she stroked it right there in the middle of the garden, staring down between their bodies in awe as he came to life.

Sitting up on her knees more, the slit of her dress made it a lot easier for her to show him her underwear. She was wearing just a thong, perfect for pulling to the side as she lowered herself onto him, ever so slowly.

She fixed her dress around them, completely calm and composed as he was fully inside of her, “you’re okay with this?”

He huffed a laugh out of his nose, dropping his forehead to her shoulder so he couldn’t buck into her and ruin the moment she was making, his hands moving to her hips, guiding her back and off him slightly before back down again, making her gasp.

“I thought you wanted to read?” She teased him as she started to ride him more, moving her hips in a way that took him in and out of her at just the right angle, her hands on his shoulders as she bounced on him lightly, he couldn’t even think straight. “Go on, read to me.”

He took a second to remember the words, mind totally somewhere else and not interested in a book at all when her boobs were right in his face.

“I am come of a race noted for vigor of fancy and ardor of passion,” the first sentence slipped past his lips as she kept going, he took a moment to kiss right under her ear before continuing.

“Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence—whether much that is glorious—whether all that is profound—does not spring from disease of thought—from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.”

“Shit,” she moaned, pushing his hand down towards her clit, “you can multitask, smartie pants.”

His thumb was on a mission then, rubbing small circles against her pleasure point, she tossed her head back with her eyes closed as she continued to ride him, “I don’t hear you reading?”

He moaned softly in her ear at the feeling, and the fact she wanted to get off to hearing him recite something from memory, it was more euphoric than he could have ever imagined.

“They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in ah- awakening, fuck,” he was trying his best to stay as composed as she was when he really just wanted to lay her against the blanket and fuck her into next week.

“to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret,” Y/N whispered the end of the sentence, grinding down on him harder than before.

“In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good,” she whispered into his ear, biting his earlobe softly with a moan and he kept rubbing her clit, “you’re so good, Spencer, so so good," she paused to enjoy the moment before whispering in his ear once more, "And more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however, rudderless or compass-less into the vast ocean of the "light ineffable," and again, like the adventures of the Nubian geographer, "agressi sunt mare tenebrarum, quid in eo esset exploraturi.”

Her words softer than ever and they were never going to get to the end of this poem, he'd never know how the rest of the words sound on her tongue, she pulled him into a kiss then, moaning into his mouth as they ground against each other, finding a perfect rhythm to bring them to the end.

“There, yes, fuck,” she whispered against his lips, pushing against him as she arched her back slightly, slipping away from his mouth as she did so.

He slammed into her then as he chased her lips, making her whimper one last time before she was shaking in his lap, her legs quivering as she finished on him, sending him over the edge and stilling as he came with a shudder. He held her so close, both of them breathing into each other's mouths as they came down, kissing and smiling as they stayed connected.

“We’ll name her Eleonora,” Y/N teased, pulling off him and laying back against the blanket.

He made sure her underwear was back in the right spot before covering her with her dress again and sliding himself back into his underwear.

“Amoreena and Eleonora have a good ring to it, we just need 10 more names,” he teased right back.

“Hopefully we have a little boy one day too,” she smiled as she tugged him down beside her, cuddling into her side as they stared up at the newly dark blue sky and the array of stars that decided to join them this evening.

“Even if it’s just Amoreena, I’ve never been happier in my whole life than when I’m with you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“For what?” She asked, purely to keep hearing his voice.

“Making me want to get up in the morning again, giving me a reason not to buy drugs for something euphoric to happen to me, showing me real love and proof that happiness is possible if you just chose to be happy,” he gave example after example.

“I thought I learned everything the world had to offer, but you’ve been showing me new little life hacks that make the world so much better, I see a future of bright colours and happiness and laughter for the first time ever, so thank you.”

She held him closer, “it’s been a pleasure falling in love with you, together, you deserve to love yourself. You’re so wonderful Spencer, it breaks my heart to know that anyone has ever made you feel the opposite.”

He couldn’t speak anymore, turning to kiss her neck and cheek so he had something to do that wasn’t crying. He loved her so incredibly deeply that he felt like he was an anchor, dropping to the bottom of her deepest ocean, without a single plan to leave.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187

[fw00shy]

hello!! i see that you're taking prompts 👀❣️ i would love to see your take on hitman draco - whose next target is harry

hello shal!! I loved your prompt and wanted to write something super dangerous and sexy for it, but instead I wrote this. 😅 

Horrible Luck

Harry/Draco | M | 2.8k | Hit-Wizards, Humor, Catsuit, brief mention of dudley working out in front of the telly | ao3 link

When does a relationship stop moving forward and start looping back like a broken time-turner, intent on rewinding the same disagreements in perpetude? When did all the little quirks Draco used to love about Harry turn into a list of things he wouldn't need to deal with if he were alone? Draco's mind is on his kitchen table this morning — specifically, the half-eaten plate of eggs that Harry left behind; Harry knows the kneazle will sick up from it — so Draco doesn't notice the name on his latest assignment until he's already signed off the disclosure forms.

Harry James Potter.

"We don't need him dead for a few days," Pansy's saying. "Just get it done before the Rodney Snyder Bill comes to a vote in Parliament on Monday."

"Get it done..." Draco trails off, swallowing sickly.

"Yes, Draco? Sorry — oh-thirteen. Blast this numbering system. It isn't as though you're on my payroll as 013. I'm tempted to order a hit on you just so I won't need to write all five bloody titles of yours every two weeks. Only joking, of course — Draco? You alright there?" She taps the heel of her stiletto against the desk, where she has it propped up next to her coffee.

Draco blinks. "Right, yes. Before the Rodney Snyder Bill. Which bill is that again?"

"It's the usual hem-haw about how life is so unfair blahblahblah." Pansy waves the peacock-feathered quill in her left hand. "Don't worry yourself over it. Are you all worked up because it's Harry Potter? I know you had a bit of a tiff with him back in school, but hadn't we all? Potter's an absolute waste of breath if you ask me."

"It's not that..."

"What is it? If it's because of his involvement in the last war, you needn't worry about that. All our sources report that he's nothing more than a tax acrobat for Muggles now, on the days that he's not wreaking havoc with his voting powers in Parliament. I don't know what half those words mean, but I want a drink just for saying them out loud."

Draco decides that it is probably not in his best interest to tell Pansy that Harry was actually a tax accountant, and yes — it is indeed as dull as Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom if their dinnertime conversations concerning the subject matter are any indicator.

Draco's mind flits briefly back home. He hopes their kneazle didn't manage to eat any of the eggs before Draco cleaned up Harry's forgone plate. Who knows where she'll puke it up this time. If she ruins his pillow again... Potter is in for a slaying. Only verbally, of course.

"Don't worry about me," Draco says.

"I never do," Pansy says far too flippantly to be a lie. "As I said, you have a few days, so finesse it however you like. Toy with him a bit, for all I care. Get him in bed, then turn a wand on him — go wild. Now doesn't that sound exciting!"

Draco decidedly does not tell her about the last time he "turned a wand" on Harry in bed. Let's just say that it was both slippery and steamy and smelt faintly of strawberries.

"Alright, Pan — sorry, P. I'll get it done. You know I will."

"That's my boy," she smirks. "Now come give me a kiss before you go."

Pansy started demanding that sort of goodbye after she picked it up from a Muggle romcom. "Absolutely disgusting," she'd proclaimed, kissing Draco's cheeks. But the kisses stayed while the mocking subsided. Don't let it fool you, though — she still has plenty of unlearning to do. They get along fine as long as Pansy keeps her mouth shut.

Which is practically never. This is Pansy, after all. Her father liked to joke that she was born wailing for someone to wipe her arse. But Pansy is the only family Draco has left.

The next few days pass in the doldrums of a daily routine. Draco goes off to the local library and does his usual research (a combination of Muggle Internet and blood spells for tracking; Find My Friends is a godsend) despite knowing full well where Harry is at all times. He watches Harry's green dot make its way down the tube to the financial district by way of the Pret a Manger on 3rd Street. The blinking green dot doesn't move for several hours (it never does; Draco knows because he tracks Harry every few weeks out of paranoia). Draco is starving by noon, but he hangs on until three to see if Harry's dot will move the slightest; but alas, Harry is as much the meticulous Gryffindor hero at tax accounting as he was at Horcrux hunting; he doesn't do so much as grab a bite at the cafe in the lobby.

Harry heads home at precisely five-thirty. Draco waits a respectable fifteen minutes before doing the same, so Harry has time to put dinner on the table. The spread tonight smells delicious as it always is: roasted chicken and potatoes, broccolini, those purple carrots that Harry covets from the Muggle farmer's market; homemade treacle tart for dessert. Sometimes Draco wonders how Harry can manage all of this in the fifteen minutes he has before Draco gets home, but he never questions it for long. Who knows how cooking charms work. Not Draco. He's still a Malfoy, after all.

Harry kisses him good-evening before they sit for dinner. They share meaningless conversation about their day. Draco makes up some story about how Hannah in Marketing took the last premade salad he wanted from the deli down the block and is appalled over how, even in his made-up life, he's about as dull as Neville's — well, you know.

"If I hear another word about Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom, I'm going to start thinking you want to fuck it," Harry declares while savagely tearing into his chicken thigh. Draco shudders at the sight; whoever taught Harry how to cook clearly forgot to teach him how to eat.

Still, it's a clear opening for a fight. Draco welcomes it as one does a summer storm, and soon they're throwing plates at each other. The kneazle (Morticia; Granger's idea) scampers out of the kitchen — that Hufflepuff coward — and Draco manages to graze Harry's left cheek before they stall to catch their breath.

The calm is a fallacy, of course; the eerie stillness of a storm's eye, broken up in the next minute with a low growl, and they're clawing at each other again. Except now, Draco is inexplicably hard.

But still, so incredibly bored.

What is the standard deviation of the time from start to Scourgify? Draco wouldn't be surprised if it's less than five minutes.

Monday comes and goes. Draco's thinking about Harry's dirty socks, the ones he tucks between the sofa cushions, while Pansy dresses him down for his latest failure.

"I swear, oh-thirteen. If we weren't like family..." Pansy trails off, her crimson-lacquered nail pointed threateningly at Draco.

"Sorry, Pans," Draco says, trying his level best to look his most innocent. It's not his fault he's an awful hit-wizard, alright? They should've known from his resume. Ronald Weasley, Katie Bell, Rosmerta, Dumbledore... mainly, he kills his marks by accident. He's got horrible luck.

Pansy declares that this is Draco's final chance. And then a week passes, and Harry stays alive. Draco's dead bored staring at his boyfriend's unmoving green dot all day on Apple Maps. He's made friends with Stephanie-the-librarian, though; they go out for a pick-me-up around three pm, and then Draco makes up stories about how she sends him racy pictures of their fake manager and this and that over dinner with Harry. All's okay if not precisely thrilling until the bill passes with Harry still alive, and then Draco reports to Pansy's office with Theo also in the room.

Theo is wearing a full suit, which is par for the course. But Draco knows he's in trouble because Pansy has her heels off her desk.

"Oh-thirteen," Theo booms. "You let the James Buckles Bill pass."

"Which one is that?" Draco asks between nervous swallows.

"Ten-percent increase in taxes on long-term capital gains," Theo explains the same time Pansy snaps, "None of your business."

"Right." Draco has no idea what these words mean. "Umm... sorry?"

"And the week before," Theo says, pacing now, "you let the Rodney Synder Bill pass."

"Ten-percent increase on income tax for those who make more than seven figures a year," Pansy says before Draco can ask.

Figures? Income? None of this means anything to Draco. If he wanted to be a solicitor... well, he's a Malfoy. Malfoys solicit, never solicitator. Or whatever the word for it is.

"It's only two bills, sir," Pansy pipes up in Draco's defence. "Meaningless in the grand scheme of things compared to the Pepper Oakley Bill tomorrow."

"What is —"

"Thirty-percent increase on property tax on all parcels of land within major metropolitan districts, and a twenty-percent increase on all property over two acres, compounding," Pansy hisses to Draco before turning her full attention back to Theo. "Which will not pass. Draco's been building up a relationship with the mark, hasn't he?" She kicks Draco with the pointed tip of her heel.

"Yes!" Draco yelps out in pain. "Yes, absolutely. I've been building... a relationship with Ha — the mark. He's umm. He thinks we're in love."

Theo regards Draco with narrowed eyes. "In love."

"Turns out he's desperately lonely," Draco says with a mocking sneer, though the truth is that they were both rather pathetic in the beginning.

Draco's story passes Theo's muster. He straightens up and gives them one last menacing glower before he leaves. Draco and Pansy stare at the door for a long, vacant second.

Pansy turns to Draco with a sigh when Theo's footsteps retreat down the hall. "Are you really seeing Potter?"

"Oh. Umm... sort of."

"I'm happy for you," she says. "You worry me, you know. Can't be too healthy for the aura with you sulking about all the time."

"Right," Draco says.

"Right," Pansy agrees. She schools her features. "Sorry about the, um — having to kill your boyfriend."

"It's alright," Draco says.

"Right." She coughs. "Well, then. I suppose you ought to go prep. Remember to get it done before tomorrow morning. If I were you, I'd get it done tonight, so you can stop worrying about it and have a decent night's sleep. Now come and give me a kiss before you go."

Draco short-circuits his usual trip to the library and heads straight home. The midday sun comes in too bright from the printed kitchen curtains. He's never noticed how disproportionately large the clumsily illustrated lemons are in comparison to the cherries and ice cubes — but that's what he gets for letting Harry pick the print. When Harry's dead, he'll replace them with a pattern worthy of the Malfoy name. He's always liked snakes and daggers (just the image of them; they're ghastly in reality).

He gets hungry enough around three to rifle through their cabinets for a snack. All he finds are two expired Twinkies and a can of tuna that he realises only after his first bite that it's meant for Morticia. He briefly considers popping by the library to see what Stephanie's up to before deciding against it. He needs to focus on murdering his boyfriend.

Draco is in the middle of purging his wardrobe when he finds his hit-wizard uniform hanging in the back. It's all black and one-piece, like a Muggle wetsuit but much sleeker, like a seal. But not as adorably chubby. More like Catwoman. Lithe, but deadly. Unfortunately, it's not a very practical uniform for murder, so Draco hasn't worn it in years. He slips it on out of morbid curiosity and is pleasantly surprised to find that it still fits him — especially around his arse. Morgana and Mordred both, his arse.

He loses track of time admiring himself in the mirror. And that's when Harry opens the bedroom door.

"Fuck," Draco says. His wand is out and trained on Harry's chest. (Hit-wizard reflexes; Draco's terrible at murder but surprisingly adept at keeping himself alive.) "I — um. I can explain."

"Merlin, you look hot in that," Harry says. He sounds like he's come back from running. "I've always wanted to see you wear it."

"What?"

"Your hit-wizard catsuit." Harry holds both hands up and steps toward Draco. "So fucking hot. I'm going to fuck you into a wall if you let me get any closer. Promise."

Did someone start up the fireplace? "I knew you stared a bit too hard at Halle Berry's arse the last time we watched Catwoman."

"Can you blame me for imagining what you'd look in it?"

"You don't look so bad yourself," Draco purrs. He can't help himself; Harry hasn't looked so fit in years. What is it about him today? Did he do something different with his hair? No...

Harry disarms Draco's wand hand and pushes him up against the wall. He's always been good at following through on his promises.

Draco's washing up in the shower when he realises what's different about Harry today. Harry's wearing an Auror uniform.

Draco bursts out of the shower still wet and dripping. He finds Harry in the living room with the telly on.

"You're going to ruin the carpet with all that water," Harry says, his nose scrunched. He's still got his crimson Auror robes blatantly bunched over the sofa.

"You're a fucking liar," Draco says. "Muggle tax accountant? I can't believe I bought that lie."

Harry remains painfully nonchalant. "We both had our secrets."

"But you knew mine." Merlin, for how long? Was their whole relationship a sham to —

Harry sighs and spells Draco dry. A bathrobe — plushy and cottony, Draco's favourite — flies in from the bedroom to wrap around Draco's shoulders.

Draco begrudgingly shrugs it on.

"Sit down," Harry says, patting the space next to him. Draco almost does as asked, but stops when he spots the smelly old sock peeking between the seat cushions.

"You're an Auror," Draco says. His lips sneer involuntarily at the betrayal.

"And you're the hit-wizard out to kill me. Yet we're both still here," Harry says. "Come on, Draco. Sit down."

Draco eyes the sock.

Harry's face purples. "Is this about the bloody sock? For the thousandth time, it's not me leaving them about. It's Morticia!"

Harry vanishes the sock. Suitably appeased, Draco walks over to their sofa and sits primly at the edge of it.

"I wasn't actually going to kill you," Draco says by way of an apology.

"I know that," Harry says. "You're an idiot. Hit-wizard, really? It's a wonder how I ever thought you were my nemesis."

"That is absolutely rude and uncalled for," Draco says. "I was plenty good at Quidditch."

Harry grins. "I'll give you that. Most distracting arse on the pitch... some things never change."

"You don't look so bad yourself in those robes," Draco says. He coughs. "I mean. We should... talk."

"Yes."

They've never been good at talking.

"So..." Harry says slowly. "What are you going to tell them when I'm still alive tomorrow?"

"Oh, I dunno. Can't you pretend you're dead? Please? For me."

"I'll be helping a lot of people if we pass this bill," Harry says apologetically.

Right. Saviour complex. Draco's painfully familiar with compromising around that character flaw. "Pansy's going to kill me," Draco sighs. "Well, unless we kill her first. But I'd rather not. She's my favourite person in the world — besides, you, of course."

"She's actually. Um." Harry coughs. "I think she's going to be fine."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... err."

"No," Draco gasps. "No, don't tell me she's been a mole this whole time."

"Err. Well..." Harry scratches the back of his head. "Did you know she's getting married to my cousin Dudley?"

"The awful Muggle bully?"

"He's um. He turned alright in the end? He's been working out in front of the telly. Bought these free weights and all... says it's really changed his outlook on life."

"Sweating in front of the telly changed his life?"

"Something like that," Harry says.

"That sounds disgusting."

"Yeah... I try not to think about it much either. So, err… takeaway? Greek, maybe? You loved the rotisserie chicken we had a few weeks ago. Before um, you started throwing it at me."

Shouldn't they be discussing something serious? Draco already forgets what. "Takeaway? But don't you —"

"Right," Harry laughs. "Now that everything else is out in the open, I suppose there's no harm in you knowing that I order takeaway and vanish away the boxes before you come home."

"I..."

"Draco? You aren't mad, are you?"

Mad, no. Surprised — absolutely. But Draco should've known that dating Harry Potter would never be boring.

Read on AO3

[noxshade]

Day 30 & 31: Showdown and Anticlimax

“Why don’t you show yourself, ‘Mistress’?”

Reimu Hakurei looked around, trying to find the mastermind of this plot.  The moon had risen by this late hour; not that you could see it clearly, just a pale red glow behind the scarlet fog.  There was a great rumbling in the air, and a cloud of bats flew past Reimu, converging in a swarming mass.  From this writhing, a figure emerged.  

A slender young girl, her skin a bloodless, pallid shade.  She was clad in soft pinks and vibrant reds in an aristocratic, gothic, western style, two leathery bat wings, black as night against the red mist, spouted from her back, lazily flapping far too slowly to support her, but still she hung in the air before her.  She brushed a lock of her wavy, powder-blue hair behind one pointed ear and looked down at Reimu.

“Ah, just one?  I was told there were two human intruders,” she said in a vaguely western accent.  

An outsider then, Reimu guessed, based on her voice. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me for now.  The other one is dealing with your pet wizard,” she said.  She and Marisa had been ambushed by the maid and the librarian, and they had split up to deal with them.

“Oh, so that’s how it all worked out.  I look forward to seeing the book Patchy will bind with her skin.”  The looks of quiet amusement as she said this betrayed her age, thought Reimu.  The hint of bemused malice in her child’s voice and the shadow of sadism that crossed her too-young face told Reimu that whatever this thing was, it was nowhere near as young as it appeared.

“And I assume you’re looking to do something similar to me, yeah?” Reimu asked.  She shifted her grip on her gohei purification rod and stared back into those blood-red, slit-pupiled eyes.  “Something cruel and unspeakable?”

“It’s not polite to assume things, especially about your host,” the girl responded.  She folded her hands in front of her, like they were making polite conversation.  “I’m rather thinking of asking you to leave my manor for this behavior.  You’ve harassed my staff, disrupted their work, annoyed my friend and if you don’t leave soon you may disturb my dear sister.”

“Well, remove the red fog from Gensokyo, and you might make it back to your dear sister in one piece,” Reimu said, drawing a handful of ofuda talismans.

“If you think this is a game, priestess, you’re sadly mistaken,” the girl said.  She flicked her hand and a massive, intricately ornate winged spear flew into her outstretched palm, too fast for Reimu to tell where it had come from.  “This is all too real.”  They both smiled tightly.

“Looks like it's going to be a long night.”

“Looks like it's going to be a fun night.”

~~~

Reimu Hakurei awoke from another dream, again anxious, disappointed and confused.  These dreams of a fantasy land were always so exciting, but when she awoke it all turned back to crushing disappointment as she remembered her real life.

She rolled checked her bedside clock, and despite wanting to stay in bed another hour, she judged that it was time to start her day.  She rolled off her futon and began her morning routine.  Boil a kettle for tea, brush hair, toast bread, find clothes.  As she spread a tiny amount of jam on her toast, she tried to remember what her dream had been about.  Another of her many heroic fantasies, like all dreams they faded almost as soon as she woke up.  But this one had been so intense, was she fighting a vampire with a spear?

She finished her toast, and found some clean clothes.  A once-bright red hoodie, now a deeper, faded color, and an equally old pair of khaki cargo pants, now devoid of almost all color except the dull smear of age.  She slipped into her pair of beat-up sneakers and tied up her hair into a loose bun, tied with one of her keepsakes from her mother, a red, frilled ribbon.  The locals had always talked about her with such admiration, Reimu felt a private shame that she couldn’t remember much of anything about her, but the ribbon and the two red fabric tubes she wore on her long sidelocks felt familiar in a way nothing else did.

Finally dressed, she slid her front door up, and stepped out into the mid-morning fog of Gensokyo, Tokyo.  Tucked away between Shinkaji and Shimokitazawa, the neighborhood was oft-forgotten by the authorities, filled equally with retirees and hipsters.  Reimu grabbed her broom from inside the Hakurei Shrine, and closed the door.  She checked her donation box on her way down the stairs, and pocketed the spare coins; judging them enough for a sandwich lunch from the corner store later in the day.  She set to sweeping the path between the torii and the shrine, trying to keep this tiny corner of nature wedged between urban sprawl clean.

“Um, hello?” came a voice from behind her.  Reimu turned to see a pale salaryman, sick mask over his face, looking around nervously as he stood on the threshold beneath the torii gate.  She turned and answered him.

“Hello, what are you looking for?” she said, leaning on her broom.

“Are you…the manager of this shrine?” he asked, looking around.

“No, but I would be if shrines had managers,” Reimu responded, wondering what this could possibly be about.  Another real estate stooge trying to buy up the shrine?

“Oh well, um,” he stumbled over his words before continuing. “I’ve got a bit of a weird problem, and I was given this flyer about it…” he produced a slip of paper and offered it to Reimu and she took it.  It read in white lettering outlined in red: “Exorcisms and Spiritual Exterminations: Hakurei Shrine Services” with a picture of the shrine and the address.  Marisa had made these for her months ago, and little had come from putting them all over the neighborhood except for one near-signed old woman trying to get Reimu to handle her tatami mite infestation.  Did Marisa print more of them without telling her?

“Where did you get this?” Reimu asked.   

The man looked even more nervous.  “Well, I was out drinking after work a few nights ago, and I may have started complaining about how…” he paused, looking embarrassed.  Reimu gestured for him to continue, and he collected himself.  “About how the apartment above mine is haunted.  One of the other regulars at the bar said that she knew a great exorcist who could settle the spirit, and she gave me that flyer.  Is that you?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Reimu said to try and calm his obvious nerves. “Do you know this regular?”

“Um, I don’t know her name.” Reimu gestured for him to continue again, and the man explained: “Tall, middle aged, blond hair, dressed in a dark purple business suit.  The bartender says she’s a night owl: stays until dawn, then leaves.”  Despite the right hair color, that didn’t sound anything like Marisa.  After thinking it over for a moment and coming up with nothing, she returned her attention to the salaryman.

“So, a haunted apartment above yours?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ve spoken to the building manager, but she doesn’t believe me.  She walked me through the apartment when I lodged a noise complaint, she said it’s empty because of some kind of rot in the floorboards that she can’t find anyone to fix, but…”

“What kind of noises are you hearing?”

“Moaning, scratching, and loud thumps at the floor,” he said.  “At first, it thought it must be someone that was kidnapped, or held against their will, but since she showed me that it’s empty and she keeps the door locked, I’m convinced it’s haunted.  It’s happened every night for two months now, and I can’t get any sleep.”

Reimu mulled the problem over.  She needed cash, but a locked apartment might not be so easy.  She wondered if Marisa still had her lockpicking kit from her B&E days - who was she kidding? Of course Marisa still had it, the girl never threw anything away.  Reimu checked her watch, and tried to remember when Marisa would be out of her classes; not until 5 pm at the latest, which left them plenty of time for a nighttime ritual and exorcism.

“Alright, if you can pay, I can remove this spirit for you,” Reimu said, shifting her tone of voice to her saleswoman pitch.  “Base fee is thirty thousand yen, with additional fees if the spirit is troublesome and takes longer, and a down payment of five thousand yen for materials.”

The man swallowed behind his mask.  “So, you can do it soon, then?” he said as he removed several bills from his wallet.

“Yes, we can do it tonight.  I’ll need my associate, who should be free tonight.” She accepted the five bills with a bow. “And besides, exorcisms are best performed when the spirit is active, so we’d have to wait regardless.”  She pocketed the cash, and directed the man into the shrine to get his address and take stock of her supplies.

While she may not have been as fearless as the other Reimu in her dreams, she was still an exterminator of spirits, and a keeper of Gensokyo’s balance.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29772798/chapters/74911179

(I guess this is as good a place to start an AU.  Focused on an urban fantasy feel, and majorly inspired by this picture, look for stories in this universe here and on my AO3.)

[rottenprincessshura100]

First chapter of Fanfic.

I’m reposting this in case people haven’t read it. This is the first chapter of the fanfic I’ve been working on for years. It started off as just a conversation in my head. What would Mephisto be like in a job interview? If a person met him for the first time, how strange would it be? He’s cunning, manipulative, and of course obviously a demon. Bits and pieces of me are evident in this chapter, i have a background in contemporary arts as does my OC character. (I started off writing what I know.) I thought back to that time when I finished grad school, was completely broke and couch surfing. What time a job would I have done for basic groceries? Pretty much anything.

Anyway...here it is. Feel free to pick apart the writing style. I’m trying to improve and get better at it. ;)

CHAPTER 1

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

Well, I hope today's interview will go well.  

My student loan papers sat on my kitchen table with ominous foreboding. It was time to pay up.

I won't allow this new job to define my life, and it would be good enough, just for now. Plus, I'd get a chance to spend more time in my studio making art. I just had to impress the academy director during today's interview, and I'd be able to afford some decent groceries in two weeks. That's right, Evie, think positive!

So, what should I wear to this silly thing?

It's a private religious school; that means I should dress as professionally as possible.

I have two suits to my name, so I guess I'll wear a black jacket and a red blouse. Or is the red shirt too much? Yeah, I look like a cocktail waitress.

Back to the closet I go.

Okay, how about the wine-coloured blouse and black jacket? Sensible pants and a pair of heels. Fine.

My hair is a bit harder to work with; it's pinkish-brown. I'm an artist, so I tend to be riskier in my appearance. Today though, I have to clean up—no wild eye-makeup. I need to look like an ordinary boring temp worker that can file paperwork. I pull my hair back into a severe bun, like a schoolmarm or a librarian. Yep, now I look like a vodka aunt in a cheap suit. Effective.

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

I drove along the busy narrow streets through True Cross Acadamy town. The school was a place for the well-to-do, and I'm almost embarrassed to park my junky car on the grounds.

Much to my mortification, the car backfired, drawing numerous stares from the crowds of uniform-clad students, practically bursting from every building.

Poor-ass artist alert! Here I am!

I slunk down into the seat, hoping the sun's reflection on the windshield washed out the crimson stain quickly spreading across my pale, freckled face.

After speaking with a guard at the main gate (located at the far end of an ancient drawbridge), he instructed me to drive up a long winding road to the highest point. This so-called town was, in reality, a walled city, consisting of tightly layered buildings in an array of architectural styles, all flawlessly intermixed. It was the oddest urban planning I'd ever seen, either designed by a crazy man or an absolute genius. From my own experience, I find the line between the two decidedly thin in most circumstances.

People from the mainland would often joke that True Cross City would never be completed but renovated in an endless loop. The rumours stated that the school's wealthy director never allowed the construction cranes to cease because it was merely bad luck to stay idle.

I continued my drive through the school campus to the mountain's apex—my job interview scheduled at the golden manor house of Sir Johann Faust on the 5th. The director himself would see me in his private office.

I swallowed back a slight wave of apprehension. I hope this guy isn't some sort of pervert. He most assuredly was eccentric. That I could handle.

I pulled up in front of Faust Palace, and just like the rest of the town, it's unusual. As I parked and exited my car, I'm in the shadow of tall golden spires shining like twin suns. The rest of the building reminds me of a cross between an ancient Greek temple, an art deco apartment and a mythical Arabian kingdom. I wiped my sweaty palms on the sides of my black dress pants, my demeanour full of apprehension.

Yeah, I don't belong here. I've got a bad feeling about this.

At that point, I decided to leave. Yet, I watched with foreboding as a pair of security guards materialized from the shadows and closed the elaborate golden gate, trapping me within the compound. Shit!

I made my way over the interlocking marble slabs to the ornately carved wooden front door with a heavy sigh. Before I'm able to raise my hand to knock, it quickly opens. A short older gentleman greeted me with a nod.

"Miss Evelynn Smith?" He inquired.

"Uh...yes. I'm here for the interview?"

"I am Belial, the keeper of the house. Please follow me; Director Faust will meet with you shortly."

The butler escorted me up a seemingly endless hallway. It was odd that an inconsequential temp worker, like myself, was being given the grand tour.

White marble pillars accented the grand structure, with furniture from various periods arranged throughout the abode in mini tableaus. It seemed more like a museum than someone's house. How very strange!

There were many rooms with identical doors; this place was more like a goddamn labyrinth than a manor house! I hope I can find my way out of here after this interview was over!

I tried to get a feel for my potential boss. Being an artist, I, of course, took in the paintings that hung salon-style from every square inch of walls. There seemed to be an abundance of demons and death themes. How morbid.

Stefan Lochner, The Last Judgment, Vincent Van Gogh, Head of a Skeleton with a Burning Cigarette. But wait? Aren't these all part of museum collections? I'm confused. Are they copies?

Just as the creepy dark artworks start to grate on my nerves, I round the corner into the next hallway and find myself engrossed within a pop art nightmare; wall-to-wall pink Takashi Murakami paintings hung in tandem with Jeff Koons, Made in Heaven.

Jesus! Who the hell was this guy? He's adorned his house in pink flowers and porn stars! Surely the students didn't walk into this hall?

As if on cue, the butler regarded me sheepishly. "Pupils are not permitted in Director Faust's residence. He only grants top members of the Vatican access to his private quarters."

I attempted to hold back my laughter. "So, this is a private religious school ran by the Vatican no-less, and we have trashy kink splashed all over the walls. I gotta say, I'm intrigued."

"The master has a dark sense of humour."

"Understatement of the century."

"This is the master's office," The butler ushered me quickly into a large room. "Please, take a seat. He is running a bit late from a previous meeting."

I turned back toward Belial, but he's long gone. I'm all alone in an empty room.

The office is quite different from the hall and decorated in deep mahogany wood, decidedly masculine. The desk is large and ominous; that is, it would have been if it weren't for the strange little collection of toys and knick-knacks carefully arranged next to the computer. I picked up a pink porcelain rabbit in the palm of my hand and raised an amused eyebrow.

"I'd ask that you do not touch the things on my desk."

Crap!

I hastily placed the toy back on the wooden tabletop and jumped to my feet. A tall, impossibly slender man strolled confidently into the room to greet me. He wore a crisp white suit and a long heavy cape. I shook his purple-gloved hand firmly. As I stared up into his face, I furrowed my brows in confusion.

What the actual fuck?

"Please, take a seat, Ms. Evelynn Smith." He bit his lip and snickered. "Or do you prefer...Eve..."

"Uh...Eve's fine." I replied with hesitation as I slowly eased into the yellow and blue jacquard chair.

I should look away, but I can't. Mr. Faust's hair is an impossible shade of violet purple with platinum highlights that shimmer just at the crown, he has pointed ears, and his teeth are small sharp fangs. He's dressed up like he just got back from Comicon.

Also, what's with that curly plume at the top of his head? Is it some sort of fascinator? Is it a feathered hair ornament? I don't get it.

"Okay, Eve, spill it. What's on your mind?" He rested his chin on his gloved hand and smiled knowingly. "Do I have horns growing out of my head or something?"

"It's just....uh...a great costume." I stammered. " Those ears look so real."

He seemed taken aback for a brief second. "Oh, yes! I'm an Otaku. I've had quite a few physical modifications, and it will all make sense in time."

I nodded slowly. What the hell does that even mean?

"Getting back to your resume...Eve." He finally pulled out my paperwork from a nearby folder. "So, you possess a minor in classics, a minor in philosophy and a master's degree in contemporary art. How intriguing."

"Pardon?"

"This job is for an assistant to the Vatican. Your degree is all about a personal quest for knowledge, not exactly chock-full of practical skills." He crossed his long legs and leaned back in his chair. "Your parents must have been completely disappointed, wasting all of that money. An arts degree instead of a doctor? If there was a wizard school, would you have signed up for that?"

"I paid for my education through scholarships."

He smiled smugly and read a few more pages. "So contemporary art, hmmm? Tell me how you make your artwork. What's the methodology behind it?"

"Well...I tend to work under the idea that the world is in a state of flux. Time isn't static, and we live in a non-linear narrative. I open my mind to thoughts of the impossible, the idea that they might indeed be probable under different subjective conditions. I try to allow play, chance, and chaos into the things that I build. Often by allowing more variables into a composition, we can get closer to the truth of our existence and find a deeper meaning."

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his desktop.

"I will be candid with you, Eve. I saw some of your work in a gallery in Northern Cross a few months ago. I greatly enjoyed it. You have a very open mind, which is the biggest necessity for this particular position."

"I just noticed your art collection." I countered. "It's not every day that one walks into a room of wall to wall vintage Cicconlina."

"You know your porn stars, I see?" He laughed with a merry twinkle.

"I know my art history."

"Oh...." He razzed. "Distinction made!"

"Director Faust, about this job....."

"Please. Call me, Mephisto." He gushed. "Faust is an old legal family name."

"Mephisto? Really?" I stare at him in confusion. "Your last name is Faust, and you call yourself Mephisto? Am I...?" I stammered. "... Am I walking into Dante's Inferno here?"

"You dare mock my name." He challenged. "Yet, your parents named you after Eve. The woman who was the downfall of man."

Who the hell does he think he is; Literally, devil's advocate?

"Eve decided that knowledge was more important than a paradise of ignorance. I firmly believe that a woman needs to know what she's getting herself into, Mephisto."

"I wholeheartedly agree." His large green eyes narrowed. Mephisto's attention now seemed quite dangerous, almost transfixed to my face. "Knowledge is so critical. It's the most important thing to you. Isn't it?"

"I would say so," I answer slowly. "Without knowledge, life is a waste."

"Eve, do you believe in the paranormal?" He changed the subject abruptly.

"I honestly haven't got the answer to that question."

"Oh, I think you do." He pressed. "You can see quite a few unexplainable things. Am I correct?"

How did he know?

It was like he could see right through me. I've seen weird shit my entire life, but you just don't talk about that sort of awkward nonsense. People would think I was crazy. My experiences had been terrifying, and I suffered alone in silence.

"Eve, what if I told you this job would answer all of your deepest questions? Questions that you cannot answer through traditional science and reason."

"I'd say you were full of shit."

"So says the artist!"

"Touche."

"Getting back to the idea of wizard school, I wasn't ribbing you entirely for fun. This academy is a training facility for exorcists. We use very non-traditional methods for ridding the world of darkness. If you choose to take this job, you will need to suspend your current notions of reality for a modified one."

"You mean I will believe in ghosts, goblins and demonic possession?"

"That's a fundamental understanding, yes. This job will explain the workings of the universe to you. Give you access to the vast knowledge that no other humans are privy to. There is one caveat; however, once you sign a very aggressive contract. You cannot tell anyone about the true nature of our work. Not family or friends, the Vatican takes security extremely seriously."

I started to get cold feet; this is a lot to consider. Am I cut out for the responsibility? This entire meeting was getting stranger by the minute.  The job sounded downright ludicrous; the premise piqued my interest, but how could I believe in such nonsense? Plus, the more time I spent with Mephisto, the less human he appeared. Did his pupils just dilate like a cat!?

"You know what's funny?" He stated coyly, his fingers toying with an ornament on his desk. "You voyage into my office and instantly take note of my strange appearance. Most people don't possess the ability to see me for what I truly am. I tell you my legal name is Faust, and my current name is Mephisto. I have artwork depicting demons throughout my lavish abode. Eve, you're intelligent enough to connect all of these dots, and your mind has already solved the puzzle. Yet, your human conditioning tells you to disbelieve the apparent truth sitting directly in front of you."

"The truth?" I stammered.

"I'm a demon, my dear."

I take in his admission with a shocked and irritated face. This guy is a bonafide nutjob.

"I think I've heard just about enough of this Mephisto; this degree of wackiness is far beyond me. I think I'm the wrong person for this position." I stood and prepared to take my leave; only I can't. I'm unable to move a muscle. What the hell is happening? My eyes grow wide with panic.

Mephisto slowly removes his gloves and rests his chin on a black-clawed hand.

"I see. I'll have to prove it to you then. Fair enough, let's give you a little taste, shall we?"

He snapped his fingers, and I'm suddenly surrounded by a hoard of disgusting gremlins, clawing at my ankles with oozing toothy gullets. I saw the same terrifying creatures as a child, invading my daydreams, hiding in the dark shadows when I was alone. I'm so frightened; I can hear the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It was my worst nightmare brought back to life, these creatures as real and substantial as the floor under my feet. As the horror of the reality became almost too much to bear, suddenly, he was there. Mephisto expelled the creatures one by one into poofs of purple smoke with a simple flick of a finger. I fall back, no longer able to stand, and he catches me quickly. I'm still shaking from the shock as he carefully sits me back into my chair.

"Those creatures have followed you your entire life. As you have gotten older, you've noticed them less, but they were still slowly feeding off your energy. They are quite volatile." He sat demurely on the edge of his desk, swinging his legs playfully. "They won't bother you now though, I've exorcized them from your presence. You see, this is what we do here. We help humans battle the unsavoury monsters from Gehenna."

I sit dumbfounded, rendered speechless with bewilderment. Mephisto continues with our one-sided conversation, unconcerned like this was completely normal. "...The pay for this position is quite handsome for an artist. It's also part-time, which will allow you to continue to work in your studio. You will report here five days a week, from 9 am-2 pm. You will receive correspondence from the Vatican, and you will keep me informed of all inbound information. You will also book and coordinate exorcists for special ops and daily assignments. My butler Belial will train you appropriately."

"Mephisto...I'm..."

"Terrified and disconcerted?" He grinned. "Happens every time I make a new hire."

"I don't think I can't handle all of this."

"Do you think I pick my employees out of thin air? You wouldn't be here if I didn't find you entirely capable. I've researched you extensively. You long for knowledge, and I will provide all of the deepest desires in your quest. All you simply need to do now is agree." He presented me with a contract.

"I don't know," I whispered nervously. "Can I think it over?"

"I haven't the time." He responded with a hint of a smile. "I am a very busy person, you see.  It's now or never, my dear."

My rational mind screams for me to jump out of that chair and run from the building. Yet, my desires kept me staring in a trance at the contract. Mephisto presented me with an old-fashioned quill pen. I grasped it with my shaking hand and stared at the bottom line.

"Oh...we need some ink to seal the deal. How silly of me to forget something so important." He took out a silver hatpin from a glass decanter and poked the end of his finger. A river of blood ran along his impossibly pale skin and dripped from the end of his glistening black claw. As it flowed freely into a bronze dish on his desk, I stared in dismay. I can't believe what I'm seeing! Mephisto then gently took my hand and poked the end of my finger. A tiny drop of my blood intermixes with his.

"What the fuck," I whispered hoarsely. "No...I'm not signing this. No way!"

"You will sign." His eyes bore into mine, and I'm once again drawn physically to the contract. I dipped the quill as if hypnotized and slowly write my name.

"Excellent!" He seemed pleased with himself. Meanwhile, I'm totally in a daze and fall back into my chair, suffering from strange exhaustion. Did I just sign a contract in blood?

I stood shakily, preparing to leave.

"Eve, I will see you back here tomorrow morning, bright and early." Mephisto rambled on with a sing-song voice. "Here is some research about me. It will teach you the basics of demons and how to work with them."

Belial is now instantly at the office door, he handed me a stack of books, and I find myself escorted from the building.

I jumped into my car and locked the doors. As I put the car into drive, the transmission lurches forward. The books flutter open on the car seat; the top hardcover was a book about Ancient Demon Classification, followed by a copy of Faust and  Dr. Seus, Green Eggs and Ham.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

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

Here’s the link to the rest. ;)

https://www.wattpad.com/711456559-the-interview-a-blue-exorcist-fanfic-the-interview

[missjosie27]

Year 3 Part 5- To Hogsmeade

Hey, guys! Another chapter is here! Hope you like it

True to her word, Professor McGonagall granted him access to Hogsmeade upon learning of his marks in charms.

“You have kept your end of the deal, Mr. Grant. With your permission slip, I will allow you to join your classmates this weekend in Hogsmeade.”

She said this with a limited smile, a rarity for the strict Transfiguration master though David privately thought she still didn’t look thrilled by the idea. He wondered if Dumbledore had been involved in this whole situation. Still, he wasn’t one to push his luck…most of the time.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” he said.

“And Mr. Grant. Do try to enjoy yourself as opposed to finding more trouble.”

They had gone in a group- Rowan, Ben, Charlie, Penny, Chiara, Tonks, and himself. Some of the Ravenclaws were just in front of them while the Slytherins, predictably, were way behind.

 “You did it,” Rowan told him excitedly. “You’re going to Hogsmeade and all the bells and whistles that come with it.”

“And you’re brother too,” Ben added.

“Perfect excuse. We need to take a visit to the Three Broomsticks anyway. You have got to try butterbeer, Ben. First one is on me.”

David was still a bit miffed at McGonagall’s parting remark, but it didn’t dampen his spirits too much. His immediate mission was accomplished and now he could spend a day goofing off and find out more about Jacob. It was a win-win.

“Personally, I can’t wait to check out Zonkos,” Tonks said with a rather mischievous smirk on her face.

“What’s Zonkos?” Chiara asked.

“Only the finest supplier of prank and gag items known to wizardkind,” she responded excitedly. “And exactly what I need to surprise a certain librarian and a certain caretaker.”

“There’s also Honeydukes!” Penny pipped up. “My mom took me once when I was little. I’ve always wanted to come back and try their strawberry chocolates.”

“What do you reckon we should do first, Dave?” Rowan asked. “I know you need to talk to Madam Rosmerta. Do you have a preference?”

Up until now, David hadn’t spoken as he was mulling over that same question. They had until sundown to return to the castle which was plenty of time to both explore and talk to Rosmerta. He didn’t have to meet Hagrid until just after lunch.

“Let’s go visit some of the shops,” he said at last. “I don’t have to go to the Three Broomsticks right away. It’s pretty packed in there right now anyway.”

“I like the way you think, Dave!” Tonks grinned. “Let’s go!”

For older students such as Bill (who was with a couple of friends in his year) the novelty had worn off a bit. For those making their first visitations or only been once before, it was a wonderland. Though the day was windy, it was also bright and sunny, and those days were going to be few and far between in the highlands of Scotland as the year went deeper into Autumn.

The village itself wasn’t all that different in appearance than a standard muggle one, however there was one key difference and that was magic. Only witches and wizards lived here and it livened up the atmosphere considerably. Colorful posters announcing deals or sales adorned the little shops and taverns. Children laughed and played in the street. There was a flurry of activity every which one looked and from everything the third years had heard, the first impression did not disappoint.

Tonks had a field day in Zonkos and stocked up on items such as biting tea cups, frog spawn soap, and dungbombs. Against his better judgment, David also bought a couple dungbombs to be used at his own discretion and entertainment. The discovery of Penny’s sweet tooth was quite evident as she could barely stop eating the honeydukes chocolate and Tonks had to calm her down from an enormous sugar high. Chiara and Penny were also very fixated on Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, as it was a popular getaway for Hogwarts boys and girls looking to take each other on dates. The boys (and Tonks), however, weren’t as keen and simply allowed the girls to swoon over the potential romanticism before they moved onto a dress shop.

“I don’t get why they care so much,” Ben whispered nervously.

“It’s just girl stuff,” David muttered back. “Don’t try to understand it, just nod your head and change the subject as quickly as possible.”

“Bill says we’re going to be the ones on those dates in just a couple years,” Ben responded. “Is that true?”

“My brother is pretty popular with the ladies,” Charlie cut in. “He may tease sometimes but he doesn’t bullshit. He’s probably right. Speaking of, he told me to meet him over at the Shrieking Shack. Supposedly the most haunted building in Britain and he wants to show it to me. Anyone want to come?”

“I’m in!” Rowan said eagerly. He never turned down an opportunity to hang out with Bill. “How about you Ben?”

The blond boy fidgeted heavily with his hands.

“Haunted buildings really aren’t my cup of tea.”

“Come on, Ben. We’ll all be there,” Charlie encouraged. “Just us mates. Dave’s coming too right?”

“Actually, it’s almost past one. I can’t keep Hagrid waiting too much longer.”

Rowan nodded understandingly.

“Don’t wait another minute. We’ll rendezvous later at the Three Broomsticks later on.”

“You know where it is right?” Charlie asked.

Truthfully, David didn’t know where it was at all, but he figured he’d find his way. It was a village not the streets of London. It couldn’t be that hard.

“Yeah, I know where I’m going. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Good luck, Dave!”

The other three boys made their way north to the location of the shack while David went on his way. He figured he would come across a sign or some other landmark indicating the inn but the wind was picking up and it was taking a toll on his sight and movement. He looked up towards the sky; still sunny but clouds were rolling in and the little warmth received from the sun would soon be overcast. Zipping up his red hoodie jacket, he resolved to press forward.

Can’t be that far right?

Suddenly, a voice called out to him.

“First time in Hogsmeade?”

To his right he saw a tall, black boy regarding him with both friendliness and mild amusement. David vaguely recognized him as a Ravenclaw in his own year. He decided to approach him.

“How’d you guess?”

The Ravenclaw gave a grin.

“You have that look about you. Excited, cold, and not exactly sure where you’re going. I’m Andre Egwu, by the way.”

He offered out his hand, which David took.

“Oh yeah, I remember you from flying class. You’re also the keeper on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team if I recall correctly and pretty damn good at it. People talk about you as much as Charlie or Skye.”

“Charlie and Skye deserve the attention. Especially given that Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup pretty handily last year. But Quidditch is a passion of mine and I hope to play in the professional leagues someday. That’s why I wear my Pride of Portree scarf every chance I get to go to Hogsmeade. Best team in the league.”

David, knowing his Quidditch couldn’t deny that. Portree had won the British league for three years running.

“So they are. But you make it sound you’ve been here before.”

“It’s because I have. My parents take my sister and I to Hogsmeade even when we’re not in school. Gladrags Wizard Wear is one of my favorite places to shop for clothes.”

David resisted the urge to chuckle, instead choosing a tone of surprise.

“I didn’t think top Quidditch blokes were fashion aficionados.”

It was true. Glancing at Andre up and down it was clear that this was a person who cared a great deal about his appearance. In addition to his scarf, he wore a fleece jacket with the collars up, dress jeans, and a very nice pair of what looked like Italian shoes. In addition to that, his hair was expertly cut into a fade. To say he was stylish was an understatement.

“Clothes make the wizard,” Andre replied with gusto. “The better you look, the better you feel, the better you are at Quidditch. Or in your case, curse breaking.”

“I take it you heard about that, then?”

It was a stupid question. Almost everyone in Hogwarts had. But broad acknowledgement for the accomplishment as opposed to being seen as potentially mad still took some getting used to. But the emotion on Andre’s face wasn’t just admiration, it was gratitude.

“That cursed ice had me trapped in the Quidditch changing room until you broke that curse inside the vault. You saved my life.”

“Think nothing of it. I had plenty of help from my friends.”

Andre smiled and he reached into a bag by his side.

“Well as a token of my thanks, I’d like to offer you this scarf. It is quite blustery out here today and when I saw you shivering down the street, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

David gladly took it. It was made of a very quality wool, patterned in dark gold and red, his house colors. Quite thoughtful, indeed.

“This is brilliant, Andre. Thank you.”

“A stylish gift for a worthy curse breaker such as yourself,” the black teen affirmed. “I’ll say this for sure: it won’t be hard for you to find a date or a girl to take to the next ball.”

He couldn’t resist laughing this time, thinking back to Penny and Chiara fawning over Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop.

“It’s a bit early to be thinking about, no? I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Never too early to start thinking about girls,” Andre replied with a wink. “It may seem ridiculous to you now, but you’ll start to notice sooner rather than later. And when that day comes, my door is wide open.”

David’s first impression of the Ravenclaw lad was certainly unique but he certainly sensed no ill will from him. Just that his interests seemed to be ahead of most people their age.

“I’ll take you up on that someday. Thanks, Andre.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They shook hands once more and he prepared to depart. But before he did, he turned around one last time.

“Uh, by the way, where’s-”

“The Three Broomsticks?” Andre smiled knowingly. “Fifty feet up the hill to your right.”

Interesting guy that Andre Egwu

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Three Broomsticks had a reputation that preceded it. It was a cozy, lively atmosphere filled with patrons of all sorts, a bustling tavern frequented by locals and tourists alike. Inside was a building largely made of fine wood, filled with various tables and booths. There was also a second floor for private parties but most people appeared content to mingle with the crowd. In fact, it was so packed David was fairly certain it would have taken him quite a bit of time to find any standard human being.

Fortunately, Hagrid was not a standard human being and spotting him was a simple matter. As soon as they caught sight of each other he waved a huge hand.

“David! Over here!”

Sifting through the crowd, he managed to squeeze through two rather portly men, one of which had a walrus-like mustache and a glass of fine wine in his hand. Ducking underneath the outstretched jovial arm, he finally made it to where Hagrid was standing. 

“Welcome ter the Three Broomsticks!” he said in his usual cheerful tone. “What do ye think so far?”

“Seems like a lot of fun,” David remarked with a smile. “Is it always this packed?”

“Aye. It’s very popular. The students pack it even more on weekends such as this. Though ye get used ter it.”

Just then they were interrupted by an attractive, curvaceous woman with long, flowing blonde hair and a pretty face. She wore an ankle length dress and a plain apron but her cheeks were naturally rose and held a natural, festive glow.

“Hello, Hagrid! Good to see you again.”

“The same ter you, Rosmerta. Lookin as lovely as ever.”

“You’re sweet as always. Can I get you all anything?”

David couldn’t be sure but he thought Rosmerta’s eyes lingered over him for a half second longer than normal.

“A round of butterbeers, please.”

Sensing a chance to ask questions, the young Gryffindor tried to introduce himself.

“Madam Rosmerta I was wondering if-”

“Half a moment, dear,” she quickly interrupted. “I’ve got other tables to attend to. Be back soon.”

Visibly deflating at her departure, Hagrid noticed this and tried to cheer him up.

“Not ter worry, David. She’s a busy woman runnin’ this place. She knows who ye are and she’ll tell ye everything ye want ter know about yer brother.”

Realizing it would do no good to mope or complain, David supposed there was nothing more he could do until the bar matron returned.

“You’re right, Hagrid. Can’t wait to drink one of those butterbeers.”

The giant man looked down on him with a curious eyebrow.

“Never had one before? I thought ye were from a wizard family, Dave.”

“I did when I was little, but it’s been awhile. Mum won’t let me have anything in the way of sweets.”

He and Hagrid grabbed a table and talked like this for about fifteen minutes, sharing details of each other’s lives not previously known, though the latter was a tad more vague with his answers. David thought nothing of it, however and was content to laugh and share companionship with the gamekeeper, who was good company. He made a silent note to interact with him more often.

Soon enough, Rosmerta returned with a tray of butterbeers in hand.

“Cheers, Dave!” Hagrid said, clinking their glasses, almost toppling over the contents of his friend’s butterbeer. Taking a sip, a wave of sweet, warm, frothy goodness engulfed his senses. It was easily one of the tastiest concoctions ever invented in the history of wizard kind.

“Just as good as I remembered,” he said, giving a satisfied sigh.

“I’m glad you like it, dear,” Rosmerta said kindly. “I apologize for hurrying off earlier. Busy weekend. What would you like to know about your brother?”

David was slightly surprised.

“How did you know who I was?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” the bar maiden said with a knowing twinkle in her blue eyes. “You and your brother look very much alike. That look of surprise you gave me just now was reminiscent of what he used to do. Plus, I must admit Hagrid filled me in a bit beforehand.”

Though siblings, David never came across many people who commented he and Jacob looked similar. His older brother was much broader, with a different shaped nose along with brown eyes as opposed to his own hazel-blue. Nevertheless, he supposed it would make sense Rosmerta might recognize him. Perhaps she saw something others did not. 

“David wanted ter ask ye a question or two about Jacob,” Hagrid explained. 

“I can spare just a few minutes,” Rosmerta smiled. “What would you like to know?”

Where to start? So much of Jacob was a mystery to him now and any information he could garner was a boon not merely in the quest to find the vaults but to satiate his own desire for that knowledge. 

“Madam Rosmerta, I heard you knew him in his time at Hogwarts. What was he like? Did mention anything about the Cursed Vaults?”

A nostalgic look came across her pretty features.

“I remember Jacob quite well...quiet boy. Very sweet. He spent a lot of time at the bar scribbling in notebooks.”

That certainly perked his interest.

“Notebooks you say?”

“Aye. Then one day a pair of Ministry officials showed up, grabbed him by the hood of his robes and dragged him out the door. They demanded he hand over any information he held on the vaults, but they found nothing. Only thing he left behind was a black quill.”

Another black quill

“Madam Rosmerta do you still have that quill? I’ll do anything to have it, I swear.”

That emitted a chuckle from the curvy innkeeper.

“Settle down, Dave. I’ll go look in the back. I never throw anything anyway so it should be around somewhere.”

“Thank you so much!”

“Think nothing of it,” she replied kindly. “Though it may take awhile longer. There are still a lot of customers to service and it’s quite cluttered in my office.”

“I’ll wait as long as I need to, Madam Rosmerta.”

“Very well then. I’ll score up another round for your table while I’m at it. Be back soon, dear.” 

David did his best to engage in further conversation with Hagrid to temper his impatience. It was best not to push his luck while he still retained some of it. If the gameskeeper suspected or believed he might be after the vaults again, it wouldn’t take long for Dumbledore to find out and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. Which also begged the question once more: was he still interested in the vaults themselves? Or just his brother? Perhaps the two were intertwined.

Before he could think about it more, Rosmerta returned about an hour later, black quill in hand. 

“Here you are, hun. Sorry it took me a little while to find. But it’s yours now. Use it well.”

Ecstatic happiness surged through David and he took the quill a little too quickly.

“Er...sorry. Thank you Madam Rosmerta.”

But the blonde woman took it in stride with understanding.

“Any time, David. And next time you’re here I may need some help. Would you be okay waiting tables now and again?”

“Think nothing of it.”

She gave one last sweet smile and waved goodbye.

“It was very nice to meet you, David. When you find Jacob, tell him I said hello.”

He nodded while Hagrid beamed at him. 

“Fine woman, Rosmerta is. Yeh can always trust her ter help people when they need it. Just promise me you won’t do anythin reckless with that quill.”

David nodded even if he had no idea what information the quill possessed, he was quite convinced in the moment nothing ill fated could come of knowing its contents.

“Of course, Hagrid.”

“You know, Dave, you should come by me hut some time. Fang’s gettin big now and we love havin guests over. I could bake a batch o’ me rock cakes.”

He had no idea what rock cakes were or even how good Hagrid was at cooking but he couldn’t help but appreciate the genuineness of the man. In the course of his Hogwarts career, he single handedly saved him from Devil’s Snare, alerted him to the spreading cursed ice, and helped him whenever he asked for it. The least he could do was return the favor.

“I’d love to, Hagrid. Just send me an owl and I’m there.”

The giant man clinked his glass once more, this time sending the contents all over his new scarf.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He reunited with his friends a short time later as the sun settled into the west, signaling that it was time to return to Hogwarts. Charlie, Bill, and Rowan were discussing their foray into the Shrieking Shack while Ben preferred not to talk about it. Penny and Chiara continued to giggle over Madam Puddifoot’s (and boys they’d take there which David didn’t really pay attention to). Tonks hung back with David, talking loudly over the wind about the black quill.

“So the Ministry found nothing on him?” the pink haired witch snickered. “That is the ultimate prank.”

“More so than that. It means they never knew what he was truly up to. He must have somehow hidden his notes within this quill.”

“You can do that?”

“Professor McGonagall’s been teaching me about all kinds of transfiguration this year, including switching spells in our advanced lessons. Definitely possible to turn a book into another unidentified object.”

“That’s some pretty advanced transfiguration,” Tonks said, clearly impressed.

David shrugged.

“Guess it runs in the family. McGonagall says I’m the best she’s seen in a decade.”

“Well I’m already a master at transfiguration,” the Hufflepuff said waggling her eyebrows, changing her appearance to that of a duck, to a koala bear, to that of Celestina Warback. 

“You got original material left?” David yawned.

“Wanker. Anyway what do you think the quill contains? Can I see it?”

He obliged by pulling it out of his left jacket pocket. 

“Nothing too out of the ordinary. All we have to do is use ‘repifarage’ to untransfigure it and…”

“You lot aren’t going to be untransfiguring anything.”

Out of the shadows in front of the entrance to the school stepped Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, looking as grouchy and unpleasant as ever. And judging by his expression he’d overheard everything they were talking about. Quick as a flash for someone who clearly suffered from rheumatism, he snatched the quill out of David’s outstretched hand.

“Hey! Give that back That belongs to me!”

“Not anymore it don’t,” Filch leered towards him. “I’ll be addin it to the collection of confiscated contraband to my office. Professor Snape’s orders of course…”

David highly doubted the cantankerous old man had any such orders and seizing one of his legitimate belongings was surely out his purview. Feeling himself becoming furious, he gripped his wand in blind rage before Tonks gripped his arm and shook her head in an effort to calm him.

“Now beat it ya nasty scallywags. On with ya!”

They ducked a swipe from Filch and ran off, but not before David cursed up a storm once they were far enough away.

“Language, David. I didn’t know you knew such colorful phrases.”

“You would too if you had an older sibling...and just had the one chance of finding said sibling robbed from you by a quivery old git.”

“Patience, my hot blooded Gryffindor friend,” Tonks told him. “All we have to do is simply get the quill back.”

“Yeah? And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Tonks grinned at him with a smile that practically radiated mischief. 

“Leave that to me. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s taking the mickey out of Filch.”

[hennyjolzen]

by PAM GROSSMAN May 30, 2019

Pam Grossman is the author of Waking the Witch: Reflections on Women, Magic, and Power.

Witches have always walked among us, populating societies and storyscapes across the globe for thousands of years. From Circe to Hermione, from Morgan le Fay to Marie Laveau, the witch has long existed in the tales we tell about ladies with strange powers that can harm or heal. And although people of all genders have been considered witches, it is a word that is now usually associated with women.

Throughout most of history, she has been someone to fear, an uncanny Other who threatens our safety or manipulates reality for her own mercurial purposes. She’s a pariah, a persona non grata, a bogeywoman to defeat and discard. Though she has often been deemed a destructive entity, in actuality a witchy woman has historically been far more susceptible to attack than an inflictor of violence herself. As with other “terrifying” outsiders, she occupies a paradoxical role in cultural consciousness as both vicious aggressor and vulnerable prey.

Over the past 150 years or so, however, the witch has done another magic trick, by turning from a fright into a figure of inspiration. She is now as likely to be the heroine of your favorite TV show as she is its villain. She might show up in the form of your Wiccan coworker, or the beloved musician who gives off a sorceress vibe in videos or onstage.

There is also a chance that she is you, and that “witch” is an identity you have taken upon yourself for any number of reasons — heartfelt or flippant, public or private.

Today, more women than ever are choosing the way of the witch, whether literally or symbolically. They’re floating down catwalks and sidewalks in gauzy black clothing and adorning themselves with Pinterest-worthy pentagrams and crystals. They’re filling up movie theaters to watch witchy films, and gathering in back rooms and backyards to do rituals, consult tarot cards and set life-altering intentions. They’re marching in the streets with HEX THE PATRIARCHY placards and casting spells each month to try to constrain the commander-in-chief. Year after year, articles keep proclaiming, “It’s the Season of the Witch!” as journalists try to wrap their heads around the mushrooming witch “trend.”

And all of this begs the question: Why?

Why do witches matter? Why are they seemingly everywhere right now? What, exactly, are they? (And why the hell won’t they go away?)

I get asked such things over and over, and you would think that after a lifetime of studying and writing about witches, as well as hosting a witch-themed podcast and being a practitioner of witchcraft myself, my answers would be succinct.

In fact, I find that the more I work with the witch, the more complex she becomes. Hers is a slippery spirit: try to pin her down, and she’ll only recede further into the deep, dark wood.

I do know this for sure though: show me your witches, and I’ll show you your feelings about women. The fact that the resurgence of feminism and the popularity of the witch are ascending at the same time is no coincidence: the two are reflections of each other.

That said, this current Witch Wave is nothing new. I was a teen in the 1990s, the decade that brought us such pop-occulture as Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Charmed and The Craft, not to mention riot grrrls and third-wave feminists who taught me that female power could come in a variety of colors and sexualities. I learned that women could lead a revolution while wearing lipstick and combat boots — and sometimes even a cloak.

But my own witchly awakening came at an even earlier age.

Morganville, New Jersey, where I was raised, was a solidly suburban town, but it retained enough natural land features back then to still feel a little bit scruffy in spots. We had a small patch of woods in our backyard that abutted a horse farm, and the two were separated by a wisp of running water that we could cross via a plank of wood. In one corner of the yard, a giant puddle would form whenever it rained, surrounded by a border of ferns. My older sister, Emily, and I called this spot our Magical Place. That it would vanish and then reappear only added to its mystery. It was a portal to the unknown.

These woods are where I first remember doing magic — entering that state of deep play where imaginative action becomes reality. I would spend hours out there, creating rituals with rocks and sticks, drawing secret symbols in the dirt, losing all track of time. It was a space that felt holy and wild, yet still strangely safe.

As we age, we’re supposed to stop filling our heads with such “nonsense.” Unicorns are to be traded in for Barbie dolls (though both are mythical creatures, to be sure). We lose our tooth fairies, walk away from our wizards. Dragons get slain on the altar of youth.

Most kids grow out of their “magic phase.” I grew further into mine.

My grandma Trudy was a librarian at the West Long Branch Library, which meant I got to spend many an afternoon lurking between the 001.9 and 135 Dewey decimal–sections, reading about Bigfoot and dream interpretation and Nostradamus. I spent countless hours in my room, learning about witches and goddesses, and I loved anything by authors like George MacDonald, Roald Dahl, and Michael Ende — writers fluent in the language of enchantment. Books were my broomstick. They allowed me to fly to other realms where anything was possible.

Though fictional witches were my first guides, I soon discovered that magic was something real people could do. I started frequenting new age shops and experimenting with mass-market paperback spell books from the mall. I was raised Jewish but found myself attracted to belief systems that felt more individualized and mystical and that fully honored the feminine. Eventually I found my way to modern Paganism, a self-directed spiritual path that sustains me to this day. I’m not unique in this trajectory of pivoting away from organized religion and toward something more personal: as of September 2017, more than a quarter of U.S. adults — 27% — now say that they think of themselves as spiritual but not religious, according to Pew Research Center.

Now, I identify both as a witch and with the archetype of the witch overall, and I use the term fluidly. At any given time, I might use the word witch to signify my spiritual beliefs, my supernatural interests or my role as an unapologetically complex, dynamic female in a world that prefers its women to be smiling and still. I use it with equal parts sincerity and salt: with a bow to a rich and often painful history of worldwide witchcraft, and a wink to other members of our not-so-secret society of people who fight from the fringes for the liberty to be our weirdest and most wondrous selves. Magic is made in the margins.

To be clear: you don’t have to practice witchcraft or any other alternative form of spirituality to awaken your own inner witch. You may feel attracted to her symbolism, her style or her stories but are not about to rush out to buy a cauldron or go sing songs to the sky. Maybe you’re more of a nasty woman than a devotee of the Goddess. That’s perfectly fine: the witch belongs to you too.

I remain more convinced than ever that the concept of the witch endures because she transcends literalism and because she has so many dark and sparkling things to teach us. Many people get fixated on the “truth” of the witch, and numerous fine history books attempt to tackle the topic from the angle of so-called factuality. Did people actually believe in magic? They most certainly did and still do. Were the thousands of victims who were killed in the 16th- and 17th-century witch hunts actually witches themselves? Most likely not. Are witches real? Why, yes, you’re reading the words of one. All of these things are true.

But whether or not there were actually women and men who practiced witchcraft in Rome or Lancashire or Salem, say, is less interesting to me than the fact that the idea of witches has remained so evocative and influential and so, well, bewitching in the first place.

In other words, the fact and the fiction of the witch are inextricably linked. Each informs the other and always has. I’m fascinated by how one archetype can encompass so many different facets. The witch is a notorious shape-shifter, and she comes in many guises:

A hag in a pointy hat, cackling madly as she boils a pot of bones.

A scarlet-lipped seductress slipping a potion into the drink of her unsuspecting paramour.

A cross-dressing French revolutionary who hears the voices of angels and saints.

A perfectly coifed suburban housewife, twitching her nose to change her circumstances at will, despite her husband’s protests.

A woman dancing in New York City’s Central Park with her coven to mark the change of the seasons or a new lunar phase.

The witch has a green face and a fleet of flying monkeys. She wears scarves and leather and lace.

She lives in Africa; on the island of Aeaea; in a tower; in a chicken-leg hut; in Peoria, Illinois.

She lurks in the forests of fairy tales, in the gilded frames of paintings, in the plotlines of sitcoms and YA novels, and between the bars of ghostly blues songs.

She is solitary.

She comes in threes.

She’s a member of a coven.

Sometimes she’s a he.

She is stunning, she is hideous, she is insidious, she is ubiquitous.

She is our downfall. She is our deliverance.

Our witches say as much about us as they do about anything else — for better and for worse.

More than anything, though, the witch is a shining and shadowy symbol of female power and a force for subverting the status quo. No matter what form she takes, she remains an electric source of magical agitation that we can all plug into whenever we need a high-voltage charge.

She is also a vessel that contains our conflicting feelings about female power: our fear of it, our desire for it and our hope that it can — and will — grow stronger, despite the flames that are thrown at it.

Whether the witch is depicted as villainous or valorous, she is always a figure of freedom — both its loss and its gain. She is perhaps the only female archetype who is an independent operator. Virgins, whores, daughters, mothers, wives — each of these is defined by whom she is sleeping with or not, the care that she is giving or that is given to her, or some sort of symbiotic debt that she must eventually pay.

The witch owes nothing. That is what makes her dangerous. And that is what makes her divine.

Witches have power on their own terms. They have agency. They create. They praise. They commune with the spiritual realm, freely and free of any mediator.

They metamorphose, and they make things happen. They are change agents whose primary purpose is to transform the world as it is into the world they would like it to be.

This is also why being called a witch and calling oneself a witch are usually two vastly different experiences. In the first case, it’s often an act of degradation, an attack against a perceived threat.

The second is an act of reclamation, an expression of autonomy and pride. Both of these aspects of the archetype are important to keep in mind. They may seem like contradictions, but there is much to glean from their interplay.

The witch is the ultimate feminist icon because she is a fully rounded symbol of female oppression and liberation. She shows us how to tap into our own might and magic, despite the many who try to strip us of our power.

We need her now more than ever.

[fallforcs]

Set Fire To The Darkness

Art by: @nicole-nikla

Author: @celestial-fire-writer

Summary: Princess Emma of Misthaven has been the Dark One for ten lonely years, hiding away in her castle from the rest of the world, trying to find a way to destroy the darkness. One day, Prince Killian of Camelot seeks her out, hoping that she can save his dying brother. Emma, knowing Camelot is the best place to defeat the darkness, agrees, and the unlikely duo set off on an adventure together, comprised of trials, battles, family and true love.

Rating and reason for the rating: T, for mild violence.

Triggers: Mentioned death of minor characters, brief description of anxiety/panic attacks.

A/N: I’m so happy to finally be sharing my FFCS story! I loved working on this fic and I hope everyone will enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’d like to thank the mods for creating this lovely event and for helping out so much. Thank you!

Shout out to @snidgetsafan for beta reading some of my story although she was busy, thanks a lot! Thank you, @demisexualemmaswan for beta reading the rest, and at such short notice too! And many thanks to my artist who made such a beautiful banner for my story!! I absolutely love it, it’s amazing!

“Killian, are you out of your mind?”

Killian, the prince of Camelot, winces at the sheer incredulity in Belle’s voice. In all the years he’s known the lovely librarian, he’s never heard her so much as raise her voice or lose her temper or even sound particularly frustrated.

Until now.

“Belle, I know it sounds insane-” he tries, but she cuts him off abruptly.

“Insane is one word for it. Do you honestly think Liam is going to agree to this plan?”

Killian frowns. “He won’t be agreeing to anything, because I won’t be telling him.”

The war between Snow White and the Evil Queen has been going on for nigh three decades now. Camelot has been aligned with Misthaven and they are against the Queen as well, despite all her efforts to lure them over to her side. Liam, Killian’s brother and the king of Camelot, remained firm in his decision to ally themselves with Misthaven.

Five years ago, the Queen staged an uncalled for, unprovoked attack on Killian and his fiancée, Milah. Killian had lost his hand and Milah, her life. Fueled with rage on the behalf of his brother and his dead fiancée, Liam promptly declared war against the Queen.

This led them to the situation they are in right now.

Liam is bedridden, poisoned by the Queen, and only has a few weeks to live.

None of the best healers and sorcerers in the land could do anything to help Liam. When all of their attempts failed, Killian and Belle began their own research, working desperately to find a way to save him.

While searching through the many texts on magical ailments and cures in the library, Killian has come across a legend about of the most powerful being to ever live:

The Dark One, a mighty magician who has the power to alter the laws of magic itself.

Or so the legend told.

Belle is vehemently against this plan.

“Seeking out dark magic is never a good idea, Killian,” she insists, nervously wringing her hands. “And the Dark Ones are known for their penchant for making deals. Trust me, that is one price you do not want to pay.”

“We’ve run out of options, lass,” Killian says forcefully. “Liam only has a few weeks to live and I don’t plan on sitting around and waiting for him to die.”

“And you think I am?” Belle asks shrilly, and the pure hurt in her voice makes Killian flinch. He knows that Belle and Liam have had feelings for each other for quite a while now, although both are too stubborn to admit it. When Liam was poisoned, Belle was beside herself with grief, spending the few hours she wasn’t slaving in the library with Liam, trying to raise his spirits and hiding her worry from him. “I want to save Liam as much as you do! But if we resort to seeking out the Dark One, we’re liable to be killed and we’re not much good to Liam dead, are we?”

Killian nods slowly. “You’re right,” he says, and Belle almost sighs in relief but his next words throw her for a loop, “That’s why I’m going alone.”

“Killian, you could die!”

“If I’m trying to save my brother, then so be it I’m happy to,” Killian says resolutely. “And if I fail, I have faith that you will find a way to save him instead.”

Belle is quiet for a long minute and Killian wonders if he’ll have to try harder to convince her. But then she speaks, her tone resigned,

“You’ll need supplies for your journey.”

“I’ll pack them up myself,” Killian assures her, inwardly sighing in relief that he doesn’t have to resort to drastic measures. “In the meanwhile, could you please scrounge up any information you can get about the Dark One?”

Belle nods. “That I can do. When will you leave?”

“At night. No one must know about this save for you and me. I suspect that there are spies of the Queen among our court members. We cannot risk any of this getting back to her.”

“Agreed,” Belle says grimly before another thought occurs to her. “What shall I tell Liam?”

Killian shrugs. ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something. The castle of the Dark One, according to the maps I referred to, lies between the borders of Misthaven and Camelot. With luck, I should be back within four days.”

“You’re really doing this,” Belle says, exhaling loudly.

“Aye, that I am.”

“Just…just be careful.”

“Always am,” Killian says, but Belle simply narrows her eyes at him. Relenting with a sigh, he nods.

“I promise. Take care of Liam for me.”

Belle only nods. Killian accepts it, knowing that he’s leaving his brother in good hands.

It’s a two day journey to the Dark One’s castle.

Killian travels through most of the night, stopping to rest for only a few hours before he starts again. By the time he reaches the castle, he is immensely exhausted from the journey; yet triumphant that he has finally made it.

Now the next step is actually confronting the Dark One.

Belle had told him that the previous Dark One, Rumplestiltskin, had been killed ten years earlier. Not much is known about the current Dark One.

They only know that the she is a woman, who has kept to herself for the past decade, rarely coming out of the castle. Killian finds this strange, wondering why a being of such great power would choose to lurk in the shadows, instead of using her power to command nations and make the people of the world bow to her.

According to the texts he’s read, whoever kills the Dark One is doomed to take on the darkness next. Killian wonders if killing the Dark One was an accident, if this woman did not want the power at all and so is hiding away from the rest of the world. He can certainly sympathize if that’s the case. Of course, it then begs the question as to whether she will even help him now.

She has to. Killian does not want to think about what would happen if he lost his brother. He knows tragedy quite intimately, having lost his father to illness seven years prior; as well as his love and hand to the Queen’s Black Knights two years later. He cannot lose his brother. Even if it means resorting to dark magic, he will save him.

Killian enters the castle cautiously, his hand on the hilt of his sword and his prosthetic tucked behind his back, out of habit. It’s a huge, formidable fortress; the doors opening into a large, elaborate room which is covered with layers of dust, books and all manner of trinkets strewn about a large table in the center. In a dark corner, there lie the remains of what might have once been a spinning wheel, but the object is now destroyed beyond recognition.

A flash of gold catches his eye. Killian approaches the table and picks up a dream catcher that perches on the pile of books. A shudder wracks through him and he quickly drops it. He might not have too much experience with dark magic, but he can tell that the dream catcher is absolutely soaked in it.

Belle was right, this is a terrible idea.

But it’s too late to turn back now.

The doors at the back of the room swing open with a bang and Killian spins around, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. A woman strides into the room and pauses when she spots him, her eyes narrowing. Killian knows without a doubt, at this moment, that she is the Dark One.

She doesn’t look evil. Her face is hard and her posture stiff but she doesn’t seem menacing, only defensive. Her silvery hair is gathered in a severe bun at the nape of her neck, and she wears a long, sweeping dress of midnight black, a cutlass at her side. Killian takes a hesitant step forward, letting his hand fall from his sword.

“What do you want?” the Dark One asks. She sounds almost bored. Her voice is soft, yet seems to echo in the silence of the castle. Killian stares at her blankly for a moment before he recollects himself.

“My name is Killian. I am the prince of Camelot,” he says, a little surprised at how steady his voice sounds. “I…heard that you are a being of great magical power. I have come to seek your help.”

The Dark One simply watches him, her brow creased. After a long moment, she sighs and turns away.

“Seek help elsewhere. I’m not interested.”

Panic blooms in Killian’s chest.

“No, wait! Please,” She glances back at him, raising a brow at his frantic plea. “It’s my brother, the King. He’s been poisoned. By the Evil Queen,” For some reason, the green of her eyes blackens with anger at the mention of the Queen and her hands curl into fists. “He only has a few weeks to live, and he needs help. None of the sorcerers or healers in my kingdom have been able to help. Please, I’m begging you, help him,” Killian’s voice cracks. “He’s all I have.”

Silence reigns as the Dark One thinks his request over. When she finally speaks, her voice is curiously sympathetic.

“You’re the prince of Camelot, you said?”

Killian nods. “Indeed.”

“Tell me, does a wizard named Merlin reside there?”

He frowns, perturbed by at the strange question. “No, he died many years ago.”

The Dark One lets out a harsh sigh, and then glances to the side, a dark scowl crossing her face. Killian follows her gaze but can see nothing.

“Some of his spell books remain,” he offers. “If that could be of any use to you…”

It’s true that the spell books remain, but they are also treasures of Camelot, treasures that only Liam himself has access to. Killian knows his brother will be furious with him, but it will be worth it.

She looks back at him. “Then let us make…a deal,” She speaks the words almost reluctantly, glancing to her side again. “I’ll come with you to Camelot and help your brother, and you allow me access to Merlin’s spell books.”

“Deal,” Killian says instantly and her lips tug into a slow smirk. She crosses the space between them, the heels of her boots clicking against the floor. Killian swallows and resists the urge to back away. Her very presence radiates power and might, and it dazzles him.

The Dark One snaps her fingers and a large scroll appears, hovering in the air. She hands him a quill, and Killian takes it hesitantly, his fingers brushing against her cool skin.

“Sign on the dotted line,” she says smoothly.

Liam is going to kill me , Killian thinks wryly as he signs. When he draws away, the parchment glows gold and vanishes.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” the Dark One drawls. “Shall we, then?”

“Wait,” Killian stops her. “You haven’t told me your name yet.”

An odd expression flashes across her face and for a moment she looks strangely vulnerable.

“…Emma,” She says at last, slowly, as if she’s not used to saying it. “My name is Emma.”

A beautiful name, Killian thinks and then hastily shakes the thought away. The Dark One, no, Emma strides past him to the entrance and he quickly follows, thinking that she is dangerous; not just for the darkness flowing through her veins but for the strange effect she has on him.

Frankly speaking, Emma thinks this is a terrible idea.

When the Prince of Camelot, Killian, he said his name was, showed up on her doorstep begging for help, Emma’s first instinct was to turn him away. She has no use for random people who come hoping to gain from her powers, nor does she have any desire to use said powers. It’s been ten years since she became the Dark One, and in those ten years, she’d refrained from using her magic as much as possible.

Possible being the keyword.

Dark magic is like a drug. It entices you at every step, luring you in despite your best efforts to stay away. And if you use even a little, even if it’s just a tiny spark to light a candle, that’s it. It’s hopelessly addicting and even the smallest taste leaves you thirsting for more. Even the simple act of conjuring the scroll for Killian to sign had caused an itch under her skin, a terrible urge to use more and more of it.

Emma was born with light magic flowing through her veins, being the product of True Love. The very idea of giving into the darkness she had been cursed with had disgusted her, and she refrained for as long as she could. But in the end it had been too much; the darkness that was always flickering in the corner of her eye tempted her to the point when she eventually gave in, and there was no turning back.

Still, she stubbornly tried to resist. Ignoring the temptations of the darkness as best as she could, she kept from using magic as much as she could. Giving it up altogether was impossible, but resisting and struggling as much as possible… well, that Emma could do.

Once, she was a princess.

Once, she was the beloved of Misthaven, the heiress to the throne, the warrior princess who grew up with a sword in her hand and who joined the fight against the Evil Queen when she was merely eighteen, much to her parents’ protests. The Queen had almost won when she had teamed up with Rumplestilkskin to defeat them, but Emma had had a plan. A rather stupid plan, when she thinks about it now, but a plan, nonetheless.

On the day of the battle, she stole away and to Rumplestiltskin’s castle to find the dagger she knew could control him, thinking that that would be the first step to ending the war.

The dagger could control Rumplestilkskin. That was the extent of her knowledge.

Emma found the dagger, rode back to the battlefield to see Rumplestilkskin standing over the broken, battered body of her little brother, Leo. She had snapped.

Giving into pure rage and hatred, she had driven the dagger through his chest. As she did, Leo’s body vanished in a wisp of smoke, Emma realizing too late that his death was a trick and her vengeance was for nothing. However, her revelation was too late and she was consumed by the darkness.

Now, she is the Dark One.

Even now, she has futile dreams of one day defeating the darkness, of vanquishing it for good and going home. For she cannot return as she is now, cannot face her parents as the Dark One, cannot bear to see the horror and disgust that will surely be there in their faces when they lay their eyes on her. The darkness taunts her, telling her that it is a pipe dream, that what she wants can never be accomplished, that she should simply give up.

But Emma is nothing if not stubborn.

Through the numerous texts and books in the castle, she learned that Camelot is the place where the darkness was born and that the wizard Merlin was the only one who was ever thought to be capable of defeating it.

If Camelot is the place where the darkness was born, then surely it can be the place where it can be defeated.

And having access to Merlin’s spell books will make it all the easier.

Hence her reason for agreeing to Killian’s request.

(And perhaps she sympathizes with him because she knows what it’s like to lose a loved one to the Evil Queen. Emma has suffered much at the Queen’s hands, both directly and indirectly and she has no desire to see another suffer as well.)

It’s still a terrible idea, though.

“We’ll be traveling through the woods,” Killian says, breaking her out of her thoughts. “It’s easier than traveling through the towns. The Queen’s spies are all over the place and I’d rather not have her acquainted with my plans.”

“Fine by me,” Emma says shortly. She definitely prefers the woods to the towns. It’s been almost a decade since she has been in the company of actual, breathing human beings who didn’t approach her for reasons beyond wanting her power, and getting used to being around one person is hard enough, let alone towns and villages of them.

Though she’ll probably have to get used to it pretty quick once they arrive in Camelot.

This is really a terrible idea , Emma thinks with a stifled groan.

She glances at the man walking beside her curiously. Unlike most people who had dared to approach her, he had been quite calm and fearless when he had asked for her help. At first glance, one wouldn’t think that he’s a prince. The clothes he wears are quite plain - although that may be more out of a desire to go unnoticed than anything else and he doesn’t seem to have the stuck-up, snobbish nature that most royals have.

Of course, as a former princess herself (because Emma refuses to think of herself as a princess anymore, not after she practically abandoned her kingdom.) Emma really doesn’t have much room to talk. Her parents had always taught her to be kind and respectful to her subordinates, but the other royals at court didn’t always share their views.

Emma has always been good at reading people, a skill that seems to have been sharpened when she became the Dark One. However, she can’t quite get a read on Killian. He seems perfectly normal at first glance, but there are shadows in his eyes and a quiet tension in his shoulders as if he carries the weight of the world upon them. Again, Emma can’t help but sympathize.

“Why do you want Merlin’s spell books?”

Emma looks up at the question to see Killian studying her curiously as they walk through the woods. “You are the Dark One and you have plenty of magic at your disposal. Why would you need any more?”

“Light and dark magic are quite different,” Emma replies. “This has to do with, let’s say…a personal project of mine.”

“You could easily tear apart Camelot and take the books by force, if you wanted to,” Killian points out. “Why make a deal?”

“I may be the Dark One, but I still have honor,” Emma says sharply and he has the grace to look abashed at her words. “I wouldn’t simply hurt innocents to get what I want.”

“My apologies,” Killian says quietly. “I didn’t mean to assume, I just…haven’t had very good experiences with people of your kind.”

“Welcome to the club,” Emma says wryly. Killian gives her a long look before speaking again.

“Regina…the Evil Queen…what did she do to you?”

Emma stiffens at his question. “What makes you think she did anything?”

“When I mentioned her before, you grew angry,” Killian says and Emma reels, stunned at his perception. “Surely she did something to incur your wrath?”

Emma looks away, unwilling to answer. Killian catches on, thankfully and doesn’t push the issue.

They continue to travel in silence.

Whatever Killian had expected the Dark One to be like, it certainly wasn’t this .

Frankly, his mind had conjured up all sorts of terrifying images of monsters and demons cloaked in darkness with insincere voices and harsh deals. Instead, he has found a guarded, somber woman with haunted eyes and clenched fists. She seems to have a vendetta for some reason against the Evil Queen and Killian finds that he can hardly blame her for that.

The Queen has stolen from him, too.

Of course, Emma doesn’t tell him why she hates the Queen. Which is understandable, of course-she obviously isn’t the type who trusts easily or spills her secrets in the blink of an eye.

They trudge through the woods in silence and Killian stops only at sundown.

“Emma?” He ventures and she whips around to look at him, her eyes widening in shock, and Killian is confused for a moment before he realizes that he used her name for the first time. His heart pangs with sympathy, and he wonders just how long it has been since anyone called her by name.

“What is it?” Emma asks after a beat, a strange, soft note in her voice that sends a shiver down his spine. Trying to ignore the feeling, he continues.

“We should stop for the night and get some rest. We can continue at dawn.”

“Oh…right, of course.”

Killian frowns at the pause; it’s as if she never even considered the fact that they might have to rest at one point. Perhaps she doesn’t tire easily? Or pushes herself too hard? She certainly seems like the type.

Why does he care, anyway?

They find an empty clearing, and Killian offers his satchel to Emma, telling her to pick freely from his stash of food while he starts a fire. Soon enough, they are sitting on opposite sides of the camp, eating some of the meat pasties from Killian’s stash, an awkward silence hanging between them.

After his meal, Killian pulls out his flask and offers it to her, hoping to break the strained quiet. “Rum?”

Emma quirks an eyebrow, but accepts it anyway. “Are you sure you’re a prince and not a pirate?” she asks dryly and Killian chuckles.

“Perhaps I’m a bit of both.” He had never been an orthodox prince anyway, always preferring the taverns and the open seas to his castle. Before Father’s death, he’d been lax in his duties, serving as a great source of frustration for Father and Liam. Killian had sobered up quite a bit after his father’s sudden death, but it wasn’t until after losing Milah that he threw himself into his princely duties; especially duties that pertained to winning the war against the Queen. He’d once thirsted for outright vengeance, but Liam and Belle had talked him down, serving as voices of reason to break through the anger and sorrow that had surrounded him.

“We should get to bed,” Killian says presently. “We need to be well rested if we are to leave at dawn.”

“Sleep,” Emma tells him, her voice quiet. “I’ll keep watch.”

Killian opens his mouth to protest-they are a quite a way from the villages within the domain of the Queen, and it would be ungentlemanly on his part to let her keep watch while he rests - but something in her face makes him stop, and he instead agrees reluctantly.

“If you’re certain.”

She gives him a terse nod and he obeys her wishes, lying down on his side with his back to her before he closes his eyes.

Sleep does not come easily to him that night. Whenever Killian turns, subtly, to glance at Emma, he finds her curled up under a tree, fiddling with an unfinished dream catcher, her movements fevered and hasty as she hurries to complete it. Her eyes are almost black with the shadows that lurk in them and her fingers tremble from time to time, causing the twine she’s weaving to slip out of her hand, eliciting a curse from her before she returns to her task.

The flames have burned down to mere embers by the time Killian slips into a restless slumber, full of dream catchers and Milah’s laughing eyes and darkness swallowed by fire.

The nights are really the worst, Emma reflects, as the sky blushes pink with the early light of dawn. If there’s one thing she misses about being mortal, it is sleep. It has been a decade since she has slept, or even felt that physical need to sleep, for that matter. She has been spending the nights by weaving dream catchers and immersing herself in memories of the past, in hopes of chasing away that darkness that always lurks by her side.

It never works.

With a sigh, Emma tucks the finished dream catcher away into a pocket of her dress and grimaces at the sight of her fingers, rubbed raw from the twine she had been weaving all night. The marks will disappear soon, but Emma hates the thought of Killian noticing and asking her about it; as he undoubtedly will.

Emma absently rubs at the marks on her hands, flinching when the darkness cackles.

Go on, dearie, vanish them away. After all, you don’t want him to see you for what you truly are: a monster.

Shut up, Emma thinks savagely, magic sparking under her skin with the force of her anger.

As if on cue, Killian stirs and Emma draws back her magic, breathing in deeply as she tries to calm herself.

He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes and gives her a lopsided smile. “Good morning, love.”

Emma raises a brow at the endearment and says nothing, but warmth builds in her chest.

The darkness hisses in disapproval, and retreats.

Killian takes an apple out of his satchel and offers it to Emma, but she declines, wrinkling her nose. Ten years as an immortal being, and she still isn’t quite comfortable around apples.

Well, given her family history, it’s understandable.

Killian looks puzzled at her aversion, but lets it go, taking a bite out of the apple.

“Why did you not sleep last night?” he asks casually, and Emma sighs, having expected him to ask.

“Dark Ones don’t sleep,” she replies shortly and rises, brushing leaves off her dress. “We should get a move on.”

“As you wish.”

While they continue travelling, Killian keeps up a light stream of conversation, Emma’s replies and comments are few and far in between, but she enjoys listening to him speak. It’s been a long time since she was given the comfort of good company, and even the small talk that the prince makes is welcome.

Killian speaks of his brother often, clear admiration and love in his voice when he does. Through what he tells her of him, Emma finds herself respecting Liam, he sounds like a good and honorable man. Killian does not say why Camelot is at war with the Evil Queen, however, a shadow crossing his face at the very mention of it. Emma doesn’t ask, knowing from experience that some things are just too painful to talk about.

The pleasant time comes to an end soon, as the sound of heavy footsteps clamoring through the forest makes them pause and look at each other in dismay.

“Black Knights,” Killian says grimly and they both draw their swords.

There are about a dozen of them and the leader gives Killian an ugly smirk. “Well, if it isn’t the Prince of Camelot. Far from home, aren’t you? And who is your…companion?”

He leers at Emma and she gives him a smile that is all teeth and no humor. Killian remains defiantly silent, his knuckles turning white as he grips his sword tighter.

The leader nods at the other knights. “Kill them.”

The knights may be well trained, but they are no match for them. Killian is a skilled swordsman, Emma notices, disarming the first who charges at him and running the second through. Emma, on the other hand, steadfastly ignores the darkness that whispers to her, tempting her to use her magic to kill them all and instead wields her cutlass to either disarm or wound them so they are unable to get up. She only kills the ones who arm persistent; shuddering as every drop of blood spilled adds another black patch to her already darkened heart.

Emma has killed before, of course. Not too long after she became the Dark One, Black Knights of the Queen came to her castle, looking for answers about what had happened to Rumplestiltskin. When they found that the new Dark One was actually the Princess of Misthaven, they had laughed cruelly, taunting her even as she tried to ignore them.

“The Crown Princess has gone dark,” One of them taunted. “I wonder how the people of Misthaven would react to this. They would surely turn on Snow White and Prince Charming, and the Queen would win.”

Emma snapped.

Before she knew it, she was striding across the expanse of floor to him and he got little warning before she plunged her hand into his chest and took a hold of his heart. He let out a cry of pain and his fellow knights gasped in fear.

Emma ripped her hand out, clutching the beating organ as the knight gripped at his chest, staring at her with fearful eyes.

‘Go ahead,’ the darkness whispered. ‘Crush it.’

“No,” Emma mumbled blankly, gazing down at the heart, her hand trembling. “I can’t.”

‘Yes, you can,’ the darkness hissed. ‘He deserves it. He deserves to die.’

Emma’s grip around the heart tightened, and the knight let out a pained gasp as he collapsed to the floor, begging for mercy. She ignored him, her gaze focused on the darkness that hovered at her side, encouraging her.

‘If you let him live-let them live, they will tell the kingdom about what happened to you. They will turn on your parents and the Evil Queen will have the opportunity to kill them. Is that what you want?’

“No!” Emma gasped out, her voice tortured. “I can’t let them die!”

‘Then do it. Crush his heart.’

“If I kill him, I will become just like him. Like Regina.”

‘It’s not murder, dearie, it’s an execution,’ the darkness tempted. ‘Think about the many he must have killed while serving the Queen. It’s what he deserves.’

“You deserve to die,” Emma told the knight, mindlessly parroting the darkness’ words as she squeezed the heart tighter. The knight screamed in pain and rasped out broken pleas.

“Mercy, please! I’ll do anything-“

He abruptly cut off as the life faded from him and his body hit the floor. Emma stood still, gazing at the dust seeping from between her fingers.

The other knights made to move, to run away. Emma spun around, her hardened gaze freezing them in place.

‘Don’t show them any mercy,’ the darkness said. ‘Kill them.’

Emma raised her hand and twisted it. Suddenly, the knights were clutching at their necks, struggling for air as an unseen pressure curbed any of their attempts to draw in breath. Emma held it up for a few minutes until they collapsed to the floor, dead.

‘Very good, dearie,’ the darkness said, before promptly vanishing.

The dull crimson haze that had covered Emma’s vision disappeared as well and she gasped, staring at the bodies that lay around her in horror.

“No. No! What have I done?!”

Her knees weakened, and she sank to the ground, drawing in harsh, labored breaths. “No….” She muttered, as darkness engulfed her. When it vanished, the gold of her hair had faded to silver, her skin had become unnaturally pale and the armor and breeches she’d worn before had turned to a leathery costume of stark black.

At that moment, Emma knew (and the darkness never failed to reassure her of it) that there was no going back.

Killian lets out a sharp hiss of pain, rousing Emma from her memories, and she whips around to see him gingerly brushing his prosthetic across his right shoulder, blood seeping through the thin material of his shirt. The knight who injured him raises his sword, preparing to lop off his head and an urgent bolt of panic rushes through Emma. She hastily waves her hand, and the knight flies into a tree and promptly falls unconscious.

The other guards, stunned by Emma’s display of magic, take to their heels and flee.

Killian sinks down onto a log and with a bit of struggle, manages to lift the sleeve of his shirt with his prosthetic, inspecting the wound with a grimace. Emma hovers awkwardly. The wound isn’t too deep, but it looks nasty. And painful.

“I could, uh, heal it. If you want,” Emma says hesitantly. Killian glances up at her, looking rather surprised at the offer, and shakes his head.

“There’s no need, love. I…noticed that you were rather averse to using your magic during the fight. I don’t want you to needlessly use it on my behalf.”

Emma’s heart does a little flip in her chest, so startled and touched is she at his perception. She sits down next to him and offers him a genuine smile.

“It’s no problem. Really.”

Killian’s cheeks tinge crimson and he ducks his head shyly, holding out his arm. Emma takes his hand in hers, pretending not to notice the shiver that wracks through his body at the contact. She pauses momentarily, shutting her eyes. She knows she’s already promised to heal Killian’s brother, but this, somehow, is different. It shouldn’t be, really. But it is, and the thought of messing it up frightens her far more than the thought of failing to heal his brother does.

“It’s alright,” Killian murmurs gently and Emma opens her eyes in shock. He smiles up at her gently. “I trust you.”

Emma’s heart stutters painfully in her chest at his words and without another thought, the magic flows through her body. Killian lets out a gasp as the wound closes smoothly, not even leaving a scar. Emma smiles in triumph, withdrawing her hand.

“Thank you,” Killian says gratefully. Emma gives him a short, jerky nod, her fingers still tingling from where she touched him (and not from the magic) and glances down at his arm, her attention diverted by the crimson tattoo that decorates it.

“Who’s Milah, on the tattoo?”

The warmth in Killian’s eyes vanishes, and he quickly stands, yanking down the sleeve of his shirt to cover the tattoo. “No one,” He says quietly, sheathing his sword and slinging his bag over his shoulder. Emma stands as well, realizing his aversion to discussing the topic.

“We’d better get a move on,” Killian continues, avoiding her gaze. “If we move fast, any knights that are still around won’t be able to catch up.”

“Right, let’s go.”

When night falls, they are only a few hours away from Camelot. They stop and set up camp as they did the night before, and Killian glances at Emma as he lights the fire.

She has not spoken since he dismissed her question about the tattoo. Killian sighs as he thinks of it…the knowledge of what had happened five years ago is so common in Camelot that no one has questioned him about it in a long while. Emma’s question came as a shock, and his first instinct was to shut her down completely, the wound left by Milah’s passing still raw and bleeding; even the loss of his hand not comparing to it.

Killian looks at Emma again. He fears that he might have offended her by his silence on the topic. He’s not sure why he cares about her opinion of him so much. It’s true that she’s the key to saving his brother, but it’s much more than that. She’s not the cold, ruthless demon he had pictured in his mind, but instead a rather complex woman; a witch who avoids using her magic, who remains awake during the night and weaves dream catchers. She healed his wound like it was nothing, and her touch had sent flames shooting up his arm. She carries the weight of the world upon her shoulders and her eyes are full of old pain and buried hopes.

“Emma?” He begins tentatively and she looks over at him, raising her eyebrows in silent question. “I apologize for being short with you earlier, it’s just that-“

“It’s alright,” Emma interjects. “I brought up a painful topic. I apologize for that.”

“How do you know it’s painful?” Killian asks defensively. Emma smiles wryly.

“You’re something of an open book,” She says simply. “And it takes one to know one.”

“You lost someone?”

Emma nods. “A lot of someones, actually,” She says. Killian’s heart pangs in sympathy.

“Milah was my fiancée,” He begins haltingly. “She was killed by the Queen’s black knights,” Killian holds up his prosthetic. “It’s how I got this.”

He expects to see pity in her face, but finds nothing but a quiet understanding. “I’m sorry,” Emma says sincerely.

They remain in companionable silence, after that, the only sounds being the crackling of the fire and the occasional snapping of a twig. It feels like they are closer, somehow, as if at least one of the many walls that stand between them has been broken down. Killian finds himself drifting off soon, and the last thing he hears is Emma’s whispered ‘goodnight’ before he falls into a deep slumber.

Emma does not weave her dream catchers that night.

Instead, she thinks of things she hasn’t allowed herself to ponder for a long time. She thinks of the way her mother’s brow crinkled every time she laughed, of how her father lovingly cradled the back of her head every time he hugged her and of the way she and Leo would run around the castle, staging mock sword fights and driving the staff to near distraction.

She thinks of Killian and the gentleness of his smile when he told her he trusted her.

She thinks of the way using her magic had felt right , for once, when she wielded it to vanish away Killian’s wound.

And for once, the darkness remains silent.

The next day, they reach Camelot by noon.

Emma swallows apprehensively at the large number of guards and courtiers waiting at the gates to greet them, or rather, to greet Killian.

Killian, as if sensing her discomfort, slips his hand into hers and squeezes reassuringly. Emma glances up at him sharply, his touch sending heat through her body.

Killian retracts his hand and gives her a last smile; just as a dark haired woman comes running out of the gates and towards them.

“Killian!” She hugs him tightly, and Emma takes a step back, irrational jealousy flaring in her gut. Is she his lover? Or his wife, perhaps? He’d never mentioned having one, though.

“ Belle ,” Killian grunts. “I can’t breathe, lass.”

The woman, Belle, draws away slightly and sniffs. “I was worried,” she says. “Can you blame me?”

Belle glances past Killian at Emma and her eyes widen. “Is that-“

Killian releases her and nods. “Aye. Emma-” he turns to her. “This is Belle, the castle’s librarian. Belle, Emma.”

“You succeeded,” Belle breathes, a large grin lighting up her face.

“Did you doubt I would?” Killian teases and then his eyes grow serious. “How’s Liam?”

“Not good,” Belle says somberly. “He’s finding it hard to even stand, now. And he’s worried about you.”

Killian rolls his eyes. “Of course he is,” He mutters, but there’s affection in his voice. “Bloody idiot won’t even worry about himself. Well, there’s no time to waste,” he nods to Emma. “Shall we?”

“Of course.”

Belle looks nervous. “Uh, maybe I should talk to him first. He’s not going to be happy that you, uh-” She glances hesitantly at Emma.

“Brought the Dark One into his home?” Emma finishes for her, dryly, and Belle flinches, as if waiting for Emma to blow up in her face. When she does nothing of the sort, Belle looks visibly relieved and leads them into the castle.

“Wait here,” she tells them when they stop outside the king’s chambers and slips into the room, shutting the door behind her.

Emma and Killian wait in awkward silence and she catches him wincing when the sound of raised voices reach their ears. They hear Belle’s voice, soft and pleading; and then a noise of assent before Belle exits the room, looking harried.

“I take it my brother isn’t exactly an ideal patient?” Killian asks with a forced grin. Belle looks unamused.

“He wants to talk to you,” She informs him and Killian nods, glancing back at Emma.

“Go ahead,” Emma tells him. “I’ll be fine.”

Killian smiles and Belle narrows her eyes, looking back and forth between them sharply. Emma ignores her curious gaze, but feels heat creeping up her neck.

Killian casts her one final glance before entering the room.

“Hello, Liam,” Killian greets his brother with forced levity, his heart sinking at the sight of Liam’s condition. His brother is gaunt and pale, black veins from the poison creeping up his arms.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

Well, at least it seems like Liam still has his temper.

“Liam-” Killian begins, but is abruptly interrupted.

“You brought the Dark One into our castle?”

Liam speaks the words with disgust and Killian feels a sharp jolt of anger rush through him. He forces it down, trying to maintain his calm.

“It’s the only way to save you.”

Liam scoffs and Killian flinches at the harsh sound. “By resorting to dark magic? Aye, sounds like a wonderful plan.”

“I’d rather use dark magic than watch you die,” Killian snaps defiantly and Liam’s eyes flash.

“After all that we’ve suffered-“ He begins lowly. “After all that you’ve suffered because of dark magic-shouldn’t you be disgusted at the very idea of seeking it out for help?”

“Any magic that could be used to save your life could never be dark,” Killian says passionately and Liam seems to soften slightly at that. But the next moment, he’s protesting again.

“And the Dark One , at that, Killian…do you know how dangerous that is? He could have killed you.”

“She, actually.”

“What?”

“The Dark One is a woman.”

Liam raises his eyebrows at that, but continues. “Regardless, how do we know that we can trust her?”

“You can trust me ,” Killian says steadily. “You can trust me that she’s not lying, that she really is ready to help you.”

Liam regards him in silence for a long moment and then sighs in relent. “Very well, you can send her in.”

Killian nods, relieved, but before he can call Emma in, Liam stops him. “Wait. I know that the Dark One makes deals. What did you promise her in return?”

Killian shifts uncomfortably, reaching up to scratch behind his ear. “Ah…about that…”

“Spit it out, Killian.”

“I promised her access to Merlin’s spell books.”

“You did what ?!”

“Alright, I’m calling her in,” Killian says quickly, ignoring Liam’s outraged protests. He hurries to the door to open it and ushers Emma in, smiling weakly when she raises a brow at him.

“Good to see you’re still alive. I heard shouting.”

“Right as rain, love,” Killian promises, and over Emma’s shoulder, sees Belle’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “Come on in,” He mumbles hastily, blushing.

Emma notices, and smirks at his embarrassment before sweeping past him into the room.

Liam pushes himself up on his pillows and tries to look as intimidating as possible, but Emma doesn’t look the least bit fazed by the effect.

“Hello,” She says softly. “My name is Emma, I’m-“

“I know who you are, Dark One ,” Liam says tersely and Killian groans, wanting to punch his brother. Emma looks unaffected.

“I was going to say that I’m here to save your sorry ass,” Emma says calmly, and next to Killian, Belle chokes. “But it’s nice to see how grateful you are.”

Liam goes red at the chastisement and Killian struggles not to laugh, reflecting that Emma really doesn’t seem to give a damn about whether they’re royalty or not. Then again, she is the Dark One; she has no reason to be intimidated by them when she could easily snap their necks in the fraction of a second.

For some reason, that really doesn’t bother him at all.

“My apologies,” Liam mutters, and Emma makes a noise of dismissal, moving closer to the bed. She observes his condition in silence, the inky veins travelling up from his arm, disappearing into the sleeve of his shirt. The veins on his chest are obscured by his clothing, but can be seen inching up from the collar of his shirt, dangerously close to reaching his face.

Emma releases a deep breath. “Alright,” she murmurs. She positions her hand over Liam’s chest, slowly rotating it, stretching and motioning her fingers as if to draw something out. Emma’s arm shimmers a bright gold and Killian stares, transfixed, unable to look away.

This may be dark magic, but it also may be hands down the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Beside Killian, Belle squeezes her eyes shut, clasping her hands together; as if sending up a silent prayer.

Liam’s body glows, and a ripple of magic pulses through the room, nearly knocking Killian and Belle off their feet. Liam gasps in shock as the veins marring his skin vanish, the color returning to his cheeks and the strength to his limbs.

Killian sags in relief and before he can even say or do anything, Belle rushes past him to the bed, practically collapsing on it as she flings her arms around Liam. His eyes widen in pleasure, and he draws her closer, pressing a kiss to her head.

Emma backs away from them, looking visibly exhausted. Killian lays a tentative hand on her shoulder, smiling at her gratefully.

“Thank you, Emma.”

“No problem,” Emma says brusquely, but her pale face flushes, her mouth curving into a pleased smile.

Killian feels the oddest urge to kiss that smile from her lips.

Coughing, he hastily backs away, just in time as Liam and Belle part from their embrace.

Liam stands up and offers Emma a courteous smile. “I owe you my life, milady.”

“There’s the gratitude,” Emma quips and Liam has the grace to look abashed. “It’s no big deal,” She continues. “As long as your brother there follows up on our deal, of course,” She gives Killian a pointed stare.

Belle looks confused. “Wait, what deal?”

“Access to Merlin’s spell books in exchange for the King’s recovery,” Emma says breezily and Killian shifts uncomfortably under Belle’s incredulous stare. “That’s the deal we made.”

“I’ll retrieve the spell books for you,” Liam says briskly. “Belle, would you escort Lady Emma to the library? Killian, you should accompany them.”

Killian sees Emma’s lips twitch into a knowing smile, clearly understanding that Liam wants him to go along for Belle’s safety. Thankfully, Emma doesn’t seem insulted by Liam’s lack of trust in her, only amused.

Before they leave, Liam strides up to Killian and hugs him. “Thank you, little brother,” he murmurs. “I was right to trust your judgment.”

“ Younger brother,” Killian corrects him, but he can’t hold back his delighted smile.

“It’s quite the collection you have here,” Emma remarks when they step into the castle’s expansive library. “Do you manage this all by yourself?”

The question is directed to Belle, who flushes.

“I have help, of course,” She stammers, still clearly intimidated by Emma. “But mostly, yes.”

Emma hums in reply. The library in the castle of the Dark One was possibly as expansive as this one, but that had more of texts concerning dark magic and ancient spells. Most of the books had been dangerous, even; the spells written in them could be blown off the page and towards a target. The library itself had been dark, musty and unorganized; and the airy, bright and neat room in this castle is a stark contrast to it.

Belle goes to arrange something at the counter, and Emma and Killian find a table at the back and settle down.

“So,” Emma begins casually. “How long has Camelot been at war with the Evil Queen?”

“About five years, now,” Killian replies. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Emma mumbles, picking at the sleeve of her dress. Killian clearly doesn’t buy it, and opens his mouth to question her further, but is interrupted as Liam appears with the spell books. Emma’s eyes light up at the sight of them. There are only a couple of them, but they could be the first step to finally defeating the darkness.

The darkness cackles in amusement. Quite naïve of you, dearie , it sneers. Haven’t you learnt by now? The darkness cannot be vanquished; you’re wasting your time with this little endeavor. Your time could be spent in a better way, like taking revenge on the Queen for all that she has done.

Emma firmly ignores the darkness, clenching her fists under the table in an attempt to curb the prickling under her skin.

“These are all of them,” Liam says, setting them down on the table. “But it’s getting quite late. I asked the servants to prepare a room for you, so perhaps you could rest for the night instead.”

“Thank you,” Emma says, deciding against mentioning that she really doesn’t need rest. “That’s very kind of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Liam says and turns to Killian. “There’s a Council Meeting. Your presence is required.”

“I just got back,” Killian protests but Liam just gives him a stern, no-nonsense look and he sighs and acquiesces, rising to his feet.

“I’ll see you later,” He tells Emma with a rueful smile and she nods, ignoring Liam’s suspicious frown.

The room that has been prepared for Emma is large spacious, a huge, four poster bed by the window as well as a desk, a vanity and a wardrobe. It’s not unlike Emma’s own bedroom back when she used to be a princess, and for a minute, she aches with homesickness, wishing for nothing but to go back to those simpler times.

The wardrobe has been furnished with clothes as well, most of them beautiful dresses of bright colors, ranging from cotton to satin. Emma ignores them completely, finding a grey silk nightgown and putting it on. She has no intention of sleeping, of course, but it’s far more comfortable than her black dress.

Emma sits at the desk with one of Merlin’s spell books open, a roll of parchment next to it. This particular book is in a foreign language, but thankfully, during her time as the Dark One, she dedicated a lot of her time to learning new languages. This one is a bit trickier than most, but Emma sets her quill to the parchment determinedly, ready to do whatever it takes to get some answers.

As the hours pass, the light dims and the shadows lengthen. Just as Emma flicks her wrist to light the lamps in her room, there’s a knock on her door. She rolls up the parchment and tucks into the book before going to the door to open it.

It’s Killian.

“Good evening,” he greets. “I just wanted to see if everything’s alright with your room.”

“Its fine,” Emma assures him. “Your brother is very kind,” Killian looks a bit awkward, standing in the doorway, and she steps aside. “Would you like to come in?”

Killian looks startled. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m not inviting you in for anything inappropriate, just so we can talk more comfortably.”

Killian gives her rakish grin, though the effect of it is lessened by his flushed face. “I wouldn’t object to….more pleasurable activities, milady.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Emma says dryly although she is rather surprised that he even tried to flirt with her. He’s never made an advance before. Still, it must be easier now that he doesn’t have the threat of his brother’s death hanging over him. “Come on in.”

They sit side by side on the huge bed and talk about many things and Killian asks her how the progress with the book is coming along.

“Slowly,” Emma says. “But I know I’ll get through soon.”

“Why do you want those books?” Killian asks. It’s not the first time he’s asked her this and Emma isn’t surprised, knowing her never bought her lies before. Still, she doesn’t tell him the truth.

The Dark One lies, the Dark One tricks.

“Why every great wizard does,” She says offhandedly. “To gain more power.”

“You don’t even like using your power,” Killian points out.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be using it to level your kingdom,” Emma says acidly, her temper getting the best of her. Killian looks taken aback.

“I know you wouldn’t do that,” He speaks the words which so much certainty that it makes her heart ache. Emma ducks her head, feeling guilty.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. Killian waves it away.

“S’alright, Emma.”

He lingers a bit more than is strictly necessary, talking about such mundane things that Emma wonders if he’s doing it on purpose to spend more time with her. Then she shoots the idea down, not wanting to explore that line of thought now. Or ever.

Killian chuckles, dragging Emma out her musings and she looks at him inquiringly. “What?”

“Nothing,” He says with a grin. “I was just thinking that if Liam knew I were here, he’d certainly kill me.”

Emma frowns. “Why?”

“Well, it’s not very gentlemanly to be in a lady’s quarters at night.”

Emma snorts. “Aren’t you the type of prince who prefers the taverns and towns over the comfort of his own castle?” She’d know. She was the same.

“A rake I may be, but I still believe in good form,” Killian insists. “And as for a lady such as yourself-“

Emma cuts him off. “I’m not a lady,” She says shortly. “I’m the Dark One.”

“You may be the Dark One, but you are still a woman,” Killian murmurs, his eyes sweeping over her form in a manner that leaves her pulse racing. “And a breathtakingly beautiful woman, at that.”

Emma swallows, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. Suddenly the large, spacious room feels far too small, the respectable space they had put between them suddenly not enough. She searches his eyes for the lie, but finds nothing but sincerity.

Her eyes flicker to his mouth, then, and the irrational urge to haul him into a kiss startles her out of her daze.

“I think it’s time you go,” Emma breathes, curling her hands into fists so she doesn’t give into the temptation of touching him. Killian nods slowly, seemingly as dazed as she is.

“Right. Of course.” He rises and holds her gaze for a long moment before giving her a short bow. “Goodnight, milady.”

Killian leaves the room quickly and Emma allows herself to collapse on the bed, drawing in her breaths harshly.

What the hell had just happened?

When Killian is done with his duties the next day, he goes straight to the library to see Emma. Belle barely acknowledges him when he enters, practically buried in a pile of books.

He finds Emma at the back, writing on a parchment while referring the books scattered on the table. Killian sits down from across her, waiting patiently for her to finish.

Finally, Emma sets down her quill and looks at him expectantly. “What?”

“Good morning to you too, Emma,” Killian chuckles, a little relieved to see that she doesn’t seem to be bothered in the least about the moment they had shared the night before.

Looking back on it, Killian honestly doesn’t know what he was thinking. Going into her rooms in the first place had been a bad idea. Calling her beautiful an almost kissing her, for Killian is sure that if she had not asked him to leave he would have definitely kissed her-was an even worse idea.

But Emma had looked so relaxed, the nightgown she wore giving her a younger, girlish appearance, that Killian had let any rational thought fly out of the window.

“Good morning,” Emma replies. “Now then, what did you want?”

“As charming as ever, I see,” Killian teases. Emma actually laughs, as if enjoying an inside joke, and the sound is like music to Killian’s ears. “I simply wanted the pleasure of your company.”

“Don’t you have Council Meetings and princely duties?”

“Done,” Killian gives her a mock pout. “Are you truly that eager to get rid of me?”

Emma huffs, looking amused. “Fine, you can stay. Just don’t disturb me.”

“As you wish, milady.”

Killian busies himself with an administrative text, but ends up not paying much attention to it; constantly distracted by the curve of Emma’s jaw, the way she frowns in frustration upon encountering something particularly trying, the few strands of hair that slip out of her normally immaculate bun when she rakes her fingers through it in frustration.

Bloody hell, Killian thinks, forcing his gaze away from her and back to his book. I’ve got to stop this.

Emma sets down her quill after a while, rubbing at her tired eyes with a groan.

“Alright, love?” Killian asks in concern, the text forgotten.

“Yeah…just…this isn’t exactly easy,” Emma sighs. “I’m getting there, but…..” she rotates her neck, wincing at the tension.

Before Killian can think twice, he gets up and moves to stand behind her. Emma twists in her seat to look at him.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d help you relax,” Killian murmurs. The dress she’s wearing today exposes her back and shoulders and when Killian ghosts his palm over the bare skin, Emma stiffens momentarily at the contact.

“Is this okay?” Killian asks tentatively. Emma hesitates for a moment and nods.

Encouraged by her assent, Killian settles his hand at the base of her neck and begins to gently knead at the muscles, slowly easing out the knots. Emma lets her head fall back with a soft groan of approval. Killian freezes at the sound, heat rushing to his cheeks, but continues with his task, forcing himself not to react to the little sounds she makes.

Killian rubs at her shoulders next, massaging until he feels all the tension seep out. He then moves to gently toy with her hair, twisting and weaving the strands that have escaped her up do.

He should move away. He really should, it’s probably the gentlemanly thing to do, but Killian doesn’t and Emma doesn’t tell him to, either, her eyes closed in content.

She is like a siren, Killian thinks, rousing feelings and desires that he has not felt in a long time, causing his broken heart to beat again.

He wants to kiss her, right at the spot where her pulse flutters in her neck, to map out the freckles dotting her skin with his lips and teeth, to draw out those intoxicating sounds from her again and again.

Killian lets out a barely audible groan at his own thoughts. What is this woman-this beautiful, mysterious woman-doing to him? He hasn’t felt such a swift, powerful attraction to anyone in so long, no, not since Milah-

Milah.

The reminder of his lost love is like a swift punch to the gut. Killian steps back from Emma like he’s been burned, eliciting a small noise of confusion from her as she turns to look at him.

“I-I’m sorry,” Killian gasps out, his mind whirling, the very thought of Milah sending flaming agony and guilt through his veins. “I-I have to go.”

Before Emma can say a word, Killian turns and strides out of the library.

Emma knows that she has been starved of physical affection for a long time, but this is just insane.

As she slowly got to know Killian over the past few days, it quickly became obvious that he was a very physically affectionate person, casual with his touches.

Every touch sets her off, causing an intense buzz in her veins. His touch shouldn’t affect her this much, but it does, heat flaring in her stomach at the slightest brush of skin against skin. And as for Killian’s gentle way of easing the tension from her shoulders, it had left her positively addicted. Every rational part of Emma’s brain screamed at her to get away, but she was helpless to move. Killian might be a mere mortal, but he has still bested her.

But then Killian had sharply pulled away, leaving the library with stammered apologies. Emma sits at her table quietly, her work abandoned as she tries to figure out the reason for his hasty departure.

He probably came to his senses, dearie, the darkness taunts. He must’ve finally realized that it’s the Dark One he’s dallying with, not a normal woman.

“He doesn’t think that,” Emma mutters aloud, digging her nails into her palm until she draws blood. The wounds vanish instantly, but the sting of the act remains. Then Killian’s words from the previous night come rushing back to her.

“You may be the Dark One, but you’re still a woman.”

He wasn’t lying….was he? Emma’s ability to detect lies has always been uncanny, since long before she became the Dark One, but her emotions always tend to cloud her judgment.

They were merely pretty words, the darkness says immediately. Don’t believe a thing of what he says. You know better than that. Everybody lies. Everybody leaves. There’s no use getting attached.

The darkness is probably right, Emma thinks.

Everybody leaves. Everything good vanishes.

Killian is no exception.

Knowing she won’t get any more work done, not now, Emma gathers up her notes and storms out of the library, ignoring all the fascinated courtiers and maidservants who stop to gaze at her as she passes them by. She sighs in relief when she reaches the solitude of her chambers, slamming the door shut.

Emma hates this. She hates caring so much about what Killian thinks, about whether he’s lying to her or not, about him. She hates the burn of rejection in her gut when he left her hastily. And Emma hates the longing she feels for him to return, to make her smile with his small talk and attempts at flirting.

And she absolutely hates the acute pain in her heart at the thought of him just being someone who leaves her in the end.

Killian escapes the castle for a while and rides to his favorite spot to think, a cliff that overlooks the sea. The sight of the waves crashing over the rocks and the ships in the harbor and the sea gulls flitting around the cliffs calms his heart slightly, the pain ebbing to a dull ache.

What was he thinking?

To be harboring such romantic thoughts about a woman is surely a dishonor to Milah’s memory. When she died, he’d sworn to himself to remain faithful to her memory forever, to never love again.

And the worst part is that Killian doesn’t even know if this is love. With Milah, it had been easy. He’d fallen hard and fast and knew without a doubt what his feelings towards her were.

But with Emma, it’s different.

He knows that his heart beats faster whenever she’s around, that a rare laugh or smile from her builds an indescribable warmth in his chest, that he always wants to seek her out and be by her side, that he wants to chase away the shadows in her eyes and the sadness in her heart.

But he doesn’t know if he loves her.

And that’s probably the worst thing out of this whole mess, not knowing .

Light footsteps sound behind him and before Killian can turn, Belle appears by his side suddenly, offering him a kind smile as she sits down.

“Everything okay?”

Perceptive as ever. Killian lies, trying to play it off as nothing. “Of course, lass.”

Belle hums in disbelief, clearly not buying it. “Uh huh. Then why did I see you leave the library as quickly as you did? Not to mention, Emma did the exact same thing not too long after.”

Killian curses inwardly, knowing that he must’ve hurt or offended her with his abrupt departure. He can deal with her hating him, but he can’t stand the thought of her being hurt because of him.

There it is again.

“You’re falling for her, aren’t you?” Belle asks knowingly. Killian stiffens.

“ Belle -” he pleads. “Don’t.”

Belle crosses her arms and looks at him expectantly. “Don’t what?”

“Just don’t,” Killian says shortly. “I can’t fall in love with her.”

“Why in the world not?” Belle demands.

“Milah. I’d be dishonoring her memory-“

“That’s utter crap and you know it,” Belle snaps and Killian blinks in surprise at her curse. “You know Milah would want you to be happy, not wasting away like this.”

“Wasting away?” Killian repeats indignantly.

“ Yes. That’s exactly what you’re doing, shutting the world out, even Liam and I at times and not allowing yourself to fall in love.”

When Killian says nothing, instead staring at the horizon, Belle sighs and reaches over to take his hand.

“You deserve this, Killian. You deserve a second chance at love.”

“I-”

“Just because you’re falling in love again doesn’t mean you’re loving Milah any less,” Belle says patiently. “You’re honoring her memory by moving on.”

Killian simply nods, absently brushing his prosthetic over the tattoo on his arm. Belle sighs, and pulls him into a one armed hug.

“Come on,” She says presently. “We should get back to the castle.”

The next day, Emma is back working in the library again. Belle throws her an odd look when she enters, but quickly covers it with a welcoming smile. A little puzzled by it but deciding to brush it off, Emma returns to the books.

A passage in one of Merlin’s books makes her pause. The word ‘Excalibur’ is mentioned, along with a theory about it being a weapon with the ability to destroy the darkness.

Excitement surges through Emma, her heart racing and she quickly flips through the pages. Sure enough, Merlin has written the details of how the darkness came to be. The first to be tethered to it was a woman named Nimue and Merlin broke the sword Excalibur in half, using one half to create the Dark One dagger, which he tied the darkness to. The other half of Excalibur was set in a stone, not too far away from Camelot, only to be drawn out by its rightful owner.

Emma closes the book and leans back, thinking. If only she could get her hands on this ‘Excalibur’ and translate the rest of Merlin’s works, then maybe, just maybe she could finally destroy the darkness.

Of course, there is the problem of finding Excalibur. And according to what Merlin wrote, only the rightful owner of the sword could draw it out of the stone. Emma isn’t quite sure as to what that means. Does that mean the Dark One, as the dagger that controls her is the other half of Excalibur. Or is the meaning a little more traditional, the rightful owner being someone of great courage and a true heart?

If that is the case, then all is in vain, Emma thinks a little bitterly. After all, she has none of those things.

Still, it’s a start.

Emma rises and hurries to Belle, who is sorting out books at the counter. “Are there any books on magical artifacts here?”

Belle nods. “Yes, anything in particular?”

Emma hesitates before she answers. “Anything that mentions the sword Excalibur.”

Belle looks skeptical. “Excalibur’s only a myth,” she points out. “Are you sure that’s what you’re looking for?”

“ Yes ,” Emma says impatiently. The darkness is hissing in disapproval and she can feel it struggling for dominance, to try and quell her desire to destroy it. Magic threatens to seep from her hands and Emma clenches them into fists, ignoring the burn.

Belle, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice and is about to agree to her request when the doors to the library slam open.

The young librarian swings around with a scowl, ready to scold whoever it is but falls short when she sees Liam and Killian stride in, looking tense.

Emma carefully averts her gaze from Killian’s, clenching her fists even tighter as the darkness continues to struggle.

“What’s wrong?” Belle asks worriedly, her gaze darting between them. Liam and Killian share a glance before the older brother speaks.

“Bad news,” Liam admits, quiet fury in his voice. “Misthaven has been overtaken by the Evil Queen.”

Liam’s words, while said under a calm façade, absolutely knock the breath out of Emma. She staggers back, suddenly finding it hard to breathe, her vision blurring.

Oh God. Oh God.

“Are you certain?” Next to her, Belle is speaking frantically, but Emma barely hears it.

Then Killian speaks, his voice strained and it’s enough to break Emma out of her daze. “I’m afraid so, lass.”

“The King and Queen,” Emma says suddenly, through gritted teeth and the other three glance up at her in surprise. “Are the King and Queen, the royal family, are they still-“Her voice cracks and a shudder wracks through her. “Are they still alive?”

“We-we don’t know,” Killian answers slowly, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “They are nowhere to be found, apparently, they might have gone into hiding…“

And then the dam breaks.

Suddenly there’s a crash, and then chairs and tables are upturned, decorations hanging from the ceilings are shattered and the shelves shake ominously, books falling to the floor.

Belle lets out a little shriek, Liam stumbles back, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword.

Killian, astonishingly enough (when will he stop surprising her?) takes a step forward. “Emma, what’s wrong?”

Emma clasps her hands together desperately, as if that will stop her magic from going out of control and her gaze darts around, flitting from Belle’s fearful eyes to Liam’s distrustful ones and back to Killian again, to the gentleness in his face and she breaks and for the first time in a decade, she feels like she might break down into sobs then and there.

“I can’t-“ she chokes out because it’s hard to breathe and her family might be dead and-

And then Emma does what she does best, and runs.

When Emma runs out of the room, leaving chaos in her wake, Killian hesitates only for a moment before following, ignoring Liam’s calls, faintly hearing the sounds of him and Belle arguing as he moves further away from the library.

“He can’t, she’s dangerous , she might do something-”

“No, she isn’t. Not to him, at least. Let him go to her, Liam.”

Killian finds Emma soon enough, huddled in a stairwell, her skirt hiked up as she hugs her knees to her chest, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Killian’s heart hurts at the sight.

“Oh, Emma.”

She glances up sharply and then shakes her head fervently as he comes closer. “No, don’t. Don’t. I might hurt you, Killian, you can’t-“

“You won’t hurt me,” Killian insists, kneeling down before her. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“ Damnit Killian-“

“I mean it,” Killian says. “I could never be afraid of you, love.”

Emma actually shrinks away at the endearment and Killian’s heart sinks, but he plows on.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Emma remains silent for a long time, stubbornly picking at the hem of her skirt before she finally gives in.

“I told you my name was Emma, when we met,” she begins haltingly and Killian frowns, confused, but doesn’t interrupt. “That was the truth, but I also didn’t tell you something else. I’m actuallyPrincess Emma, daughter of Queen Snow White and King David.”

Killian’s jaw drops as he struggles to process the information.

Bloody hell.

“I-everyone thought the princess was dead,” He splutters out. Emma lets out a harsh, humorless laugh that makes him wince.

“As you can see, the truth is far worse,” She mutters and Killian wants to refute it, tell her she’s wrong, but Emma continues.

“Nobody knows the truth. Not even my parents.”

“What happened, love?” Killian asks, almost dreading the answer.

Emma sighs and averts her gaze. “It was Rumplestiltskin,” she murmurs. “The previous Dark One. He tricked me into thinking he killed my little brother Leo.

“There is a powerful dagger that can control the Dark One. It is also the only object capable of killing the Dark One. I knew that at the time…I just didn’t know that whoever kills the Dark One is next in line.”

“And you killed him to get revenge,” Killian guesses. He hurts for her, wants nothing more than to take her in his arms and comfort her, but knows she will never allow it. He settles for simply reaching for her hand, not taking it in hers, but simply drawing soothing circles over the skin.

Emma gazes at the movement of his fingers, seemingly fascinated before answering. “Yeah. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“I’m sorry,” Killian whispers. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that. No one should.”

Emma nods. “If my family is dead-” she begins.

“They aren’t,” Killian says firmly. Emma laughs bitterly.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Call it hope. Or optimism. Or something.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“A wise woman, to be sure.”

Emma laughs again, but this time it’s not forced, and it’s like music to Killian’s ears.

“Our army is preparing for battle,” He says presently. “We leave at dawn tomorrow.”

“I’ll fight with you,” Emma says immediately and Killian smiles.

“I’d expect no less, love.”

He almost says my love and holds himself back at the last moment, instead giving her a last smile before he goes back to the library to explain things to Liam and Belle.

And hopes selfishly, for a day when he might be allowed to call her his.

“Rest up well,” Liam tells Killian as they exit the Council Room that evening. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Killian acquiesces with a nod. Liam had softened a bit after hearing Emma’s story and did not hold the incident in the library against her, much to Killian’s relief. They went to the Council Room to discuss battle plans after that, and two hours later, are finally done.

After wishing his brother good night, Killian heads straight to Emma’s chambers, not even hesitating before he knocks. Emma opens the door, and his heart practically stops at the sight of her. She’s wearing a silvery dress that clings to her figure, the sleeves belling out elegantly and her hair is braided loosely, draped over her shoulder.

 “Eyes up here,” Emma teases when he takes a little too long to recover and Killian coughs, embarrassed.

“Sorry, love.”

“No problem. Was there something you needed?”

“Actually yes,” He extends his hand to her. “If you would come with me, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

Emma raises a brow at this but agrees readily enough.

“You know, if you just told me where we’re going, I could easily poof us there,” Emma says as Killian leads his mare out of her stall. He chuckles.

“Call me old fashioned, but I prefer this method of travel better,” Killian teases and Emma huffs. “Trust me, you’ll enjoy it,” He continues. “Shall we?”

Emma hoists herself up behind him and he can hear the smile in her voice when she speaks. “Lead the way, then.”

They ride away and to a meadow Killian had discovered a few years ago blooming with middlemist roses. Emma lets out an audible gasp when they arrive and dismounts from the horse, looking around in wonder. Killian grins in triumph.

“ Wow . Killian, this is-it’s beautiful ,” she says, awed. “It doesn’t look quite real.”

“There’s still beauty in the world, Emma,” Killian says. He takes her hand in his, interlacing their fingers together as he leads her out into the field. “All you have to do is look for it.”

Emma smiles at him gratefully. “Thank you. For bringing me here, I mean.”

“You’re most welcome,” Killian bends to pluck a flower and moves closer to Emma, tenderly tucking it behind her ear. Her cheeks flush, the same pale pink of the middlemist rose. “ Lovely ,” He murmurs, gently stroking her face; her eyes falling half-shut at the caress.

They remain there in silence for a while, standing far closer than is appropriate and Killian takes Emma’s hand again.

“I’m afraid,” she says suddenly and Killian glances down at her, his brow creasing in confusion.

“Of what?”

“Of facing my parents,” Emma says softly, barely a whisper. “I don’t want them to see what I’ve turned into. A monster .”

Killian flinches at the self loathing in her voice and squeezes her hand tighter. “You’re not a monster, Emma.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t know. The things I’ve done, Killian-“

“I don’t need to know,” he says firmly. “I see you . The woman who saved my brother when he lay at death’s door. Who healed my wound without a second’s thought in the forest. Who saved me from the Black Knight that tried to kill me.”

When Emma says nothing, Killian continues, determined to get her to see what he does. “After all of that, how could you call yourself a monster? You’re not. And your family will see that, too.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because they’re your family and they’ll always love you, no matter what you’ve done.”

Emma meets his gaze, tilting her head to one side. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

Killian nods. “I’ve done a lot of foolish things, Emma. When Milah died, I was consumed by rage and hatred for the Evil Queen. I tried to seek revenge, but it only resulted in endangering Liam and Belle. Yet, after all that, they forgave me.”

“This is different, though.”

“It doesn’t matter. They will forgive you.”

Emma nods shakily. Suddenly, she says,

“Merlin’s spell books. I was lying to you about why I wanted them.”

“Aye, I gathered as much.”

“I’m…hoping to destroy the darkness.”

Killian looks at her in shock and she continues. “I know that the darkness was first born in Camelot, and that Merlin had something to do with it. That’s why I wanted the books.”

“Because you think he might have a way to destroy it,” Killian guesses.

“Yeah. I think I might have had a breakthrough, but there’s still a lot more to be done.”

“You’ll do it,” The conviction in his voice makes her look up at him in surprise.

“You think so?”

“I’ve yet to see you fail.”

Emma says nothing, seemingly at a loss for words. She simply holds his gaze, her green eyes brighter than ever.

Then she pulls him closer, pressing their joined hands to his chest as she kisses him.

Killian stills in shock for a moment, before closing his eyes and responding in kind. The kiss is sweet and tender, tasting like gratitude and affection. Emma sweeps her tongue over his lips and he lets out a soft sigh of pleasure, opening for her.

When they have to part for breath, Killian moves to kiss her cheeks, the curve of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. He can’t get enough of her, Killian thinks, as he presses an open mouthed kiss to her pulse point, teeth scraping over skin. Emma lets out a little, keening moan at his ministrations and drags him up to kiss her again.

“ Emma ,” Killian murmurs against her lips. If there was any doubt before, it has all vanished. He knows what this is. “Emma, I-“

“Shh,” she interrupts, cutting him off with a kiss. Killian groans against her mouth, cradling the back of her head as he pulls her into him.

“ Later ,” Emma promises, pressing a kiss against his jaw. Killian struggles for a moment before giving in.

“Fine. Later, then.”

The next day, they prepare to leave Camelot by the early light of dawn.

Belle is to remain behind, and Emma watches from the sidelines as she says goodbye to Liam and Killian. Belle hugs Killian fiercely, murmuring something in his ear that makes him flush in embarrassment before releasing him. Emma idly wonders what it is. She doesn’t feel jealous, knowing quite well that Belle has eyes only for the older of the brothers and even if she didn’t, from what happened the previous night, Emma has it on pretty good authority that Killian’s feelings for herself go way beyond platonic.

“ Emma, I- ”

There was no doubting as to what he was going to say. It scares Emma, but also leaves her with unspeakable joy, warmth flooding her at the thought that Killian is capable of loving her despite what she is.

But there are more important things to worry about.

Like the war. And the Evil Queen. And her family.

A low murmur ripples through the air and Emma glances up to see that Belle has shocked the entire crowd waiting to see them off, and the army, by pulling Liam into a fervent kiss. Emma can’t help but grin at the sight.

Liam seems just as shocked, but returns it with equal fervor.

Killian is grinning like the Cheshire Cat at the sight.

Then they ride away from Camelot, the mood becoming somber once more at the reminder of the grim battle ahead.

Misthaven is in chaos.

Now that the Evil Queen has taken over the castle, the common people don’t seem to be satisfied with sitting back and waiting for the battle to be over. They have joined it, instead, fighting against the Queen’s knights ruthlessly, wielding pitchforks and axes. Although the Black Knights are well versed in combat as compared to the peasants, they are hopelessly outnumbered.

The army of Camelot waits at the border, awaiting Liam’s orders.

“It’s clear that the Queen has employed most of her army in eliminating the rogue warriors outside the castle,” Killian begins.

“Which means the castle will be left unprotected,” Emma finishes. “We can sneak in, rescue my parents and take the Queen by surprise. The rest of the soldiers can take out her army, so she’ll be left defenseless. ”

“Except for her magic,” Liam points out.

“I think you’re forgetting that you have an extremely powerful sorceress on your side,” Emma says dryly. “Leave Regina to me. I’ll deal with her. She has a lot to answer for.”

Yes, you can finally kill her , the darkness suggests.

No one’s killing anyone, Emma retorts inwardly. Get out of my head.

And much to her astonishment, the darkness retreats.

Emma doesn’t dwell on it, returning to the discussion. “There are underground passages that lead into the dungeons. I can guide you through them. Regina has most likely imprisoned my family there.”

Liam thinks it over for a minute before nodding. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll go give the soldiers their orders.”

He walks away and Emma is about to follow, but is stopped by Killian.

“Wait, love.”

“What is it?”

In response, Killian tugs a chain over his head, one that she hasn’t noticed before, except for the previous night, because it’s always hidden beneath his clothes. There’s a beautiful ring attached to it, silver with a crimson stone set in the metal. Emma’s breath catches.

“You’re not gonna get down on one knee, are you?” she jokes weakly. Killian doesn’t smile, looking solemn.

“This ring belonged to Liam,” He begins. “Given to him by our father. Liam gave it to me when he became King. It’s what’s kept me alive, all these years.”

Emma glances up at him sharply.

Killian presses it into her palm, curling her fingers over it. “I want you to have it, love.”

“I can’t die today, Killian,” Emma says gently. “I’m immortal.”

Killian exhales. “The Dark One is immortal. But the strong, brave lass I know- you aren’t. Keep it, Emma.”

“What will protect you, then?” Emma asks.

Killian grins at her. “I have you by my side, love. What more protection do I need?”

Overcome by emotion, Emma leans into him, pressing her forehead to his, shutting her eyes. In a few minutes, they go into battle, to face possible death.

But for now, they can have this.

I love you , Emma thinks, but doesn’t dare to say it aloud.

The underground passage leading to the dungeons is exactly as Emma remembers and she guides Liam and Killian through the twisting, maze-like pathways with little difficulty. There are a few of the Queen’s guards stationed there, much to their surprise, but Emma makes short work of them, knocking them unconscious with her magic.

Liam looks impressed. “Nice work, milady.”

Emma nods in thanks and hides a grin. Liam’s opinion of her has bettered considerably and she can’t say she’s disliking it too much.

Everything abruptly goes to hell then, as the sound of running reaches their ears and before they can react, or do anything, a dark haired man rounds the corner, catching hold of Killian and holding a knife to his throat.

“Killian!” Liam draws his sword, but the man presses the knife hard enough to draw blood.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warns. Emma snarls wordlessly, raising her hand to dispose of him, when something makes her pause.

The man looks strangely familiar, his defiant glare and the blue of his eyes tugging at a long lost memory.

Then he looks at her and lets out a cry.

“Emma?!”

And that’s when Emma instantly knows.

“Leo?” she croaks out, her eyes watering. Leo promptly lets go of Killian and runs to her, embracing her tightly. Tears flow down Emma’s cheeks as she hugs him back. It’s her little brother, who’s all grown up now.

“Gods, Emma,” he mutters into her hair. “We thought you were dead.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Leo pulls back to take a good look at her. “What happened to you, Emma?”

Terror seizes her, she knows that this is the moment of truth. But there’s no point lying now. She can’t .

“Because they’re your family and they’ll always love you, no matter what you’ve done.”

The memory of Killian’s words gives her a boost of courage and she swallows before answering.

“I turned into the Dark One,” Emma says steadily. “Rumplestiltskin, he tricked me into thinking he murdered you and I-“

“Oh, Emma.”

And then Leo is hugging her once more and Emma cries again, because Killian was right and he doesn’t hate her, and-

“You’re all grown up now,” Emma says with a half laugh, half sob. Leo snorts, drawing away.

“It’s been ten years, sis.” he glances at Killian and Liam and frowns. “But who are they?”

The brothers, who had been watching the reunion in silence (Killian smiling proudly all through it) look at each other before Liam answers.

“I’m King Liam of Camelot. And this is Killian, my brother.”

Leo’s eyes widen and he lets out a sheepish laugh. “Oh, you’re our allies. My apologies, I thought you were part of the Queen’s army.”

“Speaking of,” Emma says anxiously. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

Leo sobers. “Regina captured them. I managed to get away, thankfully, and I’m here looking for them.”

“So are we.”

“There are more Black Knights stationed further in the dungeons, guarding them.”

“Not a problem,” Emma says, her eyes hard. “I can take them out. Are there any more in the castle?”

“Yeah, but not many,” Leo replies.

Emma nods and turns to Killian and Liam. “You two should go take care of the rest of the knights. Leo and I will find my parents and after that, I’ll go face Regina.”

Killian looks upset at the idea. “Emma-”

“ Please ,” Emma says quietly. “This is something I have to do.”

Killian holds her gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Alright.”

“Let’s be off then,” Liam says. “You stay safe, milady.”

Emma grins and nods. But before they go, Killian hastily turns to pull her into a lingering kiss. Forgetting about their audience, Emma clings to him desperately, tears burning at her eyes.

“Come home to me,” she murmurs against his lips when they part.

It’s not quite an I love you , but it will do for now.

“I will.” Killian vows.

And like that, he’s gone.

“What was all of that about?” Leo demands as they run further into the dungeons.

“Shut up,” is all Emma says, but she’s smiling, clutching at the chain around her neck.

The Black Knights guarding the cell Emma’s parents are trapped in barely get a warning before she knocks them unconscious with a blast of her magic. Leo whistles, impressed.

Snow and David come running to the bars and when they see Emma, expressions of pure shock appear on their faces.

“ Emma? ” Snow breathes, as if barely able to believe what she’s seeing.

Emma melts the bars with a wave of her hand and then she’s running into her parents arms, the tears coming back in full force as her mother tackles her into a bear hug and her father cradles the back of her head, kissing her forehead tenderly. Leo joins the embrace, slinging his arm over Emma’s shoulders.

“We thought you were dead,” David whispers brokenly. Emma nods guiltily.

“I’m so sorry,” she says and then recounts her tale again.

When Emma finishes, her parents are crying as they pull her to them again.

“We’re so sorry we weren’t there for you, Emma,” Snow murmurs, clinging to her daughter like she might disappear any moment.

Emma shakes her head. “It was my fault for not seeking you out before. I just-“ her voice breaks. “I was so afraid that you’d despise me,” she confesses.

Snow cups her cheeks in her hands. “Emma, you are our daughter,” she says firmly. “Never think for a moment that we do not love you.”

When their tears have been dried, David finally asks,

“Did you come here by yourself?”

“No, she came with Camelot’s army,” Leo says wryly.

“Camelot?” Snow questions. “I know they’re our allies, but how on earth did you get affiliated with them?”

“It’s a long story,” Emma says quickly. “We really don’t have the time-“

“You could at least tell them that you’re engaged,” Leo butts in. Emma splutters and David’s face turns purple.

“Engaged?!” He demands, outraged. Emma tosses her brother a furious glare.

“We’re not engaged! Where did you even get that idea?”

“What’s the ring around your neck for, then?”

“What it is , is none of your business,” Emma retorts smartly. “Killian-“

Snow gasps loudly. “ Killian ? The Prince of Camelot is courting you?”

“We’re not courting,” Emma says defensively. “And anyway, don’t we have more important things to discuss right now? Like ending this war once and for all?”

Her parents sober up instantly at that. “Right, of course,” David says. “What’s your plan, Emma?”

“I’m going up against Regina,” Before they can protest, Emma holds up a hand. “I’m not taking no for an answer. We all know that I’m the only one capable of facing her right now.”

“We can be back up,” Snow argues, but Emma disagrees.

“Liam and Killian will need help with the rest of the Black Knights. You three can to that. I’m facing Regina alone.”

Snow and David clearly realize that there’s no point arguing with her, and sigh and relent.

“Be careful,” David says softly.

Emma smiles. “Always am.”

“That’s all, I think,” Killian says as he pulls his sword out of the body of the last knight, grimacing at the blood that coats the steel. Next to him, Liam nods, exhausted.

“Aye. What now?”

Before Killian can reply, they hear the sound of footsteps and swing around. A tall woman with steel grey hair, dressed in black, with a wicked smirk on her face strides into the hallway.

The Evil Queen.

“You,” Killian snarls and Liam holds him back, just barely.

“Hello, little prince,” Regina mocks, but her smile disappears when she sees Liam, angry confusion replacing it. “How are you-you should be dead-”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m not,” Liam says with a grim smile. “Perhaps this time you’ll fight fair, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, how naïve of you,” Regina practically purrs. “I never fight fair.”

Before Liam can blink, she snaps her fingers and suddenly he is bound by an invisible force, unable to budge an inch. Regina moves towards Killian swiftly and plunges her hand into his chest. He lets out a cry of pain, his head slumping forward.

“No!” Liam shouts in panic, desperately fighting against his bonds.

But before Regina can rip Killian’s heart out, a shockwave of magic pulses through the room and the Queen is thrown to the floor. Killian gasps in relief, clutching at his chest and then looks upwards.

It’s Emma.

She walks towards Regina, eyes black with anger, the air around her crackling with magic, looking like an avenging angel ready to destroy whatever stands in her path.

Regina looks up at her, eyes narrowing in uncertainty. “Who are-”

“You should’ve done your research first, Regina,” Emma says coldly. “Then maybe you would’ve known better than to touch what is mine .”

The possessiveness of her tone sends a sharp thrill through Killian.

Regina stands up, studying her carefully. “You’re the Dark One, aren’t you? Rumple-”

“I killed him, ten years ago.”

“Who are you?”

Emma bares her teeth. “Guess.”

Recognition dawns over Regina. “You’re Snow’s daughter, aren’t you,” her face twists in a sneer. “Well, well. I do wonder how your mother took the news of her daughter going dark.”

Emma ignores her taunts. “I’m not here to talk, Regina. I’m here to defeat you, so let’s get on with it.”

Regina snorts. “Please. You might be the Dark One but I can tell you never bothered training your magic. You’re no match for me.”

“Well then, let’s test that theory, shall we?”

Without further warning, Emma draws back her hands and emits twin bolts of grey light, sending them straight towards Regina. The older woman stumbles back, but quickly regains her footing, conjuring fireballs to throw at Emma.

Emma dodges them nimbly, the last one singeing her hair, but she barely flinches at it, attacking again.

The fight continues like this for what seem like hours to Killian but in reality are only a few minutes. Regina begins to get visibly tired, her earlier boasts falling flat as the Dark One’s magic proves to be superior to hers. Hope flares brightly in Killian’s chest, thinking that they might win.

But he thought too soon.

“You’re good, Dark One,” Regina sneers between pants. “But you made a mistake.”

Emma raises a brow.

“You revealed your weakness.”

And before Emma can do anything, Regina swings around, and sends a greenish-black bolt of magic towards Killian. It hits him squarely in the chest and he collapses to the ground.

The last sounds he hears are Emma and Liam’s panicked voices calling his name before everything fades to darkness.

“No! What have you done?!”

Emma gazes at Killian’s unmoving body in horror. Her magic threatens to fly out of control again, pure fear coursing through her veins.

Regina chuckles and thrusts her hand out and suddenly, Emma crashes into the wall. She slumps down on the floor, raising her hand gingerly to the blood that flows down her forehead.

“I may not be able to kill you, but I can at least incapacitate you,” Regina says, stalking over to Emma. At that moment, Snow and David enter the scene, but neither women notice them.

Emma pushes herself up with some difficulty. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Regina,” She waves her hand and blasts her back, and before the Queen can stand again, restrains her with magic.

“You can’t run now,” Emma snarls, towering over the woman.

Regina laughs mockingly. “Are you going to kill me?”

Yes, the darkness insists. Make her suffer for all that she has done.

“Your parents will despise you, you know,” Regina continues. “They do so hate the idea of killing. And you’re the exact same. Dark One or not, you won’t do it.”

Do it, the darkness commands, it’s voice rising to a high shriek. Don’t go back to being nothing .

“You’re nothing,” Regina hisses. “You’ll never be able to protect them. Any of them.”

Something in Emma snaps. The weight of the ring against her chest burns and all the memories of being too weak to fight the darkness, of losing control wash over her, and-

“I am not nothing!” Emma growls , her hands clenching into fists until her knuckles turn white. “I was never nothing! I don’t need to kill you to prove a point. I will never turn into what you are. I amstronger than you ever will be!”

Emma reaches into her pocket and pulls out a black leather cuff. Regina glances at it, and her eyes widen in fear.

“I won’t kill you,” Emma says. “But I will make sure you never hurt anyone again.”

And in a swift motion, she clamps the cuff over Regina’s wrist.

Abruptly, the magic holding Liam down vanishes and he stumbles forward. Emma backs away from Regina and into the arms of her parents and Leo.

“You did it, Emma,” Snow praises. “Oh, we’re so proud of you.”

Emma gives her a weak, watery smile and then glances at Killian, her eyes widening. She runs to him, kneeling beside his prone form.

“What’s going on?” Emma looks up frantically at Liam’s stricken face. “All of Regina’s spells were cancelled, he should’ve woken up, too.”

She reaches over to feel his pulse and it’s like a punch to the gut when there’s nothing.

“ No,” Emma whispers. Behind her, her parents are murmuring sympathies, but she ignores it, shaking him desperately.

“Killian, please,” she begs. “Please, come back to me.”

“Can’t you do anything?” Liam demands, his voice shaking. “Your magic-”

“I don’t even know what’s wrong with him.” Emma says brokenly.

There’s a terrible pain eating at her heart, so dreadful, that Emma can barely hold herself up, slumped over Killian’s body; her breaths coming out in heaving pants.

She never told him she loved him .

The thought just sends a fresh wave of agony through her and Emma sobs like she never has before, clutching at the lapels of his coat as she begs him to come back to her.

“I love you,” Emma whispers and as a last, desperate resort, she presses her lips to his.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then a wave of pure love rushes through her, nearly knocking her over. Emma barely has the time to register to startled gasps of the others before her vision turns a dazzling white, light magic swirling around her.

When she opens her eyes again, the darkness is gone and Killian wakes with a gasp.

It’s a flood of warmth and magic that jerks Killian into wakefulness, his eyes flying open as he gasps for breath. He sees Emma immediately and lets out a low cry of surprise.

The silver of her hair has turned to gold, silky waves that spill down her shoulders and chest. The black dress she’d worn previously has transformed into garments of pure white.

She looks like an angel .

“Emma,” Killian breathes, reaching up to cup her cheek. She lets out a little, relieved cry, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Killian,” Emma says. “I-I thought you were-”

“I’m fine, darling,” He reassures her immediately. “I didn’t mean to make you worry,” Killian sits up, gazing at her in wonder. “Wha-What happened?”

Emma looks down at herself, then, as if not having noticed her transformation before. Her voice shakes when she speaks.

“The darkness,” Emma whispers in awe. “It’s gone .”

“Gone?” Killian repeats. “How?”

“True Love’s kiss,” Emma realizes. “When I kissed you, it broke the curse, and-”

The breath flies out of Killian’s lungs. “True love?” he croaks.

Emma meets his gaze and smiles, gently brushing her knuckles over his cheek. “I love you,” she says simply. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, I-”

Killian doesn’t let her finish, pulling her into her arms, burying his face in her hair. “I love you, too,” He says, his voice muffled. “And you have nothing to apologize for, my love.”

Emma wraps her arms around him tightly, holding to him as if she fears he’ll disappear any moment. “I didn’t need Merlin’s help to defeat the darkness, in the end,” she says, sounding awed. “I didn’t even need Excalibur. All I needed to do was open my heart to love.”

Killian chuckles, drawing away. “I told you you’d do it, Emma.”

Emma laughs, a pure, delighted sound before she pulls him into a kiss. And this time, when Killian kisses her, it feels like coming home and the darkness and walls which separated them have finally been vanquished.

When she releases him, Liam embraces him, calling him a ‘bloody idiot’ and ordering him to never nearly get himself killed like that again.

(“I’m the King, you know. You have to obey my orders.” “Whatever you say, brother.”)

Emma is in the arms of her family, all of them laughing and crying at the same time as they cling to each other. Snow then moves to hug Killian and Liam, thanking them profusely for their help. David shakes Killian’s hand, thanking him gruffly for ridding Emma of the darkness. In the background, Leo elbows Emma slyly and she scowls at him in response.

When Camelot’s army comes back, victorious and Regina is locked away in the dungeons, Emma turns to Killian, grinning brightly.

“I’m glad I met you, Killian,” she says, brushing her lips against the corner of his mouth. Killian turns so he can kiss her properly, relishing in the sound of her pleased moan when his tongue slides over hers.

He breaks away, and rests his forehead against hers.

“I’m glad I met you, too, love.”

Fin

[sherlywrites]

“A Very Young Girl With Enormous Wings”

I first met Julie when she was six years old, but it didn’t occur to me there could be anything wrong with her. She seemed very much like any other young girl; effervescent, bouncy, full of life and energy. The messy mop on her head swung and bobbed with her motions as she ran through the library, and seemed to sag with guilt whenever I stopped her and wagged my finger. No Running Allowed. It wasn’t until she reached the age of twelve, that she, and the people around her, began exhibiting strange behavior.

I was reshelving books, the soft hum of the air conditioner echoing in the smothering silence of absent readers, when it occurred to me I hadn’t seen Julie for some time. I asked around the town for information, and their mouths sprinkled the saccharine sugar of obligatory community concern. Julie’s parents were worried that she could “end the world,” and were keeping her isolated for our safety. When I asked how exactly a teenage girl could bring about the apocalypse, they shook their heads, leaving me a place in their condescension to be lonely, and remarked that they hoped we’d never have to find out, as if I couldn’t possibly be skeptical of the impending apocalypse itself.

I started watching the door obsessively, hoping to see Julie come in, so I could inappropriately pry her about her personal affairs. When she finally did, I could tell the difference-- her hair had lost a bit of its bounce, her smile had lost a bit of its light, and the telltale uneven growth of puberty had given her the proportions of a baby giraffe. When she smiled at me again, though, I knew without a doubt that this was the same little angel who brightened my day when she came to hear me read. How could she possibly end the world?

So I sat down to talk to her for a moment.

Hey Julie, it’s been a while. I asked, offering her my practiced librarian smile.

Yea. She replied, with the smoke of melancholy on her breath.

I folded my hands in my lap and told her. I’ve missed having you here.

I’ve missed being here. She smiled at me again, more sadly, and without meeting my eyes.

Do you mind if I ask what’s going on?

She scratched her head, and said, I don’t mind, but I’m not supposed to talk about it.

Your secret’s safe with me. I promised, and I meant it at the time.

She admitted, with a venomous sting of self loathing in her voice. I’m becoming a monster.  

When I asked her to explain, she just said she didn’t really want to talk about it. I felt sorry for her, so I left her alone, but her sentence burrowed under my skin and laid eggs in my flesh, and those eggs itched to crawl out.

I asked my usual sources about Julie’s impending transformation, and they laughed at me, and shook their heads as if I were the insane one. No, they said, she thinks she’s becoming a monster, she’ll just bring about the apocalypse if she doesn’t stop. Okay.

In the long hours between closing and opening, when I sat alone in my house eating frozen dinners or oatmeal, or in the even longer hours when my dying library was empty of even the people who just come in to use the internet-- for porn-- the town swept me up in its fear of armageddon. The conversations about her began to eclipse her in my mind. When people came in, I asked where she’d gone, what she did, if she was safe. I asked a different parent every day, so no one would think I’m crazy. I never bothered her when she came into the library again, though. She had learned the hard way that one can not communicate their inner pain to others-- merely gesture at its shadow-- else they would respond with horror, and not help.

She turned to indirect forms of expression-- poetry, writing, music. She could never get all her pain out through them, or even most of it, because she didn’t have the words yet, and her parents strictly forbade her from getting them. These words, they felt, were too powerful, and she may end the world if she gets them. And at least this way she could get attention, if not help.

She was fourteen years old when she came into the library for the last time, with exuberance in her steps once again and a bright secret in her smile.

Do your parents know you’re here? I asked, in my practiced librarian voice.

With a fae giggle, she said, I finally told them if I couldn’t have my books then I really would end the world, and they gave up because they have no idea what they’re doing.

She sat down at her usual table, and seeing no one else in the library, looked at me like I was her last chance to be loved, her only friend, and asked, Will you read to me again?

I read several passages from A Wizard of Earthsea, and she listened to me quietly until she wore my voice out. I joked with her, Are you sure you didn’t learn any dangerous words?

She shook her head, No, I don’t need the words any more. I don’t need anything.

The next day I heard a shrill screech coming from outside. I bolted out, and saw her wearing a forbidden dress, standing in the middle of the street. She was looking up at the sky, as if she knew where she was going. The wind blew past her, holding her dress to her skin like a warm embrace, as she opened her arms to the sun. Her family stood on the side of the road, sobbing, pleading. Now it seemed they truly loved her, but she was past listening to their mewling. As they began to start towards her, she formed a ring with her fingers, and placed it on the top of her head. From her fingers grew a flaming tiara of brilliant gold. Her hair turned red, and flared out behind her in the wind, leaving trails of smoke in its wake. She was too bright now, too brilliant to approach, and so they shut their eyes and fell to their knees in horror. Then, from her back, emerged great and radiant ruby wings. They shone, not with the reflection of the sun, but with their own light, and only her silhouette as their shadow. She must have been in terrible pain, as acrid burns crept across her scalp and back, but she never wavered. The wings encompassed the length of the road and the sidewalks combined. They extended upwards, reaching for heaven, almost getting there, before they gave one great, mighty beat, and she was gone.

[waveridden]

FIC: apple cider, i don’t mind

Dak turns around, and Max jumps onto his back in a well-practiced motion. “Who’s ready for an open house?” (Dak/Tech parent/teacher AU, 2.9k)

AUcember || title lyric || read on ao3

#

Dak cups his hands around his mouth. “Max!” he shouts up the stairs. “Come on, buddy, we gotta get going!”

“I can’t find my backpack!” Max yells back.

“You left it in the kitchen! And you don’t need the backpack, this is just an open house!”

“I can’t go to school without a backpack, you made me promise!”

“This isn’t a normal school day, and we’re running late!”

Max gasps from upstairs, surprisingly loud with his little seven-year-old lungs. That’s one of the crazy things about kids: they’re fucking loud. They talk loud. They scream loud. Even their dramatic gasps are loud enough to hear downstairs. “Mister Z doesn’t like it when people are late!”

“Then we’d better get going,” Dak says, or starts to say when Max comes barrelling down the stairs and more or less leaps into Dak’s chest, full-force.

Dak catches him, because what kind of an uncle would he be if he dropped him, and drops him on the stairs. Max lands with a quiet oof and a giggle and looks up at Dak. “I think you’re gonna like Mister Z.”

Max loves Mister Z. He has made absolutely no secret of it. Dak doesn’t know anything about the guy, other than he teaches second grade and he is Max’s all-time favorite person right now. Also, he’s apparently into all the weird science projects that kids love, with the slime and the volcanoes and maybe a class pet or something, Dak can’t really keep track. But he does want to meet the guy for himself.

“I think I am too.” Dak ruffles Max’s hair and then looks down. Max is wearing a bow tie with his Spiderman T-shirt. “Whoa there, kiddo, what’s with the fancy outfit?”

Max’s cheeks flush pink. “It’s a special day,” he says defensively.

Dak knows exactly why Max is dressed up, probably. Max told Pox that he has a crush on Mister Z, and because Pox is the coolest goddamn babysitter in the world, she immediately told Dak about it. Pox is fucking great, because sometimes she lets Dak just pay her with food, and because Max loves her, and because she tells Dak the important secrets that his nephew is keeping.

“Okay,” Dak says placatingly. “Stand up, c’mere, let me fix it.”

Max’s eyes narrow, but he stands up, and Dak bends down to adjust the bow tie. “Normally we put these with the shirts with the collars, you know that?”

“You call those monkey suit shirts.”

“Yeah, and I have a job where I never have to wear them, but it’s nice to have ‘em if you ever wanna wear a tie around your neck.”

“Where else would you wear it?”

“Around your head, like a bandana.”

Max giggles. “That’s silly!”

“Of course it is!” Dak turns around, and Max jumps onto his back in a well-practiced motion. “Who’s ready for an open house?”

“Me!” Max shouts.

“Who’s ready to meet Mister Z?”

“You!”

“And who’s ready to get McDonald’s afterwards?”

“Both of us!”

“Hell yeah, both of us!” Dak lifts one hand behind his head, and Max smacks it in the tiniest, greatest seven-year-old high five known to man. “Let’s get going!”

#

The facts are these:

First, Dak didn’t ever really intend to have kids. He and Shirley talked about it back in the day, and after they broke up he never really saw much of a point in being a dad. He likes kids, sure, but he also likes driving trucks and being on the open road and all that shit. He likes that he can leave home for a few weeks and not worry about coming back. He likes listening to audiobooks and being by himself.

Second, he didn’t know his sister that well before she died. Carrie was a good twelve years younger than him, and they were never all that close. He knew that she had kids, had even met them once or twice. And he knew that her husband was a real shitbag, but he had never stopped to think about… well, about custody or any of that. He figured that she had her own life, and she would work all that out, and it would be fine.

Third, there was a car accident that took Carrie, and her baby, and Max’s leg from the knee down. And fourth, completely without Dak’s knowledge, he was listed as Max’s legal guardian if anything happened to Carrie. And that was how Dak ended up with a four-year-old and no fucking clue what to do with him.

It’s the kind of thing where there’s no learning curve, and he figured that out real fucking quick. Kids don’t care that you’ve never had a kid before, they care about getting a grilled cheese and cool pajamas. It’d totally rearranged Dak’s life, and as much as he loves Max now, it was fucking hard. It was really fucking hard.

It was worth it, though. Dak knows it was worth it every time he high-fives Max, and every time he stays up late helping Max through his English homework, and every single morning he wakes up and this kid is still here. It’s worth it.

#

Mister Z is a little younger than Dak expected. He’s sitting on his desk in the front of the room, talking to a woman who has three tiny kids running around her, but he still catches Dak’s eye and nods when Dak walks in. Dak nods back, as though he has any idea what’s happening, and lets Max start dragging him around the room.

He’s been to a couple open houses at this point, and he’s still not really sure what the point is. Especially considering that he has to deal with how weird people get every time he introduces himself as Max’s uncle - no, not his dad, yes, his guardian, and why the fuck are you asking what happened to his parents, that’s fucking insane. People have no sense of privacy.

“This is my desk,” Max announces, tugging on Dak’s hand as they reach a desk in the corner of the room. “This is where I sit and take notes and read books under the desk sometimes, but the books are always about science so it’s okay.”

“Where do you get science books?” Dak says, which he knows is probably not the right parental response, but fucking whatever, uncle privileges. “Should I be buying you science books?”

“We have a library,” Max says, in the most /duh tone of voice that Dak has ever heard from him. He is, despite literally all logic, very proud. “The new librarian Mister The Tech Wizard helps me find good science books, and sometimes he gets me the third and fourth grade ones even though I’m only in second grade, because he says I’m good at reading them.”

“Whoa, slow your roll there.” Dak rests a hand on Max’s desk, running one finger across Max’s nametag taped to the top. “You got a new librarian and his name is-”

“Mister The Tech Wizard,” Max repeats dutifully. “He says we don’t have to call him Mister or anything, and that The Tech Wizard is an old nickname that just kind of stuck, and a lot of the kids just call him Tech Wizard, but I wanna be respectful, because he’s helping me. So I call him Mister The Tech Wizard.”

“Max is very into respect,” a new voice says. Dak is completely unsurprised to look over and see Mister Z, who has a very cool side-cut and very un-teacher-like knee-high studded boots.

Dak looks down at Max. “Who’s teaching you about respect? Because it’s definitely not me.”

“You’re respectful,” Max protests. “And Mister Z talks a lot about respect, so it’s important!”

“But he takes it more seriously than most of the kids,” Mister Z says dryly, and offers his hand. “Hey, I’m Mister Z. I teach your kid how to read and stuff.”

Dak takes it and shakes it, with the best and firmest Dak Rambo handshake that he can manage. “I’m his Uncle Dak.”

“Yeah, he talks about you a lot. You drive trucks?”

“Only when there’s someone to watch him.” Which there normally is, because Pox is great like that. Dak doesn’t know what she does when she’s not babysitting, but she always seems to be around when he needs her. “And you teach a whole bunch of seven-year-olds. How’s that going for you?”

For just a second, Mister Z’s face drops out of professional-cool-teacher mode to a very human, super relatable wince. “I love them, and I love what I do,” he says sincerely, “but, you know.”

Dak does know. “I do know,” he says. “Well, Max thinks you’re great, he only says good things about you, although apparently he reads science books under his desk during class.”

“Dak,” Max whines, looking mortified.

Dak ruffles Max’s hair cheerfully. “Sorry, kiddo, but you gotta pay attention in school! Otherwise you end up like your uncle Dak, driving trucks on the open road, forgetting how to add three plus two.”

“You know what three plus two is!”

“I know it’s different than two plus two.”

“Between you and me-” Mister Z glances conspicuously at Max before leaning in and lowering his voice. “I know he reads the books, but your kid is way fucking smarter than the rest of the class. As long as he keeps turning stuff in on time, I don’t care what he does in class.”

Dak opens his mouth to say that Max isn’t exactly his kid, but before he can ask, Max tugs on his sleeve. “Are you telling secrets about me?” he asks, looking genuinely worried.

“No secrets, buddy, just Mister Z giving me the grown-up 411.” Dak grins and claps Mister Z on the shoulder. He twitches a little bit, but doesn’t shrug Dak off, which is a good sign. Maybe. “I’m glad you’re Max’s teacher, Z, you seem like a cool dude. Can you give us directions to the library? I wanna meet this Mister The Tech Wizard and thank him for giving Max the hook-up.”

“I know where the library is,” Max says indignantly. “And I gotta finish showing you around, and you didn’t really talk to Mister Z.”

“I don’t have a lot to say,” Mister Z admits. “I’ve got a sheet of paper with a little bit about my teaching philosophy, which the district made me write up, but mostly this is for you to show Dak around, Max. Can you do that?”

Max nods determinedly and tugs at his little elastic-neck bowtie. Mister Z looks down, sees the bowtie, and grins. “Hey, nice bowtie.”

“Thank you,” Max says, very politely, and then beams. Dak has to hand it to the kid: he doesn’t even start blushing until Mister Z has moved on to talking to the next parent.

Dak bumps his hand against Max’s shoulder. “You need a minute, or are you ready for the grand tour?”

“I don’t need a minute,” Max says, even though his cheeks are bright, bright pink. It is the cutest fucking thing Dak has ever seen. “I gotta show you all my friends’ desks, and the fishtank.”

“But I can already see the fishtank from here.”

“Daaaaaaaaaaak,” Max says exaggeratedly, so drawn out that Dak is completely sure that Max thinks it’s funny.

“Just a little bit of uncle humor for you,” he says cheerfully. “Come on, show me around the classroom.”

#

The library ends up being their last stop, not for lack of trying, but because every single teacher they see seems to know and love Max. They find his first grade teacher, who never liked Dak but who is still nice to Max, so she’s on thin fucking ice. They find the teacher who does the computer class, and the art teacher, and Max’s gym teacher, who apparently didn’t expect Max’s guardian to be a tough guy. Unluckily for them, Dak is the toughest guy.

“This is the library,” Max announces loudly as he pushes the door open. “There’s computers in here, and a bunch of books.”

Dak whistles as he takes a look around. There are no other parents or kids in sight, only shelves and shelves of books. “Wow. You ever seen this many books in one place at once?”

“Bookstore,” Max points out, which is probably true, but it does kind of ruin Dak’s whole embarrassing uncle humor vibe. “They have the picture books for the littler kids, and the chapter books for the bigger kids, and-”

“And science books for the science kids,” a voice says warmly.

It takes Dak a second to find the source of the voice: behind the counter, off to the side. The man in question, who absolutely has to be Mister The Tech Wizard, is… well, honestly, he’s a little hot, in a very specific way. He’s chubby, a little bit scruffy, and he’s wearing an orange fanny pack and little earrings shaped like stars. And he’s smiling at Max, a nice non-condescending smile, which automatically puts him at the top of Dak’s list of favorite people.

“Hi Mister The Tech Wizard!” Max waves at him. “This is my Uncle Dak, he’s here for the open house and he said something about saying thank you for hooking up.”

“You said those words in the wrong order, bud,” Dak says cheerfully, as Tech Wizard blushes so hard he practically turns purple. “I said I wanted to say thank you for giving Max the hook-up with science books, and Max apparently remembered the two weirdest words out of that sentence.”

Max frowns. “What’s wrong with hooking up?”

“Nothing,” Dak says, “and anyone who ever tells you otherwise is wrong. But that’s one of those things where if you say it a certain way, it means something different to grown-ups.”

“Oh.” Max thinks about this for a few seconds. “Like that time the neighbor knocked over a bucket, and I said he kicked the bucket, but that means something else?”

“Exactly.”

Max nods and looks back at Tech Wizard. “What did I say by accident?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tech Wizard says, still looking a little mortified. His eyes flick up and down Dak’s body, which is… well, that’s what Dak calls a pleasant surprise. But then he clears his throat and seems to come back to himself, and he looks down at Max. “Okay, let’s try it one more time, what did you want to say?”

“Uncle Dak wanted to thank you for giving me science books.”

“Oh!” Tech Wizard turns back to Dak, any remaining embarrassment melting off of him. “Dude, your nephew is smart, did you know that?”

“Did I know that?” Dak scoffs loudly. “Of course I did! Except for the part where he reads about science.”

“I read all about the table of elements,” Max says proudly.

“He’s reading the kind of books that kids a couple years older than him are supposed to be reading, but blow off,” Tech Wizard explains. “And he understands it all pretty well. Zenith and I talk about it, and we’re pretty impressed.”

“You talk about me?” Max repeats, eyes round. “Really?”

“We talk about a lot of the kids.”

“And my sister’s kid is worth talking about,” Dak says proudly, wrapping a hand around Max’s shoulder and tugging him close. “I don’t have much to say, but I did want to stop by and say thank you for helping him out.”

“It’s my job,” Tech Wizard says, but he smiles, looking pleased. “And you’re welcome. You’ve got a great kid here, you know that? Or a great sister’s kid.”

“Oh, I know.” Dak squeezes Max’s shoulder and looks down. “Do you need any science books right now, do you wanna show me around?”

Max blinks a couple times and opens his mouth, with the face that means he’s embarrassed to say something.

Dak cottons on immediately. “Or do you wanna go to McDonald’s?”

“I wanna go to McDonald’s,” Max says, cheeks coloring ever so slightly, but he looks resolute.

“That’s what I thought.” Dak glances back at the counter. “Looks like we gotta blast, but it was nice meeting you, Mister The Tech Wizard.”

Mister The Tech Wizard waves him off, looking embarrassed. “Just Tech is fine.”

“Just Tech,” Dak repeats. “Got it. And I’m just Dak.”

“Not even I call him Uncle Dak,” Max adds. “Not always, anyways.”

Tech nods. “Dak,” he says, and for a single heart-crunching second Dak is certain that he never wants to hear anyone else say his name again. Not if they’re not gonna say it like that. “It was good to meet you too, Dak.”

“Yeah,” Dak says, and there are already a couple of really, really good excuses to come back and visit the library swirling around in the back of his head. For Max and science books, obviously. And for the way Tech is looking at him, the shy little smile on his face. “Seriously, thank you for keeping an eye out for him.”

“Of course,” Tech says, and waves at Max. “Have a good night.”

“Good night, Mister The Tech Wizard,” Max chirps, and starts dragging Dak towards the door. Dak barely has time to wave before Max is pretty much towing him back down the hall, chattering about books or some shit. And in a minute Dak will feel bad about not really listening, but right now he glances over his shoulder and sees Tech watching them walk away, with a tiny, pleased smile. And, well, he needs a minute to be excited about that.

[gukyi]

masterlist

all rights reserved © gukyi - do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

here lies all of the works i have ever written and posted to tumblr! they are sorted by ot7 series, then by members. this is the only place you will ever find my writing -- if you see any of these pieces on other platforms (wattpad, ao3, fanfiction.net, instagram, youtube, etc.), they are plagiarized works and please let me know. enjoy!

KEY: ⚥ gender neutral reader | ♡ favorites | ♔ newest

SERIES: ✎ in progress | ✓ complete

LAST UPDATED: 06.13.21

dandelion wisps

a collection of drabbles written either for requests, ask games, or on whims. sorted by member and genre.

sorted: a hogwarts au

⇒ a series of scenarios featuring each member, set during the same hogwarts universe. ♡; ✎

kim seokjin: white chocolate fudge ↳ friends to lovers au — fluff | 11k

you and seokjin are the heads of your class, but recently he’s been sneaking off with shitty excuses and leaving you to watch over the students. when you finally follow him after he abruptly bails on your evening walk, you find yourselves in the forbidden forest with… a hippogriff hatchling?

min yoongi: interconnection ↳ strangers to lovers au, journal au — fluff | 8k

you can never trust anything in the wizarding world. not even your own goddamn journal.

jung hoseok: plant boy ↳ opposites to lovers au — fluff, light angst | 11k

after seven years of doing it, you’d like to think you’re an expert at skipping class. stay hidden, stay quiet, and act inconspicuous. but when you accidentally draw the attention of jung hoseok while you’re camping out on the benches outside the greenhouses, you begin to realize that all it takes is a boy with sunshine at his fingertips and a particular affinity for herbology to change things.

kim namjoon: tutor ↳ enemies to lovers au — fluff | 11k

competition has always been a thing at hogwarts, but not even the house ghosts could be prepared for the volcanic explosion otherwise known as the culmination of the rivalry between you and fellow top student kim namjoon.

park jimin: boats against the current ↳ opposites to lovers au — fluff, angst | 12k

park jimin thinks his life is all well and good, that is, until he finds out that if he wants to play quidditch for his last year at hogwarts, he needs to pass a presentation in muggle studies. and, just like the novel he needs to research, he realizes that maybe his life would be easygoing and simple, if only he didn’t fall in love along the way.

kim taehyung: love, guaranteed ↳ friends to lovers au — fluff, angst | 11k

with the celestial ball quickly approaching, kim taehyung is horrified to find out that you, his best friend, are dateless. to remedy this, he initiates The Match Project, a matchmaking service designed to find the most optimal date. to you, it’s an opportunity to meet someone else so you can stop pining after your clueless best friend. to him, it’s an opportunity to finally, once and for all, tell you how he feels.

jeon jungkook: do you want me (dead?) ↳ enemies to lovers au — fluff | 11k

jeon jungkook, quidditch extraordinaire and overall pain in your ass, is the one problem you can’t seem to solve, even with years of being the school’s advice columnist under your belt. that is, until you begin to receive letters from someone under the alias of bambi, requesting help with confessing to a crush, and suddenly, your relationship with jeon jungkook takes a turn for… the worst?

kim seokjin

 ⇒ O N E S H O T S

start anew ↳ exes au — fluff; angst | 11k

it’s been five years since you left your hometown, vowing never to return, but a simple invitation to a christmas party and a yearning to know whether or not you’re truly over the heartbreak you left behind has you wondering if, maybe, the christmas spirit and promise of a new beginning can change your mind.

raspberry truffles ↳ friends to lovers au, fake dating au — fluff | 5k

how to fake date your best friend: step one: don’t fall in love with them. failed step one.

for you, anything ↳ friends to lovers au, enemies to lovers au — fluff; comedy | 21k

in the popular online multiplayer game, kingdom, you are the top-ranked knight with money, fame, and power. in real life, you’re a graphic design geek who’s got a very unsubtle crush on her gorgeous coworker, kim seokjin. but when you’re suddenly dethroned from the first place spot in your game, you and your kingdom character embark on a journey to reclaim your title, and learn on the way that things are not always as they seem.

the courtship chronicles ↳ friends to lovers au, fake dating au — fluff; comedy; angst; ♡ | 20k

dating has never been anywhere near your list of priorities, but kim seokjin is nothing if not determined. and when he comes to the rescue and accompanies you to your friend’s wedding, he decides to request only one thing in return: for you to let him take you out on fake dates and shower you in fake affection, and show you how much fun dating can be. he just needs to remember to keep the part where he’s been in love with you under wraps.

the heiress and the hotelier ↳ modern cinderella au, hotelier!seokjin, heiress!reader — fluff; comedy | 20k

when you share a kiss with a mysterious but gorgeous stranger on the night of your unwanted, lavish masquerade birthday party, the last thing you expect is for him to vanish at midnight on the dot. but when, as punishment for always arguing with him, your father assigns you to oversee the company’s newest resort hotel, you begin to realize that the handsome stranger may be closer than you think.

min yoongi

⇒ S E R I E S

the little things ↳ friends with benefits au, expecting parents au — fluff; ✎; ♡

what happens when you combine friends with benefits, an accidental pregnancy, and a certain min yoongi? he falls in love.

the truth between us ↳ enemies to lovers au — fluff; angst; drama; sci fi; ✓; ♡ | 100k

there is truly nothing more unfortunate than the fact that min yoongi, asshole extraordinaire, is the editor for your very first novel. you’re stuck with him. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle.

➘ one | two | three | four | five | six | epilogue

⇒ O N E S H O T S

magic of the night ↳ witch au — horror | 5k

there is a witch you go to for spells and potions whenever human nature is not enough for things to go your way, and he loves you more than anyone else ever will.

i’ll give you my heart ↳ christmas au, friends to lovers au — fluff | 6k

gift exchanges are cool. gift exchanges with your ceo-slash-best friend min yoongi are less cool, because what the hell are you supposed to get the man that already has everything?

a heart full of love ↳ e2l au, actor au, high school au — fluff | 10k

people say that actors are the most dramatic people in the world but those people haven’t met a certain min yoongi.

VOGUE ↳ e2l au, fashion designers au — fluff; comedy; angst; ♡ | 42k

you’ve always said that fashion is meant to push the limits of art, but no amount of swarovski crystals could ever prepare you for the latest assignment your manager has lined up for you: design a dress with none other than min yoongi, the evil genius that stole the show from you during paris fashion week, to be displayed in a showcase in milan.

that’s the spirit! ↳ f2l au, college au, halloween au — fluff; comedy; angst | 8k

min yoongi hates halloween. as his best friend and resident halloween-lover, that is simply unacceptable. but when halloween night rolls around and you and min yoongi feel farther apart than ever before, you discover that what’s come between you is more than just a bad trick, and that no matter what day it is, loving him is the sweetest treat of all.

♔ no choice (next to you) ↳ e2l au, neighbor au, frat boy au, college au — fluff; comedy | 13k

the pros of your last-minute senior year apartment sublet: cheap, furnished, close to campus, in a gorgeous old victorian conversion home, and right next to the greek takeout place.

the cons of your last-minute senior year apartment sublet: min yoongi, senior member of the beta tau sigma fraternity, and his party-throwing, vodka-loving, ruckus-making fraternity buddies, are your neighbors.

kim namjoon

⇒ O N E S H O T S

moving on  ↳ supernatural au, carrie au — horror, angst | 10k

when kim namjoon moves to a new town the year before graduation, the first and only thing he is told is to stay away from her.

the snow globe effect ↳ librarian au — fluff; ♡ | 10k

when a freak blizzard hits and leaves you and kim namjoon trapped in the library together on the eve of new year’s eve, you realize that when life hands you lemons, you make lemon snow cones.

park jimin

⇒ O N E S H O T S

rich kid ↳ rich kid au, college au — fluff; ⚥; ♡ | 5k

park jimin is a rich kid. 

earnestly yours ↳ enemies to lovers au, actor au, high school au — fluff; ♡ | 8k

it doesn’t matter if you and park jimin hate each other’s guts, because you will always get cast opposite each other for the school’s drama productions, and you will always have to kiss.

just a little bit of love (is all you really need) ↳ gymnastics au — fluff | 5k

jimin’s something of a legend at gymnastics, but suddenly you walk in and turn his whole world upside down. quite literally, might i add.

fairytail ↳ merman au — fluff | 19k

you have a particular disdain for the beach. jimin is here to change that. oh! and he’s also a merman. so there’s that, too.

into the wilderness ↳ camp counselor au, unrequited love au, friends to lovers au— fluff | 27k

alright, so last summer’s camp was… disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

kim taehyung

⇒ O N E S H O T S

seoksanhwa ↳ prince au, joseon au, sageuk au — fluff; smut; angst; ♡ | 23k

in the game of love and war, nothing is fair.

heart is where the home is ↳ airport au, strangers to lovers au — fluff; smut | 16k

when you woke up this morning, you didn’t really picture yourself falling in love with the attractive, well-read traveller sitting next to you on the plane, but a missed connection and an alarming amount of hand-holding later, you find that you both get a lot more than what you paid for.

practice makes perfect (or at least, significantly better) ↳ punk band au — fluff | 7k

taehyung’s the drummer in a local punk band, and you’re the university’s first chair flute. this is a love story that doesn’t exactly go as planned, but then again, does anything?

tattoos together  ↳ tattoo artist au — fluff | 5k

you aren’t necessarily terribly particular when it comes to tattoos, and when you arrive at your favorite tattoo parlor one day in search of a new addition, one in particular catches your eye, but more importantly, so does the artist behind its creation. and slowly, you come to realize that art does not need sentimental value to be meaningful—it just needs to be loved.

broken rings & queens and kings ↳ enemies to lovers au, royalty au, arranged marriage au — fluff; smut; angst; ♡ | 24k

to make a long, long story very, very short, you and kim taehyung have been sworn enemies ever since childhood, that is, until you find out that you’re betrothed to each other for the good of your kingdoms, and everything comes crumbling down.

victorious ↳ childhood friends to enemies to lovers au, how to train your dragon au — fluff; angst; ♡ | 21k

you’re the village’s best dragon racer, if the two years of straight victory are anything to go by. at least, until the day that kim taehyung returns and sweeps the crown right from the top of your head. you swear he’s nothing but a sleazy, obnoxious, dragon-racing jerk, but find that belief turned on its head when the two of you stumble upon a night fury in the woods, whose only chance of survival happens to be the two of you.

four weeks ↳ enemies to lovers au, roommates au, college au — fluff; angst; ♡ | 20k

four weeks. that’s how long you’re trapped on campus after missing your flight home because of a grossly overtime final. and as you’re walking around your empty campus, thinking that you could sink no lower, you find yourself alone in the art building with a certain freshman year dorm-neighbor from hell, kim taehyung. and he’s got an offer that you don’t think you can refuse: he’s staying on campus this winter break as well, and he’s happy to let you live with him.

good luck charm ↳ friends to lovers au, roommates au, actor au — fluff; angst | 11k

kim taehyung has nearly everything he’s ever dreamed of: an apartment in new york city, a lead role in an off-broadway play, and a best friend to share it with. but even still, there’s one thing missing—love. and when he goes on the hunt for it, he dots every i and crosses every t, leaves no stone unturned, but forgets to look at the person who could ever love him the most: you.

love me or we both go down ↳ enemies to lovers au, arranged marriage au, rich kids au — fluff; angst; smut | 32k

after going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.

jeon jungkook

⇒ S E R I E S

fear is forever ↳ werewolf au — fluff; angst; ✓; ♡ | 10k

there’s a werewolf in that forest behind your house, they told you, and he’ll eat you before you can even beg for mercy.

➘ fear in your eyes | forever and a night

moonlight melody ↳ fake dating au, orchestra au — fluff; angst; ✓; ♡ | 50k

when your loving best friend playfully pranks you one too many times, you decide that revenge is best served hot, over a period of thirty days, and with a little extra help from the best violinist you know (sorry jimin).

➘ part one | part two

⇒ O N E S H O T S

the millionaire and his lover ↳ ceo au, friends to lovers au, fake dating au — fluff; smut; angst | 18k

over the course of your lifelong friendship with jungkook, you can’t say that you’ve ever had the greatest ideas, and a fake relationship with the boy you’ve been in love with for years is no exception. 

pen pals ↳ friends to lovers au, high school au — fluff; smut | 11k

to put it simply, pretending to be jungkook’s pen pal when you were both eight just so he wouldn’t be disappointed was a bad idea, because now he’s in love with them. or, well, you, he just doesn’t know it.

long lost ↳ childhood friends au, celebrity au — fluff; angst; ♡ | 15k

jeon jungkook is famous, talented, and on the hunt for his childhood friend and first love. you are self-deprecating, a little awkward, and exactly who he’s looking for. only, there’s one (1; single, a solo) problem: he has no idea.

the wedding planners ↳ enemies to lovers au, wedding au — fluff; smut; angst; ♡ | 28k

the good thing about being your best friend’s wedding planner is that you get to watch him marry the love of his life. the bad thing? jeon jungkook.

ice prince ↳ enemies to lovers au, figure skating au — fluff; ♡ | 22k

when, due to inexplicable and total clumsiness, your reliable, talented ice dancing partner of five years breaks his leg right before the largest competition of your life, desperate times call for desperate measures. and for a brief, brief moment, you think that everything might actually end up not-that-shitty, until you find out that the aforementioned desperate measures go by the name of jeon jungkook.

the underwear thief ↳ neighbors au, college au — fluff; smut | 10k

jeon jungkook would like to make one thing very clear: it’s not his fault.

the coffee shop contract ↳ fake dating au, college au — fluff; comedy | 18k

apparently, having an instagram profile with a different girl in every picture is reason enough for your friends to strike up a deal where they’ll pay you to have a relationship. well, jeon jungkook’s no good at relationships, but a fake relationship isn’t a real relationship. is it?

if i told you ↳ friends to lovers au, college au — fluff; angst; comedy; ♡ | 22k

in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

midas ↳ enemies to lovers au, ceo au, magical realism au — fluff; angst; ♡ | 32k

jeon jungkook was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the power to turn whatever he wants into pure gold. you were born with healing and invisibility powers but without a cent to your name. so when you’re plucked off of the streets for pickpocketing and assigned to be his minder as punishment, you realize you’re going to have to overcome a lot more than class differences if either of you are going to get what you want.

the love project ↳ friends to lovers au, college au — fluff; comedy; ♡ | 12k

from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

the art of the rom-com ↳ enemies to lovers au, college au — fluff; comedy; angst; ♡ | 33k

FILM395, the art of the rom-com, was supposed to be an easy a with one of your favorite professors, but it’s not. it’s actually a sisyphean torture that comes in the form of fellow film student jeon jungkook, who has no problem responding to every one of your discussion posts about the consumerist ideals underlying every romance movie with his own paragraphs on the beauty of love like the hopeless romantic he is. and when the two of you find yourselves partnered up for your final project, which is to create a short film on rom-coms, jungkook decides to take it upon himself to show you what love is really like.

[beastlycheese]

Everything Has Changed

Here lies my Rumbelle Secret Santa for @ittybittybitchywitchy she asked for karaoke and a Rumbelle duet especially the song Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift/Ed Sheeran.

Chapter One

“You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when I met you”, crooned Neal far too loudly into his girlfriend’s ear.  “No, I wasn’t. I met you when I found you sleeping in the back seat of my car”, protested Emma, “and you will never find a song to fit that scenario”.  

“Ok, Ok, how about this?” Neal tried again, “You were working as a waitress in a karaoke bar when I first fucked you”.

“That much is true” she laughed, “but a rather vulgar attempt at a serenade.  Plus, you are going to have to stop singing that song when Belle comes out because Gaz has been hammering it out none stop at her all night”.

“Ah shit, not again, is that why you wanted me to walk you two back tonight?” Neal worried. His girlfriend and her flatmate, Belle, loved their job at the “Top Hat”.  But it was in a rather dodgy part of town and some of the customers got a bit too handsy by the end of an evening’s drinking and would hang around outside waiting to hijack anyone not coupled off.  He lived in the flat above the bar, it was terribly noisy, but it was cheap and way better than couch surfing or sleeping in other people’s cars.  Living above the bar had made him bouncer-in-chief for the two girls, they got an escort back to their flat and in return he got a quiet sleep-over with Emma. They also had heating, clean sheets, warm showers and a stocked fridge.

Belle finally hurried towards them, tottering in her ridiculously high heels and pulling her tiny coat on.  “Can we get a taxi?” Belle sighed.  “My feet are killing me. I think I have blisters on my blisters!”

“No way!” Complained Emma, “That would mean we worked the last hour for nothing!  I’m going to have to cut down working so many shifts soon with exams coming up, I just need the cash. You should wear flats, I do keep on telling you. No blisters and your gorgeous ‘fuck me’ shoes don’t get waterlogged with slops”.

“OK Mrs Practical footwear and sensibly warm leather jacket, but you and Neal are going to have give me piggy backs or I will never make it. And they are the only way I can reach those glasses at the top. If they were ‘fuck me shoes’ surely I would have a boyfriend by now”.

“Haaa,” said Emma, “that is because you turn down every offer you get”.

“Ugh but I work in a troll bar, they are all disgusting!”

—

They ended up deciding to crash at Neal’s.  The lovers curled up on the sofa together while Belle stretched out on the floor trying to tend to her battered toes.  While they indulged in some ‘medicinal’ whisky the conversation returned to Gaz and his band of fellow ‘disgusting’ trolls.

“So, he took off his shirt at this point and hurls it towards Belle at the bar, thrusting and gyrating his hips and repeating ‘don’t you want me baby’, until Jefferson just pulled him off the stage.”

“It didn’t end there,” added Belle, “Notty and Gaz caught me on my break, they were on either side of me trying to grab my hand, so I positioned them until they were holding each other’s hands and made a break for it.  They were too embarrassed to come after me.”

“Yes, I bet they had to thump each other to prove their heterosexuality to the other nobs after that” sneered Neal.  

“OK, so he is a total sleaze-bag but come on Belle, you have to admit that Gaz is not your average “Top Hat” troll. The six pack, the cheek bones, tall, dark and handsome, he is your classic hunk.” Emma asked her flat mate who had started shaking her head vigorously.

“Not for me, Ems, he is just gargantuan, like Big Foot or an abominable snowman, and all those muscles just give me the creeps. I’ve dated a tall guy, Will was over six foot and I used to get neck ache just trying to look him in the eye, kissing was a logistical conundrum.”

“So, come on Belle then, if it isn’t hunks what type do you go for?” Neal enquired, flashing his eyes and puckering his lips. He quickly received a thump on the arm from his girlfriend.

“Well you have got really lovely eyes Neal, but sorry you are like a brother to me”, said Belle.

“I do love a well-dressed man, not too tall, any colour but the darker the better, mysterious, intelligent – obviously, well read - definitely, a good cook, mature.  I’m so sick of the kids on my course, I know that I’m only a few years older than most of them, but they still think that talking about bodily functions is the height of wit.”

“OK, OK, I’ve got it,” enthused Emma, “you ditch the Troll bar, and get a job at a dwarf tavern next to a university frequented by lecturers and librarians.

“No” said Neal, “librarians are always dressed pretty dowdily.”

“Oh no they are not!” argued Belle, “I was a librarian, we are always smartly put together.”

“When were you a librarian?” quizzed Neal. “I thought you were studying management.”

“I am now.  Libraries are always losing funding, I was made redundant, I could not find a new job for love nor money, Emyr – my boyfriend left me for his best mate – Arthur! So, I came to London for a new start and to retrain for a new career. I’m heartbroken though, not over Emyr we were never right for each other, he was always off on marches, joining every campaign there was, trying to save the world. I was quite happy to sign the petitions and write strongly worded letters, but I hated the confrontational side of protesting, I just wanted to stay at home and find my ideal word in a book. I loved being a librarian.  I really would do anything to live all my life surrounded by books.”

“OK, so not a dwarf tavern, you could be a manager of a book shop with a really low door so only short-asses can get in” decided Emma.

“Or limbo-dancers” laughed Neal. “Would you really do anything to be a librarian again Belle?”

“Definitely.  I would even sell my soul to a demon or a powerful wizard to make it happen.”

“Right, If I found you a job, would you ditch the heels and wear trainers?” tempted Neal.

“Then we wouldn’t have to crash in this dump and we wouldn’t have to get up at 5 to get to classes” dreamed Emma.

“My shoes, that is a higher price to pay than my soul Neal! And Emma if I had a job I wouldn’t need to work at the bar.  But anyway, you are not going to find me a job because there are seriously none out there.”

“We will see!” said Neal with a wink to Emma.  “I will win this deal and you need to go shopping for some trainers.”

—-

“What are you up to Cassisdy?” asked Emma. She was desperate to get to sleep knowing she had to get up early to trek back to her flat first thing.  Neal, however, had other ideas and was busy clicking away on his laptop.

“Ha! Got you” Neal finally whispered triumphantly and pointed to a website on his screen.

“Storybrooke library seeks qualified and experienced librarian” read Emma. “Neal this is a press release from three years ago.  That post will have been filled by now. Hey, Storybrooke? Isn’t that the dreadful one-horse town you escaped from?”

“Yes, well it is more like a village with an ego-problem.   It pretends to be a town and only gets away with that status because it counts all the hamlets from round and about in its supposed population. Private money built the library and a leisure centre, it pretends to be more important than it is. Nobody visits and nobody leaves. Before I escaped my Dad was having a feud over this job with the mayor.”

“Another feud?”

“Yes, another feud, that is one of the reasons I had to leave,” he sighed.  “A feud broke out every other day in that place, usually involving my dad.”

Neal had a very complicated relationship with his father that had always intrigued his girlfriend. Emma had grown up in the care system and would have loved any family to call her own.  Whereas Neal refused to speak to either of his.  When he had first left Storybrooke to study law, he had had a personal crisis, finally out of the clutches of his overprotective father, and buoyed by city life he had decided to seek out his estranged mother.  This had led to a very strained relationship with his father and to top it all his mother and her new husband were as vile as his father had, annoyingly, described.  So, he had dropped out of Uni, changed his name and hit the road to ‘find himself’. All he had found was that it was miserable, cold and uncomfortable not having any money or anywhere to stay.  He had taken to breaking into cars to sleep and scraping a living working in seedy bars.  Without a national insurance number, he had to take what work he could. That was when he had met Jeff who had bailed him out a thousand times with an interesting array of jobs, none too illegal.

His life had turned around recently when he had met Emma, in her car, and she had finally forgiven him and become his girlfriend.  Jeff had settled down a bit by buying a bar trying to clean up his act, primarily because he had managed to regain custody of his daughter. So, in return for lugging the bottles and kegs around, washing-up, baby-sitting the delightful Grace and general dogs-bodying Neal got to stay in the flat above. Jeff had also magicked up jobs for Emma and her flat-mate. He had even saved enough money to enrol part-time on a drama course.  It had helped that the course was run by Jeff’s girlfriend Ariel.  Jeff maybe as mad as a hatter but he always seemed to magically solve every problem that came his way and now Neal was convinced he had discovered a way to magically solve Belle’s problem.

“I bet you anything this job is still there.” Neal explained.  “Dad said she would try to bury it, which is why there is only a press release about it. Nobody looks at those pages and it is not on the job site. You must know where it is to find it. Regina was angling to get her sister the job you see.  Dad managed to find a loophole in the town charter, that said you had to have a degree in library science and experience of working in a library to get the post. She will have hidden it and used the money for a different project out of spite.  Dad was always pro-library, and anti-anything to do with the Mills family.”

“But,” said Emma, “even if Belle wants to go and live in the middle of nowhere and she does apply for and get the job aren’t you afraid she will tell him that she knows you and tell him where you live.”

“She will never find out, unless you tell her. We have different names and she is hardly going to get into a long conversation with him for anything to come up. He is an anti-social grump. The town pariah.”

Chapter Two

Two months later and Belle was on a train back to London having had her interview in Storybrooke. Emma had been texting her all the way up, sending their normal karaoke inspired banter to try and calm her nerves. She was obviously desperate to know the outcome as Belle found eight unread messages when she had finally taken her seat, most of them containing question marks and expletives.

Emma: This is Ground Control, come in Major Tom, report?????

Belle: This is Major Tom, returning to Planet Earth in tin can. I’ve put my trainers on.

Emma: Yayyyyyyyyyyy!!!!! What time will you dock? Welcoming committee getting ready to inspect footwear.

Belle:  Ah, they were metaphorical trainers.  Did not want to jinx myself.  Rendezvous at Hat at 8 for reveal.

Emma: So pleased, but sad you are leaving.  Were villagers friendly?

Belle:  The place is weenie like a village in a fairy story, everything was so small.

Emma: Did you find a dwarf tavern then?

Belle: No, but the taxi driver was definitely Grumpy and the guy on reception Sneezy

Emma: What was the interview like?

Belle: Mayor was Evil Queen, patronising, bossy and scary, her assistant a crazy red-headed witch

Emma: R U sure this job isn’t a poisoned apple then?

Belle:  The library is perfect, and the main users are two teachers who charmed me. Plus, I can live in the flat above, rent free which is good because local landlord is apparently a monster.

Emma: Belles are always good at taming Beasts. Will tell Neal good news, CU at 8  

—

Belle had settled into her little flat in the quaint village of Storybrooke but had struggled to make friends.  Everyone seemed to regard her with suspicion, silence met her every move. The library needed a lot of modernising before she could open it to the public and she was usually too exhausted to go out in the evening.  The waitress at the café had been friendly but far to busy flirting with the male customers to chat with Belle, so she spent most of her time texting Emma.

Emma:  Have you passed inspection yet?

Belle: Yes!!!Evil witch and mysterious Mr Gold arrived @ 2. Gold looks like a cross between Mick Jagger and an accountant. Tho’ he is Scottish so maybe Rod Stewart but not blonde.  

Emma: Billy Connolly? Were they impressed with all the work you have put in?

Belle: Not Billy he is no comedian! He’s serious but strangely flamboyant when angry. He does remind me of someone though, it will come to me..

Emma: How are you making him angry? Isn’t he the Beast?

Belle:  Not me, the witch. They seem to like to snark at each other.  Hopefully their fireballs won’t burn my books.  GTG it looks like the Beast is coming back.

Gold had seen the little beauty from a distance, but he had been trying to keep away from Regina’s latest project.  However, now he had seen the librarian close-up he was drawn immediately back. She was stunning. She had chestnut curls and beautiful blue pools for eyes, stunning long legs over incredibly sexy heels, the like of which he had not seen in this god-forsaken town.  (Well except for the ugly sisters but after dating their mum he really couldn’t think of them as anything other than spoilt little brats). Now, but now, he felt like he had been asleep for a hundred years and his princess had come to wake him and breathe new life into him.  He also felt like a total idiot.  One pretty face and he was acting like a smitten school boy.  She was so young and oh so beautiful, he on the other hand was old and grumpy, with a limp and generally just a complete and utter bastard. Anyway, he was on a mission and he had to return to the library and if that meant he got to gaze on his princess then so be it.

“Good afternoon Mr. Gold. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.  I’m sorry I didn’t catch your first name?”

“Just Gold will do”, he automatically replied, wanting to punch himself for being so rude.

“Oh, is that short for Justin?” Belle enquired.

“Don’t be smart with me Ms French you know what I mean, you can call be GOLD or MISTER Gold if you insist”

“I am sorry MISTER Gold, I wasn’t meaning to be rude.  I was trying to be friendly I didn’t realise it was a state secret.”

“I don’t expect such impertinence from a public servant.  Good day Miss French”.

Gold stormed off, well stormed off as much as you can with a dodgy ankle and a cane.  Shit, he had got all flustered and totally screwed it up and he was so looking forward to getting his hands on that book.

Belle: I’ve totally screwed up. I asked the Beast too many questions and he got angry, roared at me and disappeared in a puff of smoke! Shit!!!

Emma: OMG did you ask him if he was single and if he was any good with his tongue?

Belle: NO!!! His first name. I only asked him for his first name and he looked so sad with big puppy eyes just like Bae’s and then he exploded.

Emma: He must have a real stinker of a name then.  What do you reckon? Arsehole? Arsehole Gold?

Belle: Beastly because that’s what he is.  But he does have Bae’s pretty eyes, weird.

Emma: What a coincidence. Hugs.

Belle: Yep virtual ones are the only ones you give.

Emma: We can’t all be touchy feely like you!

Belle: I still can’t believe I have made my first customer storm out! Aaaagh

It took Gold two weeks to enter the library again.  He had been monitoring the comings and goings at the library from his shop, on the opposite side of the street and chose the busiest time he could in a hope of not having to deal with the librarian. He sneaked in when Mary Margaret had ushered in her class and creeped to the back.  It didn’t take too long to find the precious book and slipping it under his jacket he made his way to the door.  Belle was busy at the desk dealing with many little hands all waving their picture books and hoping to be next. He grabbed this opportunity and rushed towards the door when suddenly there was a loud clanging alarm and flashing lights. All eyes were on him.  

Before he could move Belle was by his side. “Mr Gold you seem to have set off the alarm. Is there a book that you wish to borrow?  I realise that I’m rather busy now, I could check it out for you later and drop it off at lunchtime if you would like?”  He had little choice but to hand her the book and without saying a word he returned to his shop empty handed.

It took ten more minutes for Belle to sort out the children’s books and while the class got back into their coats Belle chatted with their teacher.  She couldn’t help bringing up the incident with Gold.

“The look on his face was a picture! I’ve never seen him speechless before! He obviously didn’t know about the security tags. I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t given us that talk. What was the old miser trying to pinch anyway? He is so rich he could afford a hundred libraries you know. His son was lovely. I taught him, and he went off to University. Never comes back though. Obviously sick of the monster too.”

“No, I don’t think he was stealing, just in a rush and didn’t have time to queue I should think. When is your next class due?”

Belle was relieved when the children had gone, and calm returned. No more screaming kids with sticky, grabby paws and no more judgemental chatterboxes. Just her and her beloved books.

It was nearly lunchtime, so she decided she had better deal with Gold straight away.  First snag, he wasn’t on the system. There was an entry for Baelfire Gold, but by the birth date it was obviously not him.  Second snag, it was a reference book and it was not allowed to leave the library.  She was going to have to ring him and tell him the bad news. Third snag, no entry on the system, no phone number. She was going to have to face the Beast in his lair.

Gold was hiding in the back room of his shop, head in hands.  He now remembered Regina had talked to him about the modernisation of the library and some state of the art security system, guess he hadn’t been paying too much attention, transfixed as he had been by Belle’s brightness.  Now he had been humiliated in front of many of his tenants, well their children and the ultimate town gossip Mary Margaret. That librarian had him bewitched, but she had been kind and had covered up for him, and her smile had made his heart skip a beat, or maybe that was the shock of the alarm. All he was sure of was that the beauty had him under her spell and he was cursed to make a fool of himself in front of her every time they met.

Of course, the doorbell was jingling now, he knew it was going to be her, so he pulled himself up and braced himself.

“Ah Ms French, I do hope you have my book.”

“Unfortunately not, Mr Gold, the book you seek is a reference book and I am not at liberty to allow it out of the library.  But you are welcome to attend the library anytime and peruse it at your leisure.” Belle replied, trying desperately not to shake. At that very moment she saw his books. Antique books, immediately drawn to them before Mr Gold could reply she had one in her hand.

“Jane Eyre” she said with wonder. “Is this a first edition Mr Gold?”

“Unfortunately not, Ms French, it is a third edition, but quite rare, if you turn to page 279 you will find that the 9 is actually missing and..”

“Oliver Twist!” said the awestruck librarian, grabbing another prize, her mouth was open wide, eyes flashing, body shaking with excitement.

“Now that is a first edition and a first issue. As you can see it has a Boz title page and the ‘Fireside’ plate. This was rushed out in book form before serialization was complete, and the last few plates were hurried in. Dickens disliked the final ‘Fireside’ plate and asked for a new design, the ‘Church’ plate. He also decided that he no longer wished to be styled “Boz”. The first issue, that you are holding, was published on 9 November; the second, with cancel titles, omitting the sub-title and giving Dickens’s name as the author, and with the ‘Church’ plate at the end, was issued on 16 November 1838.”

Belle was struck dumb during his little speech, she had realised that he was the most handsome man she had ever met, beautifully dressed, intelligent, knowledgeable about her favourite subject and if it wasn’t for his eyes she was quite convinced she would have to kiss him.

Gold smirked. “However, I am not a liberty to allow them out of my shop without you paying the asking price, which you can clearly see on the protective sleeve.”

“Touché, Mr Gold, touché”, Belle sighed.

“But you are, of course, welcome to visit and peruse my collection at your leisure”, Gold added.

They both couldn’t help laughing at that.

Chapter Three

That was the beginning of Belle and Gold’s lunchtime chats.  Gold would put the kettle on, Belle would bring a treat from the café or some experimental bakes from her limited repertoire. Gold was always polite and ate them and smiled, his offerings were of a much higher standard, (YES HE COULD COOK TOO).  Finally, she had found someone to chat to in Storybrooke and the need for company was obviously mutual, she realised that Gold was very lonely.  There were hardly any visitors to his shop because he sold most of his antiques on line. The local residents only came in when they needed favours, usually asking for more time to pay the rent and they were never pleasant conversations.  

Lunchtime was Gold’s favourite part of the day for that was when Belle arrived like a ray of sunshine. He was so deeply in love with her, she was beautiful, intelligent and so enthusiastic to hear all the tales behind his collection of books and antiquities.  Her visits were a delicious torture but he was addicted to her and although he was convinced he was not worthy of her company, he couldn’t and wouldn’t give her up.

Despite them meeting up for over two weeks Gold had not yet visited the library.  Belle wondered if it was his leg that stopped him from popping by, but she wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up without causing a scene and they had been getting on so sweetly that she did not want to rock the boat. She was totally besotted with him now, even his eyes drew her in, Neal totally forgotten. She was unsure how to proceed on that front either, he was such a gentleman, so dignified, so refined, so out of her league.

“How about tomorrow, you could come over to the library, Dylan?” Belle finally asked bravely, cheekily adding: “You can look at that book you tried to steal”

“No it is not Dylan, and I didn’t try to steal it, I..” Gold broke off turning abruptly and moving behind a curtain. Belle slightly alarmed that she had teased too much too quickly followed to find her companion in tears.  She was stunned and on instinct drew him into a big hug stroking his back and whispering words of comfort to him.  Gold broke down, the hug making him cry even harder. Pathetic, he felt like a pathetic wretch, but this angel made him feel safe and loved, finally he manged to get a grip of himself and he motioned to use his handkerchief.

“Belle, I am so so sorry, what must you think of me?  The book, it is the Yearbook for Storybrooke High and it, well, it has a picture of my son in.  I haven’t seen him for three years and I have been so keen to get hold of this picture, it was the last one before he left, and I just needed to see it, the library has been closed and I’m afraid it has become an obsession.  It is pathetic I know, but, but I miss him so much and I tend to grab on to any tiny contact with him I can get.”  He proceeded to tell her how he and his son had become estranged, the bitter words, the mistakes on either side.

“Oh, my precious friend,” Belle replied, she was so moved by his story that she just couldn’t help herself from taking his hands and placing a light kiss on his lips. Gold’s tears soon became tears of joy.

From that moment everything had changed.  Lunches with Gold were now interspersed with cuddles and kisses as they finally understood that their love for each other was a shared feeling. Tonight, though, tonight was a biggy.  Gold had invited her for dinner and by the look in his eyes and the passion in their kisses she knew they were both ready for something more serious.  She decided she would bring him a gift so she found the correct Yearbook and got ready to scan the pictures into her laptop.  It was then she saw it, Gold’s son, Baelfire was her friend Neal!

Belle: Hi Neal, or should I say Baelfire!

Neal: Don’t understand

Belle: Come on Neal, surely you knew I would find out. It all makes sense now, how you knew about this job, this obscure place.

Neal: Shit. I didn’t think you would ever to talk to my Dad. He doesn’t talk to anyone.

Belle: I saw your picture in the Yearbook and yes we talk, a lot.

Neal: You haven’t told him you know me, have you?  I really don’t want to see him.

Belle: Not yet, but you should, he is sorry, and he misses you so much.

Neal: Please no Belle. I’m happy here I don’t want to run again.

Belle: You don’t need to run

Neal: You don’t know what he is like he is just so suffocating.

Belle: I do know what he is like I’m his girlfriend

Neal: WTF!!! He is my Dad!

Belle: Well I did not know that did I !!!

Neal: Suppose not. Please please please don’t tell him, not yet. Hopefully you will split up. He is such an arsehole it won’t be long.

Belle: He is not an ass, he has a nice ass.

Neal: Ew, gross.  You haven’t slept with him have you?

Belle: None of your business, but I’m hardly gonna become your step-Mum anytime soon

Neal: OMG. This is a nightmare.

Later that night Belle lay entwined with her new lover, smiling, content, satisfied.

“Don’t you think it is about time you told me your first name, now that we have been intimate?”

“Hmm, nice try French, I may have shown you every bit of me but I’m still not willing to share that detail”, Gold grinned and pressed a kiss to her brow, nose, lips, and chin.”

“How bad can it be? I feel as If I’ve gone through hundreds of silly names already”.

“OK, I will give you three more guesses and then you will have had your lot”.

“Who do you think you are? Rumplestiltskin?  That’s it isn’t it.  Well I’m sticking with that now. My darling little Rumple, you better get used to it or tell me your real one” demanded Belle.

“You will never guess I will bet you anything and I’m fine with Rumple but I think you need distracting” laughed Gold. He kissed her deeply.  He slowly moved down her body until he had reached the promised land, he hooked her legs over his shoulders and grinned at her little appreciative noises. Swirling his tongue around her folds and clitoris he didn’t stop until she screamed, shuddered and slumped down in ecstasy.

He woke up hours later with Belle’s luscious lips wrapped around his penis, she was returning the favour and he was in heaven.  When he had recovered they cuddled some more, neither was prepared to move, even though it was time to start the day.

“Would you like some breakfast my beauty? Gold asked. “Or have you filled yourself up already?”

“Yes, I’m starving after that work out.  But I’m surprised you can talk this morning, I thought your tongue might be in a sling.

“I loved pleasing you, the little moans you made, the screams and your delicious taste

“Well it was amazing, I’ve never had such a treat, how did you manage to keep going?”

“A book Miss French of course. I read that the best technique was to draw the alphabet with your tongue and when I finished that I started spelling out Lord Byron’s ‘She Walks in Beauty’”, confided Gold.

“God, I love literature” sighed Belle.

Neal:  You promise you haven’t told him.

Belle: No but for my silence I need a favour

Neal: What? Anything.

Belle: What is his first name? And why is it such a secret?

Neal: Oh, now that would be telling.  You out to blackmail the pair of us?

Belle: Maybe

Neal: It is Randy, after Randy Newman, his Dad’s favourite singer.

Belle: Ah I see. Suitable in America but for a kid in Scotland an excuse for bullying.

Neal: Yep, I don’t think he ever got over it.  Wouldn’t tell anyone, didn’t trust anyone, it kind of closed him off especially after Mum dumped him.

Belle: See you still care for him.

Neal: Maybe a little bit.

Belle: How’s Emma? Not heard from her. U 2 OK?

Neal. U2 are pants and you know it.  No, we are great but we got broken into and Emma got her phone nicked.  She moved in with me and now this happens!

Belle: That is awful, what are you going to do?

Neal: Well Jeff has come to the rescue.  This huge bald guy turns up, like 7 foot, with loads of little guys, and they buzz around the place, fit locks, CCTV, central heating, new shower.

Belle: Wow! This huge guy wouldn’t be called Dove would he?

Neal:  Yes I think he was.  You know him? I guess he is one of Jeff’s old bouncer mates.

Belle: Yep maybe.

Lunchtime couldn’t come quick enough for Belle, she had Gold’s name and after what Neal had revealed, many other questions to ask, like how many 7 foot Dove’s in the world could there possibly be?. It was Gold’s turn to bring the treat and he had come up trumps with strawberries, melted chocolate and cream.

“So, If I do guess your real name Rumple, what is my prize?”

“Oh I will owe you a favour, ask and it will be yours, but you only have two more guesses.” He smiled and popped another strawberry into his mouth.

“Ok, Rudolph” said Belle.

“No, my nose isn’t the slightest bit red! Last try”

“Randy?” asked Belle all innocently.

Gold was silent, “Shit, yes that is it, wow. I never thought you would get that.  I hate it. Ruined my childhood. I was bullied and bullied. Randy Beggar they used to call me, the jokes never stopped. Even the teachers joined in.  Please stick with Rumple Belle. It just makes me shake whenever I hear that name.”

Belle got down on her knees before him taking his hands: “Of course Rum, I will. I will never say it again, I wouldn’t want to upset you, ever.  But you are still going to owe me a favour.”

“Thank you,” he replied, “anything, ask anything of me”.

“Karaoke”, said Belle, “I want you to sing a duet with me.”

“What you have got to be joking! You want me to what go down to The White Rabbit, that hole, and sing in front of my tenants, no, Mr Gold does not sing. I would rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty fork!”

“Oh, come now, Rumple, you promised me and it doesn’t have to be The White Rabbit, karaoke bars exist now, you can even hire out little booths with just a few friends.”

“I know dearie, I own one!”

“I knew it you own the Top Hat don’t you? That is why your man Dove was there, that is why Jefferson is so generous to us, you are spying on your son!” replied Belle angrily.

“My son! What do you know about my son Belle? What do you know.”

“Oh Rum,” sighed Belle “just that you love him and will always look out for him whatever happens, and that my best friend loves him too and that he is one lucky guy.”

—

Epilogue

It was the best Storybrooke Christmas ever.  Emma, Neal, baby Henry, Rum and Belle were all wrapped up in their silly Christmas onesies passing presents to each other.  The newly married Gold’s had tastefully decorated their Victorian house and purchased the biggest tree on offer.  They were drinking Bucks Fizz and the mood was merry and bright.

“Ok Belle, this box is for you” said Emma, but it is too heavy to lift so you are going to have to come here.  Belle pushed up off the sofa with a little help from Rum, her tummy rounded and heavy with child. She carefully unwrapped the present.

“A karaoke machine!” she cried.

“Yes, I promised to sing a duet with a beautiful librarian some time ago and I never break a deal, Nealfire set it up”

“Sure Rumplestiltskin, you hold the baby and I will get right on it”, laughed Neal.

The machine was a great hit. The boys couldn’t get the girls off it as they relived their time together at the Top Hat blasting through the favourites. It was after dinner when the happy family gathered to hear the long-awaited debut of Mr and Mrs Gold at the mike.  

“What are we going to sing Rum?  Belle asked.”

“Well, my dearest son was kind enough to help me purchase this machine and he has been helping me practice singing your, apparently favourite song, so hear we go. ‘Everything Has Changed’ by TayTay and Mr Edward Sheeran.  Merry Christmas my love.”

The family cheered, and Belle sang, followed by Rum and then the rest of the Golds joined in.

[Belle] All I knew this morning when I woke Is I know something now, know something now I didn’t before. And all I’ve seen since eighteen hours ago Is green eyes and freckles and your smile In the back of my mind making me feel like [Belle] I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now [Belle and Rum] I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now I just wanna know you, know you, know you [Belle and Rum] ‘Cause all I know is we said, “Hello.” And your eyes look like coming home All I know is a simple name Everything has changed All I know is you held the door You’ll be mine and I’ll be yours All I know since yesterday is everything has changed [Rum] And all my walls stood tall painted blue And I’ll take them down, take them down and open up the door for you [Belle] And all I feel in my stomach is butterflies The beautiful kind, making up for lost time, Taking flight, making me feel right [Belle and Rum] I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now I just wanna know you, know you, know you [All] 'Cause all I know is we said, “Hello.” And your eyes look like coming home All I know is a simple name Everything has changed All I know is you held the door And you’ll be mine and I’ll be yours All I know since yesterday is everything has changed Come back and tell me why I’m feeling like I’ve missed you all this time, oh, oh, oh. And meet me there tonight And let me know that it’s not all in my mind. [All] I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now I just wanna know you, know you, know you

Merry Christmas to all Rumbellers and especially to ittybittybitchywitch

[thatshighlyoffensive]

That’s Highly Offensive: 2018 Golden Globes

Y’all know I only wear all black all the time, so I find the fact that Hollywood is "uniting" against whatever tonight by wearing all black to be kind of a stupid way to pussy foot around the issue, but who asked me? This should have been a night when the carpet looked the way I think it should at all times, but honestly, a lot of stuff looked makeshift and cheap to me. And WHAT was with all the skirts-over-pants nonsense?? I thought that was over. Also, forgive the overuse of the funeral garb schtick but what choice did I have?

Wow. It's rare that the first look I see ends up being the worst dressed of the night, but Debra Messing has just taken the cake, eaten it, made another cake, eaten that, made another one, and took that too. I know it's cliché but MESSing says it all. #thefacesofmeth That emerald eyeshadow and those Elvira for Family Dollar false lashes!!  And WHAT is that dent in her forehead?? I’ll tell you what it is… bad Botox. Or Juvaderm. Or whatever expired baby bunny cartilage her dermo found in Karen Walker’s dumpster. Oh and also, she’s wearing the dress version of Liza’s putty kkk hood shoes and it’s  all HIGHLY offensive.

Kelly Clarkson- "From Justin to King Midas" if King Midas was a lizard...

Kristin Cavallari went as 1999 Oscars Angelina Jolie but with a ballerina's bun and I'm not ok with it.

I honestly have nothing bad to say about Tracee Ellis Ross’s outfit. The phrase ‘Charmin Noir’ comes to mind, but let’s not bc you know how much I love a turban/wrap!

Meryl Streep: You bore me to tears. I like your glasses.

It seems to be literally KILLING Giuliana Rancid that she can’t ask “Who are you wearing?” bc she is incapable of NOT pointing out the fact that she’s not asking that question to every person she's interviewed. And as always, she looks like the Queen from Antz but this year her skin is a particularly orange shade of Oscar Meyer all beef frank. She also has one of the most bulbous horse hair dino ponytails I’ve ever seen. She's like the anorexic version of Starla from Napoleon Dynamite. AND HER TAN LINES! I didn't know you got those from bottled self tanner...

Catherine Zeta Jones: I am still obsessed with CZJ even after recently rewatching Ocean’s Twelve for the first time since Cat and I fell asleep in the theater. Her face, her body, her dress, her earrings, her love for her thousand year old father in law… I am fully behind all of it!

Penelope Cruz: See above. #stunning

I don't know who this woman from Outlander is but I do know she better be on her way to audition at Tweetsie Railroad.

Connie Britton: NO.

Jessica Biel and J. Tim- don’t NO ONE CARE. I don’t know one person who watched ‘The Sinner’ (most people didn’t even know what I was talking about when I asked if they’d heard of it), so the fact that she is nominated is a testament to that Sexy Back money and nothing more. Just her talking about being a producer of the show is like… We get it…you’re the only one who would pay you to be an actress anymore. PS, your arms are fabulous.

Mandy Candy Moore: Olé!

Holy shit Diane Kruger looks amazing.

Unfortunately, Sarah Paulson is one of those I feel looks like she's in something cheap. Really cheap. Like she stole a leotard from the Xanadu Mourning collection and wrapped a table cloth around herself. And I can't say I love the choppiness of her bob.

Michele Williams- I’m still not over how ridiculous you looked on Dawson’s Creek, but your pixie has grown on me over the last few years but OHMYGOD what is that shelf in the back? Lloyd Christmas called…

Seth Myers looks like the singing sword and a foot had a baby and named it Cheremy.

Jamie Chung- First of all, why are you here? Secondly, you look like the winner of a ‘Grunge Bride’ themed stripper contest sponsored by Hefty in 2002. Those shoes….

Alexis Bledel- Let’s get this out of the way: I can’t stand you. You’re a mumbler with creepy Kewpie doll eyes and mouth. But as for what you’re wearing, GASP you’re not wearing solid black so you obviously don’t care about women!! But also, you must not care about yourself either because you look like one of Ariel’s sisters and Dionysus had a baby and it came out haunted.

Why is Dave Franco wearing so much rouge????

Alison Brie- Ok, you can channel Audrey Hepburn, I guess. Although her dress does resemble my senior prom dress from Cache. Oh wait- there’s a pants leg. You’re trash.

William H. Macy: Did Grubby die? That’s the only reason I can think of for Teddy Ruxpin to show up to the Golden Globes in all black…

Gal Gadot is clearly going to an audition for "A Chorus Line" after the Globes. Why else would she steal a maitre'd's jacket and cut it in half?

Saoirse Ronan looks perfect all around. I need all of it immediately, even though I’d look more like Bruce Villanche dressed in drag doing a David Bowie tribute than her svelte awesomeness…

Eva Longoria looks like a pregnant Sharpie.

It took me a solid 3 seconds & a glance at the caption to figure out I was looking at Halle Berry and not some mixed berry bag of Skittles from a prom themed episode of the CW’s Gossip Girl revival. And her bangs look gross and ridiculous. #whywontsheage??

I take it back: Reese Witherspoon looks like the pregnant Sharpie. Or maybe her daughter has decided to become a fashion designer and this was her first foray into an origami—inspired collection? #blacktobasics

Nicole Kidman (or Nicky Kickin it in the Moulin Rouge, as Jack McFarland calls her) looks flawless, as always. The one negative thing I will say is that I find flutter fly cap sleeves to be among the most offensive things in adult female fashion (mainly because the only humans that can pull them off are pre-teens, anorexics and Kate Moss (not that she’d ever wear them).

Viola Davis wins everything. Omg that hair and makeup and jewelry and dress. ⚰️⚰️⚰️

Did Zac-without-a-K Efron want people to mistake him for Milo Ventimiglia? Is that the reason for the mustache? Why is he even there? GASP! Are they already remaking High School Musical (because you know that’s in the works…) with him starring as Troy again?!? #prayerhands

Why exactly is Naomi Campbell at the Golden Globes, must less in a piece from the never-to-be-seen sketches Vivienne Westwood did for Guy Richie’s new pandering remake starring Madonna as Herlock Holmes?

Lily James- You are gorgeous perfection and I mean that because anyone that stars in a live action Disney remake is automatically on my shit list (I’m looking at you, Emmas Stone and Watson…) but what the actual hell are you wearing? You look like a Project Runway contestant’s submission on the theme “Maleficent’s entrance to the party.”

Octavia Spencer looks like the teacher who got to play Glinda’s role in a #metoo fundraising, high school production of Wicked after the lead was stricken with mono.

Greta Gerwig- I’m tempted to allow it, but only if you’re intentionally channeling Marchesa Luisa Casati.

Angelina Jolie- oh. my. god. I know I’m biased (as one of her long lost, adopted children she’s never acknowledged or heard of) but I cannot say one bad thing about this, especially since I’ve been in 100% Bombshell  Manual mode lately and anything with feathers or frills or femininity is giving me LIFE. #bestdressed

Elizabeth Moss: from Polly to Pollyana. Anyone that gets that is my lifelong friend and anyone that doesn’t please never talk to me again. But seriously honey, that waistline is not your friend.

Jessica Chastain- I think I love everything about this but am i crazy or does it make her look a little bulky? Tell me I’m crazy. I’m crazy. (Narrator: She was definitely crazy.)

omg Maggie Gyllenhaal is wearing the same Castle Greyskull, droopy-sleeve of wizard-vagine garment as Debra Messing! Is this a thing?? Gross. And those earrings are stupid too but I don’t know why.

Emilia Clarke is perfection (minus the bow but moving on) and I don’t even love GOT.

Geena Davis stole one of CZJ’S costumes from Chicago and i can’t say that I’m angry. I will say that I’m angry that the head designer at LOFT got hold of it and added a few of those filthy lace panels before she walked the red carpet, but since she still looks pretty flawless…I’LL ALLOW IT.

As always, Lena Headey looks like the drunk, badass aunt who was a groupie before falling into acting so I love her even more than when she gets drunk and sets people on fire on tv. The dress does look like something a goth would make to wear to a Renaissance fair, but who cares when she looks that cool in it?

I love Margot Robbie more than almost anyone in Hollywood today (even though she stole my life’s dream of playing Tonya Harding. Seriously, I’d started writing a short right before they announced that movie and I’m not even kidding), but I can’t say i know exactly what she was going for with this look… an Elsa-possessed mistletoe over her womb to subtly announce she’s expecting? A tribute to the portion of Fantasia where fairies ice skate to ‘Waltz of the Flowers’ as a nod to the ice goddess she plays in ‘I, Tonya?’ I’ve been staring at it for a few minutes now and can honestly say I have no clue.

Gwendolyn Christie- I have no idea what you are wearing but I do know that I am obsessed with your GOT character so you have my permission to do whatever you please.

Kerry Washington unfortunately looks like some anorexic basic at her junior prom. And those floral net booties are what a leprechaun wears to a funeral. wtf. Oh but her hair is on point.

Kate Hudson- Je refuse.

Chris Hemsworth can do no wrong even in a suit made from a brocade table cloth and VELVETEEN shoes so don’t even worry about it, honey.

Michelle Pfeiffer- omg i am heartbroken over how matronly you look!! As anyone who knows me knows, my mother could pass as your identical twin, so I take it kind of personally when you show up on the red carpet dressed as Marian the librarian’s widowed sister, Ovarian.

Zoe Kravtiz- Sweetie, it’s already been done and its name was Natalie Portman. A chunky, funky  emerald earring does make you look like Audrey Hepburn's edgy cousin though. Whatever- you still look gorgeous and I love you.

Kendall Jenner- There are so many things wrong with your look, much less your existence, but I’ll just sum it up with this: T. STRAPPED. POINTY. TOED. SHOES. Also, lay off the brow botox before you look like Debra Messing, or worse, Kylie Jenner. #gasp

Sarah Jessica Parker literally went as her character from Hocus Pocus attending a funeral.

Isabelle Huppert wins the night! Nope, spoke too soon. Her dress has those damned flutter sleeves on it too! What IS that? It’s trash, is what it is…

Roseanne Barr forgot to put a dress over her Spanx…

Ok, that's all I got. I barely watched any of the actual show bc I can't with most of those self important a-holes, so I can't comment on anything "exciting" or "interesting" that might have happened. Let me know if I missed anything highly offensive🥂

[spellbindingbeefcake]

Required Reading ~ Otis & Wally

Wally goes to the library to look for some reading material. He finds Otis and they discuss what they know and don’t know.

Wally tapped the bell of the front desk and looked around. He had really missed New Rome's library. It was filled with books from every genre, from every school of thought and practice. It made sense that it had the largest collection of magic texts he'd yet to come by. Circe spoke so proudly of her few dozen spellbooks, but they were nothing compared to the mass of knowledge that the Roman library had. When he saw the librarian come up to meet him, Wally smiled. "Hi! I was wondering if you could help me find a book?'

Otis was stacking books in the "Music and Arts" section of the library when he heard the front desk bell ring. He paused what he was doing and walked down a row of shelves. When he turned down the aisle he was surprised to see who was standing there. "Hey Wally! What book are you looking for?"

Wally tapped his hands flat on the counter. "How ya doing? It's Otis, right?" The man had almost forgotten the guy he met during the festival. "I need some spell books. I wanted to find a book on like, rituals and doing altars." He remembered after a moment that Otis was knew to camp. "But if you don't know it's okay. I know you're still finding your way around camp and all."

"Yes sir, Otis I am." He laughed and motioned for Wally to follow him. "I may be new to camp, but I know my way around these books." Otis lead the other boy down a few isles and toward a shelf full of old books, some of which had very worn bindings. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly are you looking for these books for."

"Glad I remembered. Would'a been embarrassing to forget. Did you have a good time at the festival, dude?" Wally went around the counter and started to follow behind. "Do you like your job? I never thought about working at a library." He looked around the shelves and pointed to a few of the Halloween decorations that had been set up. "Halloween. I was planning on doing a small spell for the holiday, and the next full moon."

"I've been working at libraries since I was young, I love it." Otis said, before pulling out a book and tucking it between his arms. "I know a few spell books in here for Halloween. Back in New Orleans there was a lot of lore about these books being connected to voodoo magic," he said, pulling out a second book from another spot, "but obviously for most people it really is just a legend to get people into the Halloween spirit. How long have you been spell casting? I've tried but could never get the hang of it. As a son of Nemesis, I pretty much got cursed with not having any special abilities or affinities."

Wally nodded his head and pointed at Otis. "That's where your from; I should'a guessed. Your accent is super thick. That's not a surprise, there's a lot of magical energy down there in Louisiana." He kept looking around, not really paying attention to what books Otis was taking out from the shelves. "Since I was young, a bit before I came to Camp Half-Blood. Around when I was ten, so around twelve years." He smirked and shrugged at Otis. "Eh, magic is a little tricky. I know there are some demigods who aren't my siblings that can do, but others never can. But Nemesis, her kids don't really have any physical powers, do they?"

Otis looked at Wally as he searched around the shelves, realizing he hadn't paid the least attention to set of tomes he'd pulled. "Apparently the famous Marie Laveau had an affinity for magic, but I don't share that gift. I do like to think I have a superb sense of right and wrong, but I'd attribute that to just having morals in general. Mind showing me what you can do?"

Wally nodded quickly. "Oh I remember that! When I was at Camp Half-Blood and learning about people - famous people who were actually real witches and wizards, she was one of them, along with Marilyn Monroe. But Marilyn was more into beautification magic." He smirked, tipping his head to the side while Otis talked. "Morals or not, I bet you'd make a great judge." He looked at Otis and folded his arms. "What do you wanna see? I'm rather very good at transformation magic. Would you be interested in a fine pair of cat ears?"

"A pair of cat ears? I'm sure I could wear them well. A judge though?" Otis laughed at the thought. "I'm sure I'd serve my mother proud, though I can't say that would please me. The Goddess of Retribution likes to put her morals on hold the moment someone wrongs her..."

Wally chuckled and eyed Otis for a moment. "Yeah? Most people get so angry at me when I do something to them, they look ready to burst." He started to look again at some of the books. "She's a goddess, and like all our godly parents they think they're above some laws that even they try to govern. But hey, that's the life we live in. You're still learning about all that." He took a look at one of the books in Otis' hand. "This looks interesting."

Otis handed the book to Wally. "It's supposedly a spell book for reanimating deceased animals. Basically zombie pets, it's one of my favorite legends. I've never seen it work though, so I question it's validity. It also has a spell for summoning a loup garou, though it doesn't let you control the bloodthirsty beast yourself so you run the risk of getting mauled to death." Otis grinned while he said it, enjoying the opportunity to teach another person about all the myths he grew up with. "There's a lot of blood magic in it, which is typical of Cajun culture. Magic always has it's penalties."

Wally laughed and turned the book around, looking at the back and then he started to flip through the pages. "This is pretty cool. I've never tried resurrection, but bringing back your old pets seems really creepy - which is good, considering the season! But if New Rome has it here, it must have some validity to it." Wally frowned and scrunched his eyebrows together. "Loup Garou? That's the uh," he scratched his head. "Mexican monster?" Wally huffed and nodded. "Believe me, I know that."

"The loup garou is a werewolf legend from New Orleans." Otis said. "The rougarou hunts down Catholics who break Lent, and if a Catholic breaks lent seven years in a row, they then become a rougarou themselves. Or you tell your kids they'll be eaten by the loup garou if they don't stop being brats. By the way, what are you doing for Halloween? You said you wanted a spell to coincide with the season, but what do you have planned?"

"Aww, the lycans. That's cool, very festive for the Catholics. It must be just an urban legend though, right? I didn't think Catholics believed in werewolves." Wally took the book from Otis, the one on animal resurrection and tucked it under his arm. He wouldn't use the spells in it, but they could give him some extra knowledge. "I was actually planning on going as Captain America. I don't know if I mentioned it when we met but I've been pretty much out of commission for the past few months, missed some pretty cool stuff. I missed them revealing the poster for Infinity Wars. I missed Spider-Man: Homecoming. Sadly I didn't miss Justice League."

"You're going where? Trick or Treating? Not be rude, but aren't you a bit old?" Otis said, chuckling. "I haven't paid much attention to superhero movies. The idea in them that one person is the good guy just because they're able-bodied, attractive white men doesn't sit well with me." Otis noticed Wally had placed a few books under his arm. "You ready to go check out?"

Wally laughed and shook his head. "You don't need to trick or treat if you dress up. It's in the spirit of Halloween - and Samhain, which I'll also be celebrating." The blonde took another book off the shelves that seemed interesting. He smiled at the man's comment and wondered what an appropriate response would be. "I mean, they have black people in those movies too. Falcon is one of the coolest. I think you should rewatch these films." He nodded. "Yup, all ready."

Otis lead Wally to the register and started scanning his books. "I haven't dressed up for Halloween in years." He thought back to the last time he actually celebrated Halloween. He dressed up in a homemade rougarou costume and won the costume competition at his stepfathers Halloween party. "Well, if you want company, I don't have any plans this year. Let me know, you know where to find me!" He said, waving his hand around the building.

Wally scoffed and gave Otis this look of disappointment. "That should change. Halloween is a wonderful day. I won't get into the details now, but you should really try and get into the spirit. You still got a little more than a week." He smiled at Otis and nodded. "Maybe I'll take you up on that offer. But this is the twenty-first century, so I'll just give you my number, okay?" Wally cupped his hands together and squeezed, purple light shining through the crevices of his fingers. When he reopened them, a little scroll was in his palm. He dropped it in front of Otis and then took his books. "I'll have the returned on time, if any of the animals I summon back from the dead don't eat them first."

Otis grabbed the scroll in front of him and opened it to find Wally's number. "Just be careful not to get the books damaged by reincarnated animals, if and when you decide to make the necessary sacrifice in the first place to summon them." Otis watched the boy leave the library and went back to work himself.

[almostafantasia]

more than a name

wayhaught hogwarts au | chapter 6/?

Being an Earp at Hogwarts is tough. Being the youngest Earp and constantly living in the shadows of two older sisters is nothing short of a nightmare.

Willa, newly appointed Head Girl and Slytherin’s sweetheart. Wynonna, the notorious troublemaker who spends more time in detention than out of it. And then there’s Waverly, whose life crumbles into tiny pieces when she doesn’t get awarded the Prefect badge that she spent her first four years at Hogwarts striving towards.

Enter Nicole Haught – Hufflepuff, Muggleborn, and general bundle of sunshine – whose unexpected but not entirely unwelcome arrival into Waverly’s life puts Waverly on the path to discover who she is in more ways than one.

Read on AO3.

The Christmas holidays arrive far too quickly, a blur of festivities and end of term celebrations that Waverly barely notices because her brain is consumed with the fact that she kissed Nicole.

She kissed Nicole. That was a thing that happened. Waverly still can’t entirely believe that it wasn’t a dream.

Even more alarmingly, Nicole kissed her back.

It was everything that Waverly thinks a first kiss is supposed to be; tentative, a little clumsy, butterfly-inducing, but overwhelmingly it just felt right. Like Waverly’s lips were destined to meet Nicole’s.

Waverly thinks that maybe she should be a little frightened of just how right it did feel, or confused about the fact that not even ten minutes after telling Willa that Nicole would only ever be just a friend (and believing those words herself) she was throwing herself at Nicole by the lips and enjoying it, but she isn’t. The only thing she feels other than the all-encompassing peace that comes with finally finding what seems to be her purpose in life (kissing Nicole), is a worry that maybe Nicole doesn’t like her quite as much in return.

They don’t get a chance to speak about the kiss before term ends. There’s always too much going on or too many other people around and it doesn’t seem right to have the “so we kissed, what now?” conversation while Wynonna is right next to them reeling off a list of increasingly creative ways she could get back at Professor Lucado for giving her a Dreadful on her most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts essay.

So they wait, and then the Christmas holidays arrive and because it’s not really the kind of conversation they can have via owl either, then have to wait even longer.

Waverly thinks that they’re okay though. The hug that Nicole gives her as they bid goodbye to each other at King’s Cross is almost slightly too long to be friendly and is full of whispered promises to send regular owls to each other while they aren’t at school.

Three weeks have never passed slower than they do during the Christmas holidays.

There really isn’t much for Waverly to do at home. She commits herself fully to helping Aunt Gus get the house ready for Christmas, but once the towering Christmas tree has been set up in its rightful place in the corner of the living room and decorated with colourful ornaments, and the rest of the house has been tidied to within an inch of its life and covered with festive wreaths and garlands, there’s very little else for Waverly to do except for listen to her sisters squabble and bury herself in work.

But even that isn’t really enough. Waverly finishes all the schoolwork set for her to do during the break within the first three days of being at home, before deciding to immerse herself in a complex Ancient Runes textbook that isn’t even on the curriculum until next year, but she finds it difficult to concentrate, even on her favourite subject, when all her mind wants to focus on is the memory of Nicole’s scent enveloping her body as her soft lips slowly tease Waverly across the precipice into heaven.

Because the problem is, Waverly isn’t trying to alleviate boredom (an advanced runes textbook would usually do a more than good enough job of that), she’s trying to distract herself from thoughts of Nicole before she has a complete mental breakdown from replaying that kiss over and over again in her mind.

It’s all very overwhelming. Waverly is having a difficult enough time comprehending the fact that she does have feelings for Nicole, let alone what those feelings might mean for the future of their relationship, whether that’s as friends or something more. It feels so incredibly sudden – Waverly has never felt like this about a girl before, or maybe not about anybody – but when she compares it to Champ, who pestered her for three weeks until she finally gave in and agreed to go out with him, it also feels very right.

When getting lost in the whirlwind of her own mind gets a little too much, Waverly pays a visit to the local Muggle library and after a failed attempt at using their computers (she knows that there’s a thing called an ‘internet’ that will supposedly answer any question that she asks it but she has no idea how to use it and asking the elderly Muggle librarian for help is just not an option when a Muggle her age would know how to do it by herself) she settles for doing her research the old-fashioned way – with a book.

There are only a couple of books in the library that discuss sexuality, and Waverly tucks herself away in a corner as she pores over them, learning the meaning of words that she’s never even heard of before. It’s all very fascinating stuff to read and is certainly at least a little bit helpful. Waverly comes away from the experience with the knowledge that there are lots of possible labels for what she’s feeling towards Nicole, but that at the end of the day, all that really matters is the fact that she does have feelings for Nicole, and that she wants to act on them.

As promised, she and Nicole correspond by owl every few days. Nicole doesn’t have an owl of her own, instead an orange cat called Calamity Jane that Waverly briefly met on the train from Hogwarts to King’s Cross at the end of term, but they send Waverly’s owl back and forth with letters talking about how fed up Waverly is of her sisters, while Nicole tells Waverly about the work she’s doing helping out in a bakery owned by her aunt in the busy run up to Christmas.

Nicole finishes each letter with a variation of “I miss you” and each time Waverly sees those words written in Nicole’s loopy handwriting, she feels herself falling a little bit more for the girl on the other end of these letters.

Waverly’s owl arrives on Christmas morning laden with so many parcels that it’s a wonder she could even fly carrying such a load. There are three large gifts wrapped in brown paper and neatly labelled and addressed in Nicole’s familiar handwriting, one for Waverly, one for Wynonna, and a third for ‘the Earp/McCready family’.

Waverly tears the paper off her own gift with careful enthusiasm to find an unlabelled white box inside, but when she lifts the lid the aroma of sugary treats fills the air as she reveals the contents. There’s an assortment of cakes, biscuits, and other baked delights inside, as well as a few brightly coloured Muggle sweets and chocolates. There’s a small folded note in the corner and Waverly extracts it from its sticky confines, opening it to read Nicole’s writing.

Dearest Waverly,

Merry Christmas! Here are a selection of treats from my aunt’s bakery. Try them and let me know what you think – she’s always looking for honest feedback and suggestions to make things better!

I also included some Muggle chocolates following that conversation we had a few weeks ago. You can thank me later for enlightening you!

Missing you loads and can’t wait to see you in January!

Love, Nicole

“Holy mother of Merlin,” Wynonna groans in delight from across the room. There’s powdered sugar on her nose and she’s already two mouthfuls into one of the doughnuts in her own gift from Nicole. “These are possibly the best doughnuts I’ve ever had.”

The box addressed to the entire family contains a Christmas cake and Aunt Gus looks positively thrilled at the sight of it, rushing it off to the kitchen for safekeeping away from Wynonna’s already sticky hands, before reminding Waverly to thank Nicole for her generosity.

Waverly agrees as she tears the shiny purple wrapper off something that calls itself a ‘Curly Wurly’, not even caring that the hard caramel almost glues her back teeth together. The conversation she had with Nicole about Muggle versus Wizarding confectionary took place almost two months ago just after the visit to Hogsmeade the solidified their new friendship, and Waverly is both surprised and touched that Nicole remembers it well enough to have sent Waverly a few treats to try.

Not to mention the delicious-looking baked goods. If the obscene sounds that Wynonna is making as she tucks into a second doughnut are anything to go by, Waverly’s assortment of cakes will be just as tasty as they look.

It’s one of the nicest, most thoughtful gifts that Waverly has ever received, and that includes the set of expensive quills she opened from Aunt Gus less than an hour ago, and the fact that it comes from Nicole has Waverly’s heart fluttering like a swarm of excited pixies in her chest.

When Nicole catches sight of Waverly on Platform Nine and Three Quarters in January, she trips over her own feet and almost sends the trolley holding her trunk, her cat, and her broomstick sprawling across the platform. She’s grateful that she manages to right herself at the last minute. Nicole is returning to school with an unofficial New Year’s resolution to be cool and suave around Waverly following their kiss last term, and upending her trolley before she’s even had the chance to say hi to Waverly would shatter her plans in an instant.

It’s just that Waverly looks angelic, dressed in a snow white jumper knitted from the fluffiest wool Nicole has ever seen and with her long hair tumbling in perfect curls over her shoulders. Across the platform, Waverly tips her head back and laughs at something that Chrissy Nedley says, and Nicole’s heart soars at how pure Waverly’s happiness is.

And then Waverly turns her head and her eyes meet Nicole’s across the platform, and Nicole is glad that she’s standing still because if she were moving, she is certain that she would end up in a crumpled heap on the floor beneath a pile of her own luggage.

Waverly excuses herself from Chrissy and then manoeuvres her way through the crowd of students and parents swarming the platform, until she is standing in front of Nicole with a beaming grin on her face.

“Hey, you,” Nicole greets Waverly breathlessly.

“Is that all I’m getting?” Waverly pouts playfully. “Come on, where’s my hug? It’s been three frickin’ weeks since I last saw you!”

Nicole lifts her hands from the trolley, prying her fingers out of the white-knuckle grip they have on the metal handle, and wraps her arms around Waverly’s shoulders at the same time that Waverly’s squeeze her around the middle. Their height different means that Nicole’s face buries itself into the fluffy hair just above Waverly’s right ear and she inhales deeply. Waverly’s scent is intoxicating, a floral perfume masking an underlying musky aroma that Nicole thinks is probably just Waverly herself. It reminds her of the last time she was close enough to fill her nostrils with this smell and how Waverly’s perfume clung to her school jumper for days after they kissed in the library.

A heavy blush rises to Nicole’s cheeks at the memory and she is grateful that it’s January and she can pass the colour off as her reaction to the chill in the air.

“So how was your holiday?” asks Waverly, excitement in her eyes.

“It was good,” Nicole replies with a nod. “It’s always nice to go back to the Muggle world and take a break from all the magic, but I can’t wait to be back at Hogwarts.”

“Thank you for the present, by the way,” Waverly says with a smile. “Those cakes were scrumptious.”

Nicole smiles to herself, because Waverly Earp is the only person who would use the word ‘scrumptious’ unironically and get away with it.

“I’ll tell my aunt you enjoyed them,” says Nicole.

“Wynonna enjoyed her gift too,” Waverly continues. “She even threatened to move into your aunt’s bakery full time when she leaves Hogwarts! She seemed amazed that Muggles are able to make such good doughnuts without the use of magic. Of course, I told her that doughnuts are a classic Muggle treat that probably originated from the Dutch olykoek but she told me to shut up and stop being a nerd.”

“Hey, do me a favour,” says Nicole, reaching out to rest her hand on Waverly’s shoulder as she looks earnestly into Waverly’s eyes. “Never stop being a nerd around me, okay? It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

Waverly’s eyebrows shoot up and Nicole can tell that she’s trying to hide the shy little smile that passes across her lips, which in turn has Nicole blushing again. Nicole suddenly becomes aware that this is the first time they’ve spent one-on-one time with each other since their kiss and that despite their frequent owls over the Christmas holidays, the kiss is not a subject that they’ve discussed, or even mentioned in passing, at all.

For all intents and purposes, it could have been a product of Nicole’s imagination.

Except that the memory of the press of Waverly’s lips against hers, the feeling of Waverly’s soft hands caressing her face and cupping her jaw, the pressure of Waverly’s slight frame pressed between her own body and the bookshelf, are all far too vivid to be just a dream.

Which means that it really happened, and that it’s something that they should probably talk about before things have the chance to get weird.

“So I think that maybe we should talk abou-” Nicole starts, but her suggestion is cut off by the shrill screech of the conductor’s whistle piercing the air, informing everybody on the platform that the train will be departing in five minutes.

“We should get your luggage onto the train,” Waverly says, lifting Nicole’s broomstick off the trolley and tucking it under one arm, while picking up the carrier containing Nicole’s orange cat in the other hand. “Mine’s already onboard. I saved us a compartment.”

Nicole nods with a swallow, frowning as she considers whether Waverly knows what Nicole was about to say and is choosing to ignore the conversation that they so desperately need to have, or if the loud whistle has just distracted her from the fact that Nicole was mid-sentence at the time.

Hauling her trunk off the trolley, Nicole wheels it along behind her as she follows Waverly to the nearest train door and between the two of them, they manage to get all of Nicole’s luggage on board the train with a couple of minutes to spare. Waverly leads the way down the narrow corridor, past compartments full of Hogwarts students happy to be reunited with their friends after three weeks apart, until Waverly slides open the door to one that is empty but for Waverly’s large trunk in the rack above the seats and her owl in a cage on the floor in the centre.

The train rumbles into life, slowly pulling out of the station as it starts its long journey up north, and Nicole decides to make another attempt at talking to Waverly about the kiss.

“Anyway,” says Nicole, as they store her trunk next to Waverly’s, “as I was saying out on the platform…”

“Hey guys!”

Nicole lets out a groan of frustration as the compartment door slides open and Waverly’s friend Jeremy enters. All she wants is to check in with Waverly and make sure that the kiss they shared isn’t going to affect their friendship, as well as possibly testing the waters to see if her feelings for Waverly are reciprocated beyond one spur of the moment kiss following a heated encounter with Willa. But it seems like the universe is throwing everything at her to prevent that conversation from ever happening. And Nicole doesn’t believe in omens – three years of the bullshit that was Divination classes made sure of that – but it feels a lot like there’s a greater force at work telling her not to have this conversation at all.

“Do you mind if I sit with you guys?” Jeremy asks, gesturing to the empty seats in their compartment.

Nicole is in half a mind to tell Jeremy that yes, she does mind, and could he please go away and leave her alone with Waverly for the foreseeable future, but then Wynonna chooses that exact moment to push past Jeremy and sprawls sideways across three whole seats. Nicole realises that the Hogwarts Express is the very last place that she and Waverly are going to find some privacy.

“’Sup, Haught,” says Wynonna. “Good holidays?” Her eyes fall on Jeremy, who is still hovering awkwardly by the open compartment door, and she scowls at him before asking, “What’s the dork doing here?”

“Sorry, I’ll just…” mumbles Jeremy, gesturing over his shoulder as he takes a couple of steps back out of the compartment.

“No!” Waverly protests, grabbing Jeremy by the wrist and pulling him fully inside. “Ignore Wynonna, she can be a bitch in the mornings. You’re more than welcome to sit with us.” Turning her attention to Nicole, Waverly asks innocently, “What were you saying, Nicole?”

Disheartened, Nicole tries not to let it show on her face and shrugs as she sits down opposite Wynonna in the seat next to the window and answers, “Oh, it was nothing.”

Taking her seat next to Nicole, as Jeremy takes the third on their side of the compartment, Waverly says, “Wynonna, I told Nicole how much you enjoyed those doughnuts.”

There is not much that can get a horizontal Wynonna to sit up, but talk about doughnuts is one of those things. Wynonna shoots upright, leaning forward as she says to Nicole, “They were fucking incredible. I would let those doughnuts do some really nasty things to me.”

“Ew,” winces Nicole. “I won’t pass that feedback on to my aunt. I’ll just tell her that you really enjoyed them.”

“Is you aunt single?” asks Wynonna. “Can I marry her?”

“She’s been happily married for sixteen years and has two kids.”

“Damn,” groans Wynonna, collapsing back against the seat. “I’m going to need a constant supply of doughnuts to stop me from falling into a deep depressive cycle.” Wynonna pauses, her eyes flicking between the three of them, before she finally prompts them impatiently, “Aren’t you going to ask what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Jeremy asks obediently, eager to get on Wynonna’s good side.

“I’m glad you asked,” Wynonna says, as if she didn’t invite him to do so beforehand. “Dolls has a girlfriend.”

Nicole’s eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. She likes Dolls but she can’t imagine him with a girlfriend. He’s always very work-oriented, focused on classes and homework and prefect duties and it surprises her that he’s got the time for a girlfriend, let alone managed to actually managed to find himself one.

It also surprises Nicole that his girlfriend is not Wynonna, considering the fact that she knows Dolls has a bit of a thing for the middle Earp sister, but when she reminds herself of Wynonna’s current state as Hogwarts’ resident hot mess, she realises that Wynonna is clearly not ready to have a boyfriend, whether that is Dolls or anybody else.

“Dolls has a girlfriend?” Waverly exclaims, echoing Nicole’s surprise. “But I thought that he and you…”

“I know, right!” Wynonna nods emphatically in agreement. “I’ve been flirting with him for like, at least a year and a half. I thought we had a good thing going.”

“Flirting with him for a year and a half but also sleeping with Doc Holliday and being quite public about it,” Nicole reminds Wynonna, wincing as she earns a scowl in response to her truthfulness. “Maybe Dolls is fed up of the mixed signals.”

Wynonna grumbles indistinguishably under her breath for a few seconds, before saying, “Maybe, but Eliza fucking Shapiro? He’s going to replace me with that bitch?”

“I’m sure she’s a very nice girl,” Waverly pipes up.

“The only thing nice about Eliza Shapiro is her taste in underwear,” Wynonna replies. With a reluctant shrug, she continues, “That girl can rock a bit of lace.”

Wynonna continues to surprise Nicole and as she frowns in confusion, Nicole dares to ask, “How do you-? You’re not even in the same house.” Nicole shakes her head, before saying, “Never mind, I don’t think I even want to know how you know that.”

Nicole takes a little bit of consolation from the fact that Waverly looks equally as confused beside her, while Jeremy seems positively harrowed by the thought of a girl wearing lacy underwear, his face pale and his eyes wide in revulsion.

Before Wynonna is able to provide them with an answer as to why she is knowledgeable on the underwear preferences of one of her female classmates, the compartment door slides open yet again and Doc Holliday hovers in the doorway.

“Hello ladies,” he greets the three girls, before turning his attention to Jeremy, and holding out his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. You can call me Doc.”

“Doc Holliday,” Jeremy says enthusiastically, grasping Doc’s hand with both of his own. “I’m Jeremy. I’m a huge fan … I mean, I’ve always looked up to you and-”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jeremy,” says Doc, interrupting Jeremy’s babbling admiration.

Nicole represses a laugh at the way Jeremy looks like he might pass out from excitement, and she makes a mental note to tease Jeremy about his little crush on the older boy at a later time.

“You doing anything tonight, Doc?” Wynonna asks the newest arrival to their compartment, raising her eyebrows as a suggestive smirk passes across her lips, apparently forgetting her sadness at Dolls’ new relationship status from just a few moments ago. “Wanna hang out? Maybe in one of those disused classrooms on the fifth floor…?”

“Ew,” Waverly grimaces, and knowing both exactly what Wynonna means by ‘hang out’ and what Hogwarts’ older students tend to use those disused classrooms for, Nicole has to agree.

“I’m afraid I have already promised tonight to Rosita,” replies Doc apologetically. “Speaking of, I need to go and find her now. It was nice to see you all again. A pleasure to meet you, Jeremy.”

As soon as Doc is out of earshot, Wynonna lets out a disgruntled huff.

“Rosita?” she asks incredulously. “Rosita Bustillos? As in Tits McGee?”

Rosita is a Ravenclaw in Nicole and Wynonna’s year; smart, witty, and top of the year in Potions for five years in a row. Not to mention the fact that she’s very pretty and, as Wynonna has less that eloquently pointed out, has assets in other areas too. Nicole would be lying if she said that she didn’t used to have a little bit of a crush on Rosita during their fourth year, and she can certainly see why Wynonna is feeling threatened by Doc’s newfound friendship with the girl.

That doesn’t mean that she can justify Wynonna’s annoyance.

“So let me get this straight?” Nicole says to Wynonna, well aware that she’s venturing into dangerous territory by giving Wynonna a harsh dose of the truth. “You’re mad because after stringing not one but two guys along for the best part of two years, they’ve both decided it’s not worth it and are showing an interest in other girls?”

As predicted, Wynonna scowls at Nicole and retorts, “Ouch, Haught. Why have you got to shame me like this?” Wynonna lets out a dramatic sigh and falls back against the seats again, crossing one leg over the other as she says, “Life would be so much easier if I were a lesbian. You’re so lucky you don’t have to deal with men.”

Nicole almost lets out a snort at Wynonna’s words. She’s well aware that Wynonna doesn’t have any nasty intentions with what she’s said, but it’s the fact that she hasn’t stopped to think just how her words could be perceived that hurts Nicole more than what she actually says.

Next to Nicole, Waverly lets out an indignant little huff and folds her arms, and Nicole feels a rush of affection for the way that Waverly must have picked up on what Wynonna failed to think about.

“I mean, the homophobia is a bitch,” Nicole reminds Wynonna, her voice laced with ire, “the dating options are non-existent, and it comes with a side order of anxiety and internalised self-hatred that can take years to overcome, but yeah, at least I don’t have to deal with men. Oh, except that I do because sometimes even being out and proud isn’t enough to stop them from being entitled jerks.”

Wynonna’s face falls and she has the decency to look genuinely guilty as she apologises.

“Shit, Nicole. I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. Feel free to hex me into next year for making that dick comment.”

Nicole nods and shoots Wynonna a soft smile to let her know that the apology is accepted and that there’s no animosity between them, while Waverly leans across the gap between their seats and rests a hand on Wynonna’s knee.

“Wynonna,” Waverly says to her sister, “Doc and Dolls are both fundamentally good-hearted guys. I know it must suck to feel like you have to choose between them, but you need to stop messing them about or you’ll lose both of them for good.”

Wynonna tucks both hands behind her head and closes her eyes, trying to mask her feelings with indifference, but the slight tremor in her voice as she speaks gives away her disappointment as she reluctantly admits, “I think it might already be too late.”

The compartment falls silent for a few long seconds as the three girls contemplate Wynonna’s predicament, before it is broken by Jeremy, who has apparently not been listening to a single word that has been spoken in the last few minutes. He glances around at the three of them, eyes wide and face thrumming with excitement, his right hand held up slightly in front of him as he looks at it in awe.

“I can’t believe Doc freaking Holliday shook my hand!”

Waverly wants to talk to Nicole about this kiss that they shared but she doesn’t know how to. Well, what she actually wants is to kiss Nicole again and again and again until she’s deliriously drunk on the taste of Nicole’s lips, but she recognises that they need to talk before that can happen. The problem is that starting the conversation with Nicole, the “I kissed you and I like you and I want you to like me back” conversation, is about as appealing as the prospect of throwing herself off the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Waverly thinks that she’s already made her stance on the situation pretty clear. She doesn’t go around just kissing anybody and Nicole knows that, and Waverly is sure that Nicole is more than clever enough to figure out that Waverly would only do that because she has feelings for Nicole. The next call is Nicole’s to make and so Waverly stays quiet and waits for it.

One day turns into two, which turns into three, and then a whole week has passed and they still haven’t talked about it. And it seems weird to bring it up after a week of not doing so and then Waverly’s mind tricks her into thinking that perhaps it would be a better idea to just forget about it completely, and what if that’s Nicole plan all along, to just not mention it and hope that Waverly has forgotten about it too, and sweet mother of Merlin, Waverly hates trying to second guess both herself and Nicole!

When did relationships become so freaking difficult?

Oh, that’s right. When Waverly stopped dating Champ the worthless douchebag and started pursuing somebody that she actually has terrifyingly genuine feelings for. That’s when.

Waverly tries to talk to Nicole about the kiss. At least, that’s what she tells herself each time she finds herself with a brief moment of alone time with the Hufflepuff and the opportunity to finally talk, spending minutes hyping herself up, only to chicken out at the last minute with an internal promise of next time.

Yet each ‘next time’ is exactly the same as the one before, and so the situation remains unresolved.

And with Hufflepuff’s next Quidditch match rapidly approaching, meaning that every spare minute that Nicole has is spent out on the Quiditch pitch training with her team, the ‘next time’ moments become fewer and farther between until Waverly reaches the hopeless realisation that maybe they actually aren’t going to have this conversation at all. Maybe that kiss is destined to fall forgotten, collecting dust like the underused books on the library shelves it took place amongst.

It’s been nearly two years since Waverly last attended a Hogwarts Quidditch match, but on Saturday morning she finds herself making her way down to the stadium with the rest of the student body to watch Nicole’s team take on Slytherin.

The January winds are icy and Waverly firmly believes that nobody should have to go outside in such weather, let alone be forced to endure what could end up being hours sitting outside watching sport, but Waverly made a promise to Nicole and she’s not going to break it again, not when Nicole looked so excited at the prospect of Waverly being in the crowd.

Besides, as well as her thick cloak, gloves, and earmuffs, Waverly is wrapped up in a yellow and black Hufflepuff scarf borrowed from Nicole, and the fact that the scent of vanilla dipped-donuts – the scent of Nicole – still clings to the wool, somehow warms Waverly up against the almost arctic conditions in the Quidditch stadium.

Though she doesn’t share the enthusiasm for the sport that the rest of the crowd seems to have, Waverly claps as the two teams walk out onto the pitch, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplifiy her cheers as the commentator announces Nicole’s name whilst reading out the list of players for each team.

And then, before she knows it, all fourteen players are soaring into the air as the referee blows the whistle and releases the balls.

Waverly doesn’t pay much attention to the game itself. Instead, she is captivated by how at ease Nicole looks on a broomstick. Her canary yellow robes billow out behind her as she expertly steers her broom back and forth in front of the three towering hoops she’s been tasked to defend.

Nicole gets her first touch of the Quaffle a couple of minutes into the game, speeding into its path as one of the Slytherin Chasers tries to send it past her through the right hand hoop, catching the red ball nimbly between her fingertips and then sending it soaring through the air to one of her teammates as Hufflepuff make a counterattack.

Waverly cheers along with the Hufflepuff crowd as Nicole makes her expert save, and it registers in the back of her mind that if she’d known Nicole played Quidditch sooner, she probably wouldn’t have stopped coming to Quidditch games in her third year. Waverly decides that’s she’s really missed out by not watching Nicole play before. Nicole is an elegant flyer, but it’s not just that. There’s a passion that comes through in the way that she plays, an effortless interaction with the other players on her team that can only have come from the hours upon hours that Waverly knows Nicole has spent at training, and not even a hint of the brash conceitedness that Waverly has come to mentally associate with Quidditch players.

“She must be quite some friend if she’s got you coming to a Quidditch game,” Jeremy mumbles from beside Waverly. When she turns to look at him, there’s a knowing smile on his face, and Waverly wonders whether Jeremy’s super intellect extends to being able to tell that Nicole is so very much more than just ‘some friend’ to Waverly.

“I have a confession,” admits Waverly, as the secret that has been gnawing at her for weeks begs to be shared, “but you have to absolutely promise not to tell anybody else.”

“I swear,” nods Jeremy, clenching his hand into a fist and holding it to his chest above where his heart is. “Anything you tell me stays between us.”

Waverly glances around to check that nobody is eavesdropping, but they are all too busy paying attention to the game, where Hufflepuff have just sent the Quaffle flying past the Slytherin keeper and through the central hoop.

“I kissed Nicole,” she admits, her pounding heart settling in her chest as she finally says the three words that have been troubling her mind for weeks out loud. “It was before Christmas. I kissed her and she kissed me back and…”

“Nicole Haught?” Jeremy asks, gesturing to the figure in yellow robes hovering in front of the hoops at the end of the pitch closest to them, as if there could be another Nicole that Waverly is referring to.

When Waverly nods, Jeremy throws his arms around her without warning and wraps her in a tight hug.

“What’s this for?” she asks him breathlessly, the air in her lungs squeezed out by the force of his hug.

“It’s a solidarity hug,” Jeremy tells her as he pulls away. With a grin, he explains, “Us gays have to stick together. Wait, you are…?”

Jeremy trails off and the grin disappears, replaced with an expression of doubt as he waits for Waverly to confirm her sexuality for him.

“I think so,” Waverly nervously admits. “Well, I don’t know what I am, but I’m definitely something.”

After weeks of self-doubt, it feels like a weight has been lifted off Waverly as she finally unburdens what has been playing on her mind. And it feels so good that Waverly wonders why she didn’t tell anybody sooner.

“Labels are for food,” Jeremy shrugs, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand. “I’m so happy for you though. You and Nicole make such a cute couple.” He pauses for thought, then says triumphantly, “Wayhaught!”

“What?” Waverly asks, frowning in confusion at the nonsense word that Jeremy has just blurted out.

“It’s your couple name,” Jeremy explains, as if it is supposed to be obvious. “Half your name and half hers. Like Jeriday – that’s my name for me and Doc Holliday. Entirely hypothetical, of course, but can you blame a guy for dreaming?”

“Nicole and I aren’t…” Waverly trails off with a sigh as she tries to collect her thoughts, something which is much easier said than done now that she has the idea of her and Nicole as a couple planted in her mind, her brain swelling with blissful imaginings of what it would be like to just be with Nicole, to walk around the castle hand in hand and not have to worry about what anybody else thinks or says about them. It makes her sad that it isn’t a reality. “Listen, I like her a lot, but I don’t think she likes me back. Not like that.”

“Has she said as much to you?” Jeremy arches an eyebrow at Waverly.

There’s a cheer from the crowd at the other end of the stadium, and Waverly glances up at the match she’d almost forgotten was taking place around them to see that Nicole has just let in her first goal of the game, making the score thirty points to ten in Hufflepuff’s favour. Nicole handles the loss well, barking an instruction out to her teammates before shooting the Quaffle off in a long throw to an unmarked Chaser, exactly as she would have done if she had saved the goal.

Turning her attention back to Jeremy, Waverly nibbles anxiously at her lower lips as she answers his question.

“No,” she admits. “But she hasn’t said anything about it at all. I think she’s trying to forget that it ever happened.”

“Okay, here’s my next question,” Jeremy says thoughtfully. He leans in a little closer, then raises his eyebrows as he asks, “Have you said anything about the kiss to her?”

“No…”

“And are you trying to forget it ever happened?” Jeremy presses on, and Waverly can tell both that he already knows the answer and exactly what point he is going to make next.

“Of course not!”

“And that’s my point,” Jeremy tells her knowledgably. “She’s probably feeling exactly the same, waiting for you to bring it up. Think about it – she’s openly gay and there have already been rumours about her having feelings for you. Your sexuality is a mystery to her, other than the fact that you kissed her once and then didn’t mention it for weeks. She’s probably worried about feeling like she’s trying to force herself onto you.”

Waverly hates to admit that Jeremy is right but he is. And maybe, just maybe, if Waverly had realised this sooner, she could have saved herself two weeks of anguish.

A plan is already formulating in Waverly’s mind, a plan where she finds Nicole after the game to either congratulate or commiserate her, before just saying fuck it and confessing how she feels to Nicole. The risk of doing so is that things will become weird and that she could lose Nicole as a friend, but knowing Nicole as well as she does, Waverly also knows that Nicole will do all that she can to not let that become a reality. But the reward, Waverly realises as she glances up at Nicole again and falls a little bit more for the Hufflepuff Keeper, could be the best thing to ever happen to her.

“I’ll talk to her,” Waverly relays her thoughts to Jeremy. “Tonight. I’ll do it after the…”

Jeremy’s hand clasping around Waverly’s wrist, his other arm extended in front him as he points at the Quidditch field, is enough to cut Waverly off mid-sentence and she turns to look at the game unfolding before them.

“Oh my…”

“And it looks as though Slytherin Seeker Willa Earp has spotted the golden snitch!” the commentator announces through his megaphone. “She’s diving from what must be a hundred and twenty feet, and the Hufflepuff Seeker is hot on her tail!”

Waverly watches, her eyes wide, as the green blur that is Willa speeds through the air. The entire crowd falls silent, on tenterhooks as they wait to see whether the capture of the snitch will signal the conclusion of this match after barely fifteen minutes of gameplay.

Despite the excitement of the two Seekers racing each other to the snitch, the rest of the game continues around them. An attack by the Slytherin Chasers sends the Quaffle flying towards the hoops at Nicole’s end of the pitch and she speeds to her left to stop it, catching it deftly in one hand, while oblivious to the other threat hurtling towards her from above.

Waverly realises what’s going to happen a split second before it does and her heart stops in her chest, frozen in time. Nicole’s perfect save has thrown her right into the path of the two oncoming Seekers and there’s nothing anybody can do to stop the imminent collision. It seems to happen in slow motion, but when Waverly opens her mouth to scream out a warning to Nicole, no noise leaves her mouth.

Willa pulls away at the last minute, the tail end of her broomstick just clipping Nicole as Willa swoops out of the way and begins another lazy lap of the pitch, no sign of the golden snitch anywhere to be found.

The Hufflepuff Seeker is not so lucky. Believing Willa to be chasing the tiny golden ball that could make or break the match, he is less aware of his surroundings and where Willa swerves to avoid Nicole, he doesn’t notice her until it is too late. There is a sickening crunch as he collides with Nicole, followed by a unified groan from the crowd, and both players tumble from their broomsticks in a messy tangle of yellow robes.

This time, when Waverly screams Nicole’s name, it seems to reverberate throughout the entire stadium.

[hollowsentinel]

My OCs and Stuff

I've sat on this for too long. It's incomplete, but it's here. If anyone sees this and wants a peek into my head, ask about these peeps/ideas/places before I forget them.

My OCs

I have another list to promote my non-cishet OCs too. There's also a tag.

Rebecca Heller: my firstborn, transgirl (?), lives with her "uncle," makes magical bone cannons and practices swordplay

Vincent Azor: the aforementioned "uncle," vampire, old, technically owns an inn built by a crossroads, good shot with his pistol

Linora Azor: sister to Vincent, deceased?

Richard: nightmare, leader of the Black Knights/Brigade of Zavax, friendly?

Roger: badass, lieutenant to Richard, serious?

Fifer: mage and displacer beast

Mallory: mage and locker-mimic

Kevin: earth-etched, unblessed, practiced structured magic via an enchanted bronze plate, lives with a vampiric symphony member and witchy DJ

Damian: metalworker, later mechanic, son of a witch, once hunted by his "mirror image," survived by kissing and sexing her

Mira: the half-identical mirror image (?), can do tricks with mirrors, tastes like citrus

Matthieu Marchand: also Molten Myth, studies unconventional magic and metallury, spent his teenage years surviving alone in a nonsensical world of sugar, spice, and things trying to kill him, a squire of the Earthen Order

Grindstone: grandfather to Myth, knight of the Earthen Order, badass

“Ninth Lord”: "deceased" knight of the Earthen Order, demon, enjoys escaping hell for brief periods and enjoying romantic literature

Persistent Beast: known as Liam; old, practically immortal, dangerous, ravenous, famous for surviving ridiculous executions; generally terrified of external/uncontrolled sources of heat

"Pop-up Nightmare: known as Jack; famous for brief appearances throughout the ages, often considered a myth, very shy and unassuming

Porcelain Fade: known as Laina; actually a frail girl, known as a famous sex worker (her "double") that gathered a strong following that raised her from her work, her best friends are a realized figment of her imagination and a guy that should be killing her

Ruos Illinde, Pinnacle Hunter: the only hunter that threatens Liam, too gay to die, her girlfriend accidentally mangled her voice, unusually immortal for a human

“Demonolgist-gunner”: son of a witch, dragged to magic college by his friend, hard worker, poor magical prowess, has an independent magic system that lets him summon his weapons

Manager Death: pretty chill, overworked, in charge of all death (human, non-human, deific, and so on), has delegated many tasks to individuals he has waived death from

Sickly Death: a lady from another setting, good friends with Lady Luck, is wished ill by many and so is ill

Knottam Portan: a reaper employed by Manager Death, the "longest-lived" human reaper in Death's employ, lives in an apartment with humans out of the know, sleeps irregularly with the demands of his dayjob and his reaping duties

Lady Death: the crush of Elliah's soul? laid-back, timeless

Nate, Priest of the Abandoned: a table-top gamer that found, saved, and restored a statue of Lady Luck (with his friends), he goes on to enable all forgotten/abandon gods to continue existing and keeping them all company

Entropy: friend to Knottam, pretty chill, can totally end the existence of anything given enough time, likes to travel and experience new things

Elliah “Casper” Redden: sneaky, a reincarnation of Wrath, regularly murders people to keep control of himself

Ethan Moore: kinda popular, gets saved by Elliah and learns how to survive from him, goes on to co-found/lead a crew of students and friends through a warzone

Siet “Hailey” Lenas: saves a bunch of people from danger by avoiding conflicts, sets a lynch mob on Elliah, joins him shortly thereafter, generally pacifistic, adds exception as she learns to get along (and convinces Elliah and Ethan to chill out more in turn)

Lazar Kensley/Laus of Dust: a down-trodden gamer whose exploits decide the fate of a nation; Lazar is his "Earth" name, Laus is his "Lirc" name

Charlie "Barker": Lazar's friend, plays furry Vikings in their game and lives their ideals, aspiring veterinarian

Ikail: a master archer, quiet friend of Lazar

Haniel of Dust: something of a desert spirit, chief leader of the Lirc, adopted Lazar/Laus as her little brother, has a musical whip

Kezal: a master rider, hates Lazar once he is tied to her nation's fate

Sorec: goddess of the Lirc, ex-princess of a neighboring kingdom

Kirituania: DEFUNCT? lesser goddess of the Lirc?

Draskul Aer: DEFUNCT? a rare significant man among the Lirc; drove monsters that the Lirc were unable to effectively combat to near extinction

“King of Coal/Flesh”: a French girl that has sat upon the Hearth's Throne for far too long

“King of Flame/Blood”: a boy steeped in the traditions of pyravol

“King of Bone/Ash”: another girl that pushes the limits of her art

Senai Orathi: overseer of the most complicated world, ex-thief, confined to his new home

Cinneyi: goddess of family and proactive protection, has a crush on "Creator"

Kreyji: goddess of family and reactive protection, Cinneyi's sister

Rafe Lorienne: cleric of Cinneyi and necromancer by her request

"Creator": Senai's predecessor and assumed to be the creator of the most complicated world

Seriqad: the last of his people, attuned to the spirit of death, has red eyes that he regularly disfigures to hide his heritage, a sort of lich

Arhias: a paladin sent to hunt Seriqad, befriends him over the course of a lifetime instead

Nuemin Tilus: the biggest jerk, born to a rich family, has a little sister that he regularly harassed/abused

Mint Nuelle: friend of Dodger, later hunts down draft dodgers, pioneers the use of soulfire bonds as torture tools

Dodger Stone: soulfire adept, illusionist, murders Nuemin and steals his identity

Aster Xilhu: succubus that binds herself to Dodger as his familiar

Lillian: prodigy diviner, one of the few that challenges Dodger to do better, practices demon summoning and related taboo magics

"Demon Bro": Lillian's brother and a demon of some renown

Esri Lyrrhn: excellent mage, excels in indirect combat, works as head of security and secondary chief administrator at Iolech (?)

Hel: bitchy model that gets sucked up by Alskur

Mercy: useless nerd that gets sucked up by Alskur

Lecil: tendril-morph, works as security and sells baked goods on the side

Tamara: Maria Eschil Loew, librarian, chief practicioner of dangerous magic; lives with Lecil

Jonathan Sieffas: went to art school and studied to be a construct technician as a secondary option, abandoned both when his girlfriend was murdered by exorcists, became an exorcist

Kjekerva Austre: Kayla, sentient pair of panties made by an accomplished, pro-sex mage

Jay: AKA "J:\\", a digital avatar? something of a killswitch in a digital setting where everyone and everything is data, programming, artificial intelligence, etc

Charlie: AKA "C:\\" (?), a dick in the same setting as Jay

Delia: internal intelligence agent, Yinnic, totally an assassin, totally botched her murder-suicide of a suspected defector/spy, racist as shit?

Anise: talented ship security, Yinnic, recruited as muscle in a long-term stealth op, was totally used as incentive to try to get other recruits in

Kino: daughter of an ex-intelligence agent, Dekar, skilled marksman

Janeo: daughter of an ex-intelligence agent, Dekar, skilled infiltrator

Osric: hopeful radio operator/technician, Yinnic, conscripted as a tank operator, learned to act as a spy as a matter of survival

Seamus: a prototype Yinnic supersoldier, really nice guy, really tough guy, was totally bait for hopeful recruits

Chelsea: the only "regular" soldier going out on the stealth op, Yinnic, fell hook, line, and sinker for Anise and Seamus

Ollie: also Olivia/Oliver, genderfluid space fighter pilot or some such, kind of badass, kind of nerdy, very good at zero-G combat, low self-worth (and takes full advantage of that to do crazy shit)

Laika: friend of Ollie, smuggler, trader, and captain of a stealth vessel

Jesse Albrecht: a horror game critic/guide-maker, director of the Cabinet Corps

Desmond Locke: prophetic (?) game-designer, owner of the Locke-r Arcade, was totally a cool kid back in high school and ran an arcade out of his locker at the time

Beverly Vigor/Ainsley Flow: "librarian" for a small selection of restricted books that travels and connects to larger collections willy-nilly

Gunman Gamma/Old God Kiirkxin: technically an old spirit, has many titles and names, would like to forget some of them, somewhat chill, lost all of his followers to a plague, isn't over their deaths centuries later, older than the flow of time (and can recognize weird things because he's not bound by time), later depicted as nubby horned and white haired

Xion & Teo/Seijin: intertwined souls, Gamma's champion and spring, can totally rewrite timelines

"Phoenix": a fire god/spirit that crushes on Gamma, regularly dies and comes back

"Invincible Mountain": rival to Gamma (Relentless Gale), rules over a massive mountain city

Zershaln: life portioner/thief and advisor

Esukal: life granter/puppeteer and priestess

Yequln: life ender/warden and tailor

Prosper: executioner of the Gravel Guard, actually pretty chill and unlikely to execute anyone

Juuha: ascended demon

Tyler Hoffman: judge, jury, warden, and servant of an alien, fan of cartoon wherein alien is depicted, smith, kind of a wizard eventually, dies and comes back to life several times, kind of unkillable

Thomas Baker: programmer, works alongside mythical creatures, has no idea until after he bluffs a gang and inadvertently "burns" his veil, sees everyone amd everything as what they are, has to put effort into seeing their disguises

Hunter Hunter Halsey: modern day monster hunter, does more diplomacy than hunting, has about as much sexual intercourse as verbal intercourse at some point, dressed/trained old-fashioned at patron's request

"Patron": a vampire hunted by time mages

Nolan: a Dreamer that is "acutely aware of all threats", intended, actionable, possible, and acted

Faye Scoria: national criminal, can summon/control fire

Scum: one of the Covenant, regenerates in a parasitic manner, hive-minded over their lives, but tends toward using one vessel

Bitch: one of the Covenant, usually Major Bitch as per their military rank (and something of a joke)

Bud: one of the Covenant, not Buddy

Jill, the All-seeing Witch: Ruos' runaway girlfriend and substitute horror hunter

Lacey: stripper, has a retired intelligence agent as a brother, leader/creator of the Escort Service (kind of a gang, kind of a bodyguard business, kind of a prostitution ring)

Trevor: skittish ex-conscript with an erased service record, kind of remembers overlapping timelines of the span wherein he was shelled in trenches, sees his week-long stint as several months

Zachary: AKA Beta, Bee, or Plan B, supers' supportive vigilante, experienced mountain climber, college kid, eventually joins their ranks after an incident

Shan: may become defunct, a Dreamer that creates shadows of people that he can command, they have limited operating range, owns the Midnight Lounge

Hikaru: martial street performer

Jill, Shadow Demon: the demon that Hikaru plays at

"Jane Doe": big, caffeine addict, smells of the sea, "brick-like," an unexpected OC, but a fast favorite after a few key events and chats

Places

Zavax: country of necromancers

The Void: the place of men and beasts unfit for mortal realms

The Overworld: current home of Senai Orathi and other "gods"

Alskur: the city of arms and armor; the desire of the nal'orose

Yinnia: nerds have their own country and send conscripts to war in mechs

Dekar: bullies have their own country and go to war with greedy nerds

"Gear Mall": high-tech skaters have their own city-state where everyone skates; they are literally the biggest mall

Associations/Groups

The Dreamers: a bunch of people that dropped into inexplicable comas, shared a dream, and gained supernatural powers

Horror Hunters: a loose association of monster hunters

Oschn Clan: more a band of like-minded horror hunters that specialize in dueling other hunters to learn their techniques than a proper clan

Guillotine: a guild of player-killers run by a group of criminals

The Covenant: usually "of Blood", sometimes "of Dust", composed of many near-human people that never truly die (but they totally die a lot)