#and whip him for no reason and force him to sleep under the docks

[mikkeneko]

watching Jiang antis go, as a Scum Villain reader, never ceases to be kind of wild

[gisachi]

Better late than never?? Supposed to post on the day itself but of course I couldn’t. This is my rushed contribution to the prompt: domestic mixed with black knight&princess.

ShinRan Week Day 6

Prompt: Domestic (+ Black Knight&Princess)

Words: ~2.5k

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“Not just once, but twice! Who was it that saved my life again? Oh, unnamed knight with the black cloak, if you will grant me my wish… Please take off that dark mask and show me your true face!”

“If that is what, uh, the princess wishes, I shall show you my sorrow- sorrowful? - face under this moonlight. Oh wow this is cheesy.”

Ran leans on the arm of the couch, bound script covering her resigned face. If she had a hundred yen for every single complaint coming out of this detective’s mouth, she’d have enough to buy two entrance passes to Tropical Land for each day of the week, plus snacks and drinks.

“I went here because I thought you’d be a more immersive practice partner than ‘tou-san. You are worse.”

“I’m sorry, princess, if my mom being an actress ruined your expectations of me.”

“Oh, for sure. And otou-san doesn't destroy the scene by dropping nonsensical comments. And lie on the couch while reading the script. So he’s better by a lot.”

Shinichi props his body up, eyes rolling sarcastically before throwing a look at the lady on the edge. “To be fair, you came barging into my house so early on a Sunday. This is justified.”

“Shinichi, eleven in the morning isn’t early.”

With a stubborn grumble, the detective flops back into the cushions, script on his lap sliding to the floor. “ ’M tired Ran, long case last night, let me sleep.”

“Please, you’re my last option! School festival is in less than two weeks, and I can’t possibly ask Araide-sensei to spare time on a weekend outside of our rehearsal schedule when he’s busy working—”

The lightning speed Shinichi jolts upright causes Ran to cut herself short. “Araide-sensei is the cloaked knight?”

“Yes, didn’t I tell you?”

“You didn’t.”

“Really? I-” she pauses, delayed in taking in the curt iciness of his response when he was so apathetic five seconds ago. On anyone else it’s clear what that tone implies, but she’s never heard it on him.

“Do you have a beef with Araide-sensei?” she asks.

“A beef?”

Ran arches an eyebrow, skeptic. Shinichi meets her gaze, eyes slightly thinning before glancing away, cheeks crimson.

“I mean— Why Araide-sensei? Shouldn’t he be busy, I dunno, being a doctor, than being a fictional knight or something.”

“All the guys in our class were too shy and declined, so Sonoko asked Araide-sensei when he happened to come in for a checkup. He agreed so easily! Would you believe he’d taken a lot of lead roles in plays when he was a student?”

“And that was fifteen something years ago.”

“He’s also good at things like emphasizing lines and handling a woman!”

“Anyone can- What?!”

“Stop being a sourpuss Shinichi, especially when you’re the first to decline.”

He looks at her quizzically. “I did?”

“You don’t even remember?” Amidst the faint pink on her cheeks, disappointment etched on the way Ran’s lips curve to a small pout. “You were the first Sonoko asked... You were so quick to turn her down, she said.”

Astounded by the revelations docking in his brain all at once, Shinichi struggles to recall the conversations he had exchanged with Sonoko the past weeks. None stands out. If she had included Ran’s name in there, he would remember instantly. But Sonoko didn’t. Suddenly, the floodgates in his mind open.

If he finds out later on about the plot and the cast, he’ll definitely find a reason or two to sulk, if not object. Whether Ran is partnered with someone else or Araide-sensei doesn’t matter, for as long as it isn’t him. Him who she’s positive would outright reject her offer to act as a prince because why would he? In any case, god knows Sonoko omitted Ran’s name on purpose for this.

The sly woman has stirred something up, and she will proudly take the front row seat on his reaction she was so sure he’d make.

Not saying Sonoko’s predictions are right. This is just how she thinks. And he won’t react the way she expects he will. She is not right.

Not. Right.

Sonoko, yaro...

“Stand up, let’s do this.”

“Huh?”

“You want immersive? I’ll give you immersive.”

Left with little time to process as Shinichi pulls her by the hand, Ran drops her script on the floor. The sudden shift in character is unbelievable. How can someone so sleep-deprived turn into someone this enthused in a span of a breath?

“But first, let me…” He leaves the room, and Ran picks up her script, still quite lost. Whatever she said earlier must have triggered something, and she’s torn if she’ll ask once he returns but considers the possibility that he may break character. Not gonna risk that. He said he’ll give her an immersive practice, and it’s oddly unexpected, but she’ll take it. This is good. After all, she needs him as the knight.

Wants him as the knight.

“Sheesh, Ran, stop…” Shying away from her own maidenly thoughts, Ran flips to the designated page, scene, and line, rehearsing as she waits.

Some minutes later, Shinichi reappears, holding his script and something else. Of all things she would expect him to own, a blue fancy Columbina mask adorned with elegant silver and royal patterns wasn’t one of them.

“Mom has these things, okay,” he explains, putting it on. Ran isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or tease, but she does neither when she gets a glimpse of him with half of his face covered, and she catches her breath at the sight.

Standing against silk red curtains and brilliant glow of afternoon sunlight, he really does seem like a mysterious knight…

“Don’t laugh, idiot. After doing this for you. Wear this,” he says, and Ran zeroes in on the line of his lips because she has nowhere else to look at as he places a small barrette tiara on her hair. Doesn’t matter what he says, what they wear, even if they fail to match the daintiness of the mask and tiara. Shinichi with this on makes Shinichi as the knight much more vivid now. And Ran as the princess...

“Sorry!” She claps a hand on her warming cheek, pulls back a dumb smile she doesn’t notice she is wearing. “And I— I wasn’t laughing!”

“Still smiling creepily though.”

“I wasn’t being creepy! Geez. Anyway! Page-”

“Page 27, Scene 8, Line 10. Got it.”

After some short blocking instructions, they drop their scripts on the couch, and begin.

“Oh, unnamed knight with the black cloak, if you will grant me my wish… Please take off that dark mask and show me your true face!”

“If that is what the princess wishes, I shall show you my sorrowful face under this moonlight.”

Two steps forward and he removes the mask, and time slows down. She’s seen the same face a million times yet this time, her heart leaps like she’s laid eyes upon the most handsome face in the universe.

“Might—Might you be Spade?” She carries on, taking everything she can to maintain composure. “Long ago, you were banned from this land by my father… but now you’ve become the prince of Trump Kingdom...”

It’s nerve wracking, the way he’s strikingly still, eyes laden on her, either waiting for her next lines or admiring how beautiful she is with the tiara, she isn’t quite sure. The mask is gone, but he isn’t breaking character. Meanwhile, she’s trying her darned best to stay as Princess Heart of Bridge Kingdom.

“If you have… not forgotten about our childhood promise, then please…”

A nervous lump forms in her throat as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, and his hands find her waist, and she nearly gasps but holds it in because right now, she’s Princess Heart, not Mouri Ran asking this of Kudou Shinichi. “Please, show me on these lips.”

“As my princess so desires...”

It should be ‘the’, not ‘my.’ And there’s supposed to be another line after that, but nothing stops him as he leans in ahead of time and her eyelids flutter to the erratic beat of her heart. It’s better to be partnered with Araide-sensei in this after all. He will not mess up his lines, and she will not lose her mind the way she’s losing it now.

Two parted lips are a pucker away when the doorbell chimes, making both jolt.

Ran is first to snap out of character, as if she hasn’t had the urge to earlier.

“That—That must be Sonoko. I forgot to tell you...  I invited her in.”

“Oh, great,” Shinichi says.

Forcing her limbs into working order, Ran disentangles slowly, drawing a distance. Shinichi glances at the mask in his hand, then at her, before tossing it to the couch and turning for the door. From the window, she watches him walk to the front gate, scratching the back of his head in an annoyed manner like she just woke him from sleep, but grumpier. She hasn’t seen him display much emotion on a Sunday noon the way she’s seeing him now.

Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered him, she sighs, her turn to slump onto the couch this time.

-

“As I was saying, the prod already scouted the finest material for the costumes, and I decided, pink suits Princess Heart— Hello? Are you listening?”

Ran nearly drops the knife she holds if not for her inhuman reflexes. “Of course! Princess Heart in pink! Yes.” Like nothing happened, she resumes slathering jam and butter on the toast she’s preparing for the three of them. She doesn’t need to look at her side to know Sonoko’s eyeing her from head to toe.

“What happened to her?” The woman turns to Shinichi who sits at the high stool by the kitchen island.

“Dunno,” he says, sounding as noncommittal as he probably appears. Her back is turned against him, but she can see his face, and god why is she blushing?

“I just helped her rehearse. For the play,” he adds.

“Oh?” Sonoko’s brow perks up her forehead, hair whipping as she turns between her and the boy across them. “Did you?”

“Yup. Page 27.”

The dramatic gasp that tears from their friend’s throat is exactly the kind of gasp they expected; even so, Ran still flinches as Shinichi’s stool rakes the floor. “You kissed and I didn’t see?!”

“Hah?!”

“No!”

The two yelp in unison.

“That’s sly! You have to do it again! I’ll judge.”

“Excuse you! It didn’t happen, what you’re thinking!”

“Sonokooo!”

“Oh, shush, Ran, this is good practice. Good practice.”

“But—”

“Relax, rehearsal is rehearsal! In the actual play, once it’s Araide-sensei, he’ll do a better job—”

“I’m going to the toilet,” Shinichi gets off the stool, jaw stiff, out of the kitchen.

“—with a hug than a kiss. Right?” Sonoko ends, once Shinichi is out of the room.

“What?” Ran’s expression is inscrutable as she faces Sonoko completely, the flush across her face befitting embarrassment or ire. “You’re losing me here!”

“Oh, you’re not going to kiss, Ran. The lights will dim before your lips touch.”

“Then why—” she puts down the bread and walks in haste to the island to flip through the script, “Wh— That’s not in here!”

“Sonoko-sama hereby deems the script revised now that we have Araide-sensei.”

“Eh...?!” Ran cannot explain the play of her reactions. On one hand, a cloud is cleared from her mind, having to worry no more about doing something she has no experience with in front of watchful eyes. On the other, bunch of half-formed thoughts whirl through her mind that goes, Shinichi and I almost kissed for nothing, for nothing we almost k-kissed, an almost kiss with Shinichi, almost—

“That won’t do! I mean— That’s so not you! T-To choose a hug over a...”

“Duh, Ran! Even if it’s just a play, I won’t enable a kiss scene between a student and a staff member. We can fake the kiss. That, or switch to hug. Or better yet, change the male lead.”

“Change the male lead? In two weeks? Who will agree?!”

“Easy.” Just in time, Shinichi returns, hands in pocket and long face worn all the way to the stool.  “I know someone who will.”

-

‘Once it’s Araide-sensei, he’ll do a better job…’ What? Kissing Ran? Shinichi wants to puke. Sonoko needs to think things through. If this is part of her plan, it’s unacceptable, it sucks.

There’s no way, no way anyone can do a better job kissing Ran than…

“Aaaargh, what are you thinking!” He ruffles his hair in dismay, curses here and there. He only wanted to help Ran yet he almost went for it. Not as Spade but as himself. The audacity. It’s part of the script, sure, but—

If it is part of the script, then have Ran and Araide-sensei rehearsed it before?

“That’s it,” Shinichi huffs, storming out of the bathroom. If this is the kind of reaction Sonoko wants from him, she’s in for a show. Not just a show but a lifetime of curses and mental stabs. For her to go this far is unbelievable. Did Ran even agree to that? Will such a scene really happen in the play? No matter how despicable Sonoko’s methods are, he has faith she respects Ran’s preference as the female lead. No offense against Araide-sensei, but he cannot take Ran’s first kiss, whether as Spade or not.

That is not to say he knows Ran’s preference, especially when it comes to a first kiss, but… it’s not... Araide-sensei... is it?!

He cannot ascertain, not when Ran did nothing when they were about to kiss…

Okay, halt there, self. I said immersive. That’s immersive. She was acting.

All was but an act. She’s a great actress. I suck. No need to make this a big deal.

Shinichi is a pitiful mess once he’s back in the kitchen.

“My offer still stands, you know.” Sonoko sits beside him, munching a toast, while Ran is busy returning the jam in the cupboard, back against them.

“Your offer?”

Shinichi glances at Ran, then at Sonoko, with that feral grin on her lips and Shinichi does a bad job looking pissed, and it’s maddening because he is pissed, just not obvious with the blush forming across his cheek.

Reprimanding Sonoko is what he intends to do. For doing him dirty, him and Ran dirty, for dragging a staff to be the male lead, for imploring Ran to give her first kiss she’s probably saving in a different setting. All invalid reasons, when he cared less about the play before. He’s a full-time idiot, and Sonoko knows it clearly that’s why she’s offering the role again. He doesn’t want to fall into her trap, the same way he doesn’t want anyone else to be Spade when Princess Heart is Ran.

But Ran looks over her shoulder and they accidentally lock eyes, and pink blooms across her cheeks before she turns around, and suddenly the words that leave his mouth completely betray the thought process he underwent in the bathroom.

“If Ran agrees, yeah,” he says.

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[mae-gi-writes]

Betrothed | Sangyeon

Requested! Royal au! Sangyeon and Y/N have been betrothed ever since they were kids. Too bad that you hate each other’s guts...Or do you? 

Genre: fluff, enemies to lovers au, royal au.  Tagging: my lovely precious @aniyawoos​ because she deserves all the love in the world. 

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"Where is it?” 

You wish that your murderous glare can drill holes through Sangyeon’s back as you stand, fists clenched at your side, as you watch the prince smoothing over his horse’s mane as if he has no worries in the world.

You try breathing out through your nostrils. Inhale. Exhale. Relax. 

“Where is it, Sangyeon?” 

“I didn’t touch your diary.” 

“You’re the only one who knows I always keep in on my desk. And the only person who has access to our quarters is you,” you cross your arms over your chest, “where is it?” 

At that, he whips his head around to throw you a scowl, “I told you, I didn’t touch it. I don’t even know what it looks like.” 

“That’s a load of bullcrap. You’ve seen it before.” 

"If you haven’t noticed, I don’t really give a rat’s ass about your stuff, nor do I have any interest in reading your personal matters. So no, it’s not me,” he returns back to his horse and you’re tempted to throw a bucket at him when he’s not looking.

What an ass, you think to yourself as you storm away, anger bubbling up inside your stomach. 

Ever since you could remember, your parents had been constantly throwing you into Sangyeon’s arms as a reminder that you were to be his wife someday when you guys were of age to rule over the Kingdom of Gustale. It was your duty as a princess from the neighbouring Kingdom and you wouldn’t have minded it as much, if not for Sangyeon’s constant bitch-ass attitude towards you these past few years.

Growing up had been fun, to say the least. Before everything had turned like sour grapes, you and Sangyeon would spend endless days together, sharing stories from your own and going out on small adventures in the city. That was before responsibility had fallen onto both your shoulders, before summer was replaced by additional royalty lessons about managing the people and the economy of the Kingdom itself. 

You weren’t exactly sure when things started going downhill in your relationship. But it had been sudden; the way Sangyeon had withdrawn from you as distant as the wind, the way his features -- which you were used to seeing so soft and open -- had hardened considerably whenever he was meant to interact with you. You had never had the nerve to ask him about it, but it was clearly not your fault. 

How could it be? It was almost like you had snapped your fingers, and the Sangyeon you knew was gone.

And time is fast in slipping through your fingers, for it’s only a few days until your actual betrothal. 

Another sigh escapes your lips as you think of the bleak future ahead. Before, marrying Sangyeon wouldn’t have bothered you that much. Now though, it seemed like you were readying yourself to walk through the gates of hell.

The preparations for the Royal Engagement ceremony take up most of your time, which successfully steer your thoughts away from the big elephant in the room you have yet to address. You busy yourself organizing the tables, going through the list of decorations, and spending as much free time walking along the docks to greet the merchants going back and forth to the sea like it’s their second home. 

It’s only when night falls that it becomes a challenge. As a way to encourage your intimacy, the Royal family had decided it suitable for you to spend your nights in Sangyeon’s royal quarters. That wouldn’t normally bother you as much. But with Sangyeon’s coldness, you find yourself most of the time slipping away in the middle of the night to curl up in one of the library’s couches.

So it comes as a surprise when you hear Sangyeon’s alto float through the air. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hairbrush in hand, you pause in mid-action. Have you just heard wrong or--?

“Y/N.” 

You blink. Hesitate a few seconds. “What?” 

Another pause.

“Have you--” his voice is gruff, coming from the room itself. You wish you can see him, “have you found it?” 

“My diary?” 

“Yeah.” 

You resume brushing your hair, “no.”

Another awkward silence takes hold of the room and you’re not sure whether you should be filling it with short talk. 

Your heart jolts in your throat when you hear him once more, “I didn’t steal it, Y/N. If that’s what you think.” 

Biting your lip, you nod, before realizing he can’t see you, “I know.” 

“Good.” 

That’s possibly the nicest he’s ever been since...well, ever since. 

You try not to ponder too much over the meaning behind Sangyeon’s gentle demeanour, knowing full well that it only leads to disappointment in the long run. Quickly untangling the knots from your hair before moving towards your bedroom, you’re surprised to find that he’s still sitting up, blinking up at you as though waiting that you’ll join him for the night. 

“What?” You can’t help but ask the moment your eyes meet for a second too long.

His eyes slide away in growing embarrassment, “I--Uhm, are you--are you going to bed for the night?” 

“Yes?” Confusion falls over your face. 

He turns his head away so that you’re graced with his profile, and you can’t help but admire the strong jawline he sports, his plump lips that every girl would die for, “I was just asking, because I know you tend to sleep in the library.”

“Oh,” realization dawns on you, and while the first thing that scratches the back of your tongue is an apology, your mind reels back when you realize that you don’t really owe him anything.

“Well, uhm--” you rack your brains for an answer, “I thought you weren’t comfortable with me sleeping in the same bed as yours.” 

His mutter is so soft you would’ve missed if it you hadn’t been paying attention, “I really don’t mind.” 

That’s how you find yourself, curled up on your side and away from the said prince of Gustale, hands tucked under your head and trying to take up as little space as you possibly can. You can feel the heat of his body radiating from his side of your bed, practically bathing your entire backside, and though Sangyeon’s bed is big enough to accomodate the two of you, it’s quite modest in comparison to what the King and Queen have in their sleeping quarters. One wrong move in his direction will ultimately cause your limbs to brush, no question.

The first night is definitely awkward. You try not to bring it up, and Sangyeon does an amazing job at hiding what’s really going on in his mind. But as more time passes, you start picking up on things that he’s starting to do differently. For starters, he now engages in quiet conversation with you at meal times, asking whether you’re finding your way around the palace, or grudgingly passing you plates of food without so much as a protest. He’d asked the maids to keep tabs on what made you uncomfortable so that he could change what didn’t sit well with you, unknown to your knowledge, and you’d only found out later when one of the guards had accidentally let it slip that the prince seemed to be ‘putting it a lot more effort nowadays’. 

Not that it had helped, since you’re still left empty-handed, with all your thoughts and private feelings probably tucked away in someone else’s desk drawer. 

Sangyeon’s sudden bout of generosity and consideration makes your heart warm. You slowly start softening towards the said man, until you hear a pair of court ladies mumbling amongst themselves on the eve of the Royal Engagement. 

“The Prince and the Princess have been getting quite cozy lately.” 

“No wonder,” the other woman scoffs, causing Y/N to back up against the nearby wall, ears focused on their conversation, “after all, he knows what he’s got to do after their marriage. Maybe he wants to get an early start.” 

“You think so? The prince doesn’t strike me as the type to sway women only for his physical needs.” 

“Well, she will definitely be the bearer of his children. So he surely must get into her good books.” 

At this point, you’re already walking towards his quarters with your heart palpitating in your chest and your legs going numb from the women’s earlier discussion. Is it true? You ask yourself as you absentmindedly open his room door. You close it softly behind you, pressing your back against it while the words slowly digest themselves in your head.

If what the court ladies are saying, then it makes sense why Sangyeon is acting all nice all of a sudden without reason. He merely wants to get the job done as quickly as possible, so that he can be done with you and just throw you into a corner like a used item of clothing he’d outgrew. 

That doesn’t seem to sit well in your stomach. You manage to get yourself to the toilet just in time to throw up your entire dinner.

That is where Sangyeon finds you, a few minutes later, heaving and gasping into the toilet bowl while your hands are gripping the edges for dear life. Your face is dotted with perspiration, your face probably flushed from the effort. You know, without looking at your reflection, that you’ve had better days.

“Did you eat something wrong?” he crouches down beside you, a tentative hand fluttering against your backside. It makes you shiver, the warmth of his palm, still not used to his body being so close.

You manage to shake your head, “no,” you mutter, spitting some remaining saliva before you try moving towards the sink. Sangyeon’s arms are around your shoulders in an instant, helping you up to allow you to wash your hands.

You force your gaze down towards your hand, trying to busy yourself with the task at hand so that you won’t have to see the concerned expression he’s plastered over his face just to convince you that his affection is genuine. 

“What happened?” he follows you into the bedroom, though it’s clear at this point that you want to burrow underneath the covers and hide forever. You do just that, kicking off your shoes and ignoring the prince’s questions that would’ve once made your heart flutter with affection.  Now though, you’re not really sure what you should be feeling towards Sangyeon.

Feeling the bed dip as he sits at your bedside, you can’t help but flinch when his hand pushes a stray strands of hair away from your face, “talk to me, Y/N. Was it something at dinner? Do you feel unwell? Have you caught the stomach flu? It seems to be going around a lot these days. Maybe it’s something you caught when you were out by the docks--” 

“I’m fine,” you cut him off and close your eyes, “leave me alone.” 

There’s a pause and you force your muscles to relax despite feeling the heat of his gaze zeroing on your face.

“Y/N?” he starts, his alto unsure and confused, “did something happen? Was it something I said?” 

“No,” you mutter.

“Then what is it?” 

“Nothing. I said leave me alone.” 

“Y/N come on, don’t start playing those games with me,” his hand reaches for your shoulder, only for you to jerk away from his hold. Hurt flashes across Sangyeon’s face, though he is adept at masking it into indifference, hand hanging in mid-air. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” he finally says in the silence that prevails, “we can’t be arguing on the eve of your engagement, for christ’s sake.” 

“Is it true?” you blurt out before your mind can stop your heart from rearing in pain, “is it true that you’re only being nice to me because you want to bed me?” 

Silence. A pause. Then, “who told you this?” 

You shrug but decide not to answer. 

Only to be pulled back to face Sangyeon a second later, his arm latched onto your shoulder so that you meet his darkened gaze, coated with restrained anger. His jaw clenches as he repeats, “who told you, Y/N?” 

“Is it true?” your eyes lock on his, “is it true then? Do you just want to get into my pants?” 

“No, it’s not true. But that’s not going to help my case is it?” he sighs, “listen Y/N. People talk a lot, and there’s bound to always be rumours flying around--” 

“So then why?” you cut him off with a scowl, “why are you acting so nice to me when you haven’t been for the past five years?” 

You try to search for any indication on his face, but Sangyeon being Sangyeon, he knows exactly how to close himself off, hide behind a mask of nonchalance so that it’s almost impossible to guess what might be making the cogs in his head turn. 

“Can I tell you something without you shouting at me?” his murmur is so soft, so unlike his usual cold demeanour, that you nod in agreement, willing to at least hear him out.

“I read your diary.” 

Your jaw drops, “You what?! You liar!” You shoot up, slapping him on the shoulder out of pure instinct, “you said you didn’t know where it was!” 

“It’s under the bed, I technically found it there so-- ouch woman!” he rubs his now injured shoulder, “can I continue? You promised you wouldn’t get aggressive.”

You keep glaring at him as he continues. 

“The things you wrote--I didn’t know that you were hurting so much. I thought that keeping my distance was what you wanted,” he bites the inside of his cheek, “I didn’t want you thinking I was being nice just because we’re meant to be married, especially since I liked you so much. So I tried avoiding you, tried to distance myself so that you’d come to me out of your own free will,” he presses his lips together, eyebrows drawn into a frown, “but then...I read your diary and realized that you--that it was hurting you, more than it was doing you good. You know? And that--that hurt me.”

“So it has nothing to do with the fact that you just want to have sex?” 

His ears flush a joyous red, so vividly oblivious that your inner mind screams out at how cute he is. 

“It has nothing to do with that,” he stammers out. “So you don’t want to have sex with me?” Now you know you’re only pulling his leg, but it’s even more precious to see him ducking his head as the flush reaches the tips of his ears, “I--I never--I never said that! I--well, I mean, you--you’re going to be my wife after all so--obviously, you --you know I kinda...” he scratches the back fo his neck, clearly uncomfortable with all the questions you fire at him, “I kinda already...thought about it.” 

You can’t help it. You burst out laughing in his face and revel at how red he becomes as he splutters out, “it’s--it’s not funny.” 

“Oh god,” you clamp a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself, though it’s quite a pathetic attempt, since even Sangyeon’s mouth tugs up into a mirroring grin. 

“So are we good now?” He murmurs while his hand unconsciously lands upon yours. It’s soft, warm from his heat. It feels good, it feels...safe. 

Your heart skips a beat, “yes Sangyeon. We are. We’re good.” 

“Good,” he clears his throat thickly, bites down onto his lower lip as if in thought while his thumb traces soft patterns over your knuckles. It almost feels normal to have him so close, it’s like your body knows that he’s the one you’ll be sharing the rest of your life with.

And then, a memory of his little speech comes floating back before your very eyes. 

“Wait,” your eyes snap up to his own confused ones, “you said you liked me?” 

He opens his mouth, closes it in realization that he indeed had let it slip. 

“Yeah,” he finally mumbles while looking away, ‘Yeah. I like you Y/N. I’ve liked you a lot, for a long time.” 

Your entire body springs up in warmth, “why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper out hoarsely. 

Turning towards you so that there’s only millimetres between you, your eyes fall onto the soft curve of his collarbones underneath his white shirt, quickly snapping away to stop yourself from getting any wild ideas. 

“How could I?” he croaks out, “this whole betrothal thing is planned. I wanted to love someone truly, without titles. I loved you, not because I was betrothed to you. You were just--” his gaze flickers to your lips, “you.”

“Well maybe if you had told me sooner, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” 

“Maybe.”

“Sangyeon,” his dark orbs are swirling with warmth, with a tenderness that causes butterflies to shimmer across your chest when your gazes lock, “I really appreciate what you did. These past few days.” 

He chuckles softly, “that’s nothing to thank me for, princess.”

Sitting there with Sangyeon at your side, with his hand resting on yours and your bodies so close you can smell his cologne mixed with the natural scent of wood and summer breeze -- a scent that can only be defined as Sangyeon’s -- it almost feels like you’re part of a family. Your heart swells with emotion at the thought; maybe it’s not so bad after all, to be betrothed to someone like Sangyeon.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize he’s calling your name softly. Looking up into his doe brown orbs gleaming with an open kind of understanding, you find that you can’t possibly look away. The intensity of his gaze is enough to send your heart galloping out of your chest, and when you take a shaky inhale to calm yourself, you realize how close your faces actually are, so close you can see the tiniest freckles spattering across his cheek like galaxies of their own.

You wish to say something. Anything that might save you from staring at him like he’s a piece of art you can’t take your eyes off. But the words get stuck in the back of your throat like sandpaper, a gasp being the only thing that draws out of your mouth when you feel his hand gently cup your chin. 

Sangyeon’s thumb brushes against your lower lip and instantly, you feel your skin explode in goosebumps. He moves a little closer and the gasp that dies in the back of your throat catches his attention fully. 

It seems like ages go by without as much of an exchange. The world slips away, with only you and Sangyeon gazing into each other’s eyes, both trying to play it safe and yet, there’s definitely something in the air, the electricity that tingles along your spine is definitely not fantasy. 

Your hands ball into fists upon impulse. You can barely breathe, hearing your heart slamming against your ribcage. 

He leans a little closer. His mouth brushes against yours. Barely. 

Your breath hitches, body tensing up slightly.

And then he’s kissing your next breath away, arms lacing around your middle to pull you close while his lips slants over yours in the most sensual caresses that leaves you gasping. You melt right into his arms and he doesn’t hesitate to hold you up, his touch leaving searing paths of hot heat like an imprint that kept you reeling and wanting for more.

It’s only when your back hits the mattress that you realize that you’re lying down with Sangyeon hovering over you, breath staggering and muscles bunching up so that he can kiss you some more, a little deeper each time your mouths collide to ignite sparks behind your lids. Your hands slip around his shoulders to wrap around his torso, traveling up to his hair, his beautiful dark hair that slips through your fingers like silk, and the groan that echoes through his chest causes heat to pool inside your stomach.

With a knee pressing down between your own so that another gasp falls from your lips, the prince’s hands trace a sensual path along your stomach, trailing up to ghost over your chest. You breathe out softly, the smallest of whimpers escaping your mouth. That seems to please him, for his tongue darts out to part your lips with the softest of groans. 

It feels so good to have him against you, his heat pooling around yours in a comfortable safe haven that elicits nothing but desire. 

When he pulls away for air, you can’t help but whine at the loss of contact while tugging his neck back down in an attempt to steal another kiss from his lips.

Sangyeon lets out a throaty growl, “Y/N, princess, I don’t think that’s such a--” his words die into a moan the moment your mouth starts nibbling along his collarbone. His grip tightens around your waist, and before you know it, you’re backed up against the headboard of the bed right before his lips take yours in once more in a sinful dance of tongues.

“Y/N,” he groans against your mouth, hips unintentionally bucking up against yours when your soft curves roll in delicious desire, taunting him to take it a step further, “baby, stop...”

it is a surprise that he manages to wrench himself away, chest heaving and lips swollen. Your eyes flutter up to his face with a mixture of desire and affection clouding your gaze. 

“We can’t,” his soft murmur causes you to shiver. He proceeds to caress your cheekbone, “we’re going to lie down and sleep. And we’re not going to ruin this, not tonight.” 

You roll your eyes, though you smile softly “fine.” 

He flashes you another tender smile, then moves towards his side of the bed, tugging you along as he goes. With your head resting on his chest and with one arm wrapped securely around your waist, you allow your ear to be comforted by the soft heartbeats echoing through his chest, a soft reminder that this man’s heart beats for yours, and will beat for yours till the end of time.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You smile sleepily, “good night, Sangyeon.” 

You’re almost falling into the depths of sleep when you feel his mouth press a chaste kiss to your forehead.

---

[no-name-mutt]

And (Working Title)

Mostly unedited here. Probably many mistakes.

Ji-Woo Suzuki was six generations removed from her ancestor Shimazu Nariakira, a galvanizing feudal lord of Japan during the Meiji Restoration. Shimazu Nariakira’s most famous quote was words that Ji-Woo worked to install firmly into her life.

"if we take the initiative, we can dominate; if we do not, we will be dominated."

  After years of war, scheming and destructive cajoling, Korea was annexed by Japan in 1910. Korea was considered a part of Japan until the end of WWII and subsequently,  the fall of the Japanese Empire in 1945.

 During this time, Ji-Woo’s great grandmother, Jeong-Ja was forcibly betrothed. Jeong-Ja (ji-young ja) was eleven years old. Jeong-Ja was arranged to marry Sora Nariakira. Sora abhorred the thought of marrying a Korean woman. Sora, as with most other Japanese people during this time, saw Koreans as second class citizens to the Japanese. In their marriage, Sora took every opportunity to order Jeong-Ja like a slave. One late night, Sora forced himself upon her and Jeong-Ja became pregnant.

 A daughter was born, Hina Nariakira. While Korea was under Japanese control, it was initially illegal to change your name. As it were, Koreans that refused to change their names, were unable to enroll in school, receive mail or even receive meal rations. Eventually the colonial bureaucracy allowed the changing of names, and as much as 84% of Koreans changed their names. Speaking the Korean language was banned and Korean newspapers and printing houses were forced to close. Nearly 200,000 ancient and historical documents were burned. Korean youths were volunteered and conscripted into the Japanese army. Shinto shrines were built, and became places of forced worship. Japanese colonial policy became a clear policy of unlimited cultural erasure. 

Hina attended school and became a voracious reader and journal keeper. Hina, as a product of her environment, became fluent in both Japanese and Korean. From an early age, it was evident that Hina was highly intelligent. Her vocabulary in both Korean and Japanese quickly surpassed Jeong-Ja’s and Sora’s respectively. Though Sora was quick to forbid speaking Korean in the household, Jeong-Ja taught her in private.  

Sora frequently had Hina recite aloud his military orders. If there was ever a word that he didn’t understand, he would strike her. This was a sign to make the order as comprehensive as possible, though his reasoning was always, “Do not waste my time with pointless words!” 

Life for Jeong-Ja and Hina was of unceasing malaise. Their only solace was in each other. 

From reading Sora’s military orders, Hina became familiar with impending military movements, encampments and strategies. Hina learned of an upcoming landing of US Ships to discuss treaty possibilities. Hina devised a plan in which Jeong-Ja and her would flee their home to seek refuge with the US Navy. Somehow, discovering their plan, Sora attempted to stop the two from fleeing.

In a frenetic haste, Hina jumped on to Sora’s back, holding on to him with an arm around his neck. He drew his Manchukuo manufactured pistol, the Sugiura, and started firing wildly. Hina kept a dull pen-knife for protection and stabbed him three times in the chest, and twice in the neck. In a matter of seconds, Sora had fired every bullet in his pistol, one of which struck Jeong-ja in the head. She died instantly. Hina fled to the US Navy ship, covered in blood and alone.

The Korean peninsula has been in an imperial theater of war since the late 1800s. It remains a strong strategic naval position and is between three of the strongest and most hostile countries; Russia, China and Japan. 

Hina found herself as a refugee, aboard a US battle cruiser. From Hina’s journal, we know that while aboard the ship, she was raped multiple times by a Japanese-American Navy captain. Hina became pregnant. Clinton James Suzuki was a rising star among the ranks and arranged his marriage with Hina. He thought that having a baby out of wedlock would be detrimental to his military career. Hesitant, and silently unwilling, Hina agreed to the marriage. Through this, Hina became a US citizen.The wedding was expedited and facilitated onboard the cruiser. As her belly grew, so did her hatred for Clinton Suzuki.

Hina silently imagined his death in whatever setting they found themselves in. If he choked while eating, she wouldn’t save him. If he had fallen overboard, she wouldn’t call for help. If he slipped and fell down the stairs, she would elect to simply walk away. When the two arrived back in the US, there was to be a Navy welcoming parade in port. All of the seamen were to be standing with their wives (if they were married) on the dock as the Navy cruisers came back to port. Though Hina’s husband would have preferred to not be seen with his very young and very pregnant immigrant wife, he thought it would be a great opportunity to rub shoulders with those higher in command. 

As the ship was coming into port, the anchor was dropped, and four inch thick mooring lines were lashed from the anchor to the ship to the dock. Hina’s husband was the first one out on the dock behind the commanding officers, hoping that it would impress a lieutenant, admiral or anyone with any sort of authority. She happily let him stand as far away as possible from her. 

As the last mooring line was being lashed, a massive and potent rogue wave rocked the ship, and snapped the thick cable. The cable whipped downward and cut him cleanly in half from the right collar bone, down through the groin. His body fell apart like a sliced melon. Hina was silently imagining him drowning in the bay, but she never could have envisioned that. For a second she was stunned, and then started to laugh hysterically. She was finally free.

Hina easily found translator work. Although Hina adhered to strict ideals of frugality, she made enough as a single mother to comfortably support her newborn son Kaito Suzuki. Kaito Suzuki stood an average five foot nine inches. His hair was short, poofy, and straw like. His arms and legs were thin and underdeveloped, though his torso was somehow, rather round. Kaito had a round face, unremitting acne and eyebrows in need of a good trimming. He attended public school. He was unremarkably below average. He found little interest in extracurricular sports and clubs; instead, he spent most of his time skipping class, smoking pot and hanging out with his like-minded friends. After barely graduating high school, Kaito was given an ultimatum, either find work or attend college. In the end, Kaito decided to move out of his mother’s house and found work as a second shift janitor at night and weekend garbage collector. 

Kaito Suzuki and Ji-Woo I(the first) first met when she decided to stay late at the commercial real estate office where she worked. Kaito was just starting his shift, starting by collecting the garbage around the office.  Ji-Woo I was a quiet, mild mannered individual. She came from a good home and an affluent community. Ji-Woo I was going through a “rebellious” phase and began making a flurry of short-sighted decisions all revolving around Kaito. The two developed addictions to different drugs and made small time scams in order to fund these new habits. Ji-Woo I unexpectedly became pregnant. The night they found out, Kaito grabbed her car keys and said he was going out for cigarettes and never returned. Hina was the only person in the delivery room when the daughter was born. Ji-Woo I was emotionless. She stared emptily at the crying newborn girl. Ji-Woo I looked to Hina in silent disdain. Hina nodded in affirmation. When Ji-Woo I was released from the hospital, Hina drove her to the airport and handed her some money. Neither Hina nor the newborn baby girl ever saw her again.

Hina decided to name the baby Ji-Woo II, after her mother. (Whom despite the situation, actually quite liked.)

As a baby, she cried constantly. Even in sleep, she murmured and wept in unsilence. Ji-Woo would stop crying only momentarily if she were fed pureed sweet potatoes or ripe apricots. 

When Ji-Woo was six months old, she stopped breathing for nearly two minutes. Hina panicked, rushed to the emergency room. But by the time Hina arrived at the the hospital and Ji-Woo was breathing again and after that point, Ji-Woo never cried again. It’s as if she were an entirely different baby. Ji-Woo excelled in school and surpassed all of those around her. She had few friends throughout her youth. It wasn’t until her mid twenties when she learned how to simply “get along” with those around her. 

Ji-Woo took a master’s degree in Japanese History. Then continued on to get a doctorate  in Korean History. After a few bored years of teaching, Ji-Woo left to attend law school.

Everything about Ji-Woo was professional. Her skin was fine, with a healthy touch of melanin. She had high cheekbones and slightly sunken cheeks. A slightly upturned, pointed nose, symmetrical eyebrows. A single asymmetrically placed mole populated her face. She was beautiful. Equally strong and delicate, like the skeletal system of a great predatory bird. Her hair was long, to her lower back, though it was always pulled taut into a perfect braid. She wore simple, gold Tiffany earrings. She purchased them for herself. Ji-Woo’s wardrobe consisted mostly of well-fitting dress suits that obeyed her movements like a harshly conditioned army. There was never a loose thread out of place. Not even so much as a single piece of lint dared to adhere itself to her. She had an athletic, hidden, muscular build that I couldn’t help but to admire.

As a lawyer, Ji-Woo was ruthless. She constructed such pithy arguments, the opposition was often left speechless. And on a few occasions they were left literally stammering. Ever professional, Ji-Woo never showed any form of celebration or elation in victory. She spoke clearly, with seriousness and a dose of harnessed emphasis. Ji-Woo’s days were neither ‘good days’ nor ‘bad days’. She took on the day’s obstacles as if she had rehearsed them wholly the day before (though probably didn’t need it.).

The first time that I saw Ji-Woo Suzuki I was somehow dragged into a meeting of which I had no reason for being in attendance. I was struck by her. Though I prayed I could stay hidden, as a fly on the wall. Ji-Woo Suzuki led a team of class-action specific lawyers. Without ever speaking with her, one would simply assume she was the unquestionable leader. Only after an introduction, Ji-Woo Suzuki would offer to call her “Ji”, as a favor to you. It was not uncommon for people to reply to this offer by thanking her. Though, they were often left deciding whether to continue calling her Ji-Woo out of respect or interpreting her offer as an order. Most people continued to call her Ji-Woo or Ms. Suzuki.

I was staring at her. She was unpacking her case notes. People in the room started conversing. She uncapped a Montblanc rollerball and began to write. Just then, she stopped writing, wrinkled her brow in confusion and looked up directly at me as if to ask, “Who are you, and why are you here?” Her look was sharp, piercing but gentle. A needle and thread. 

She looked right through me. And that was the first time I knew, 

I was going to marry Ji-Woo Suzuki.

The meeting must have ended. I assumed so because the room had started to clear out. I hadn’t really been paying attention, not that I should have been. I wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place! 

I pretended to collect my things slowly trying to match Ji-Woo’s pace so we could incidentally leave the conference room at the same time. This was quite difficult because I had no belongings to pack up, nor a briefcase to put them in. So I took out my phone from my pocket and pretended to reply to an email. I looked up again and she was already pushing her chair in (when did that happen?!). She moved with intent. I hurriedly shoved my phone into my pocket and jumped up to meet her in the doorway. 

“Hi”, I said, giving my best impression of someone far more casual than myself.

Ji looked at me quizzically, replied dryly with “Hello” and continued past me. Just like a fighter-jet breaking the sound barrier, she was gone, leaving only a potent echo. I must’ve blacked out, because the next thing I knew, she was already halfway down the hall. A paper came loose from her briefcase and she didn’t seem to notice.

This

 was

 my

 chance. 

I fast-walked down the hall as coolly as possible, “hey wait!” I called out. But she was already rounding the corner down the hall. I picked up the piece of paper, in perfect cursive writing it read,

I see you, do you see me?

5:00pm

My temple wrinkled in confusion. I looked up again and she was gone. The heart in my chest reminded me of its presence with a mighty thump. I felt myself sweat. Was this meant for me to find? I returned to the copy room and returned to my work. 

But all I could think of was one Miss Ji-Woo Suzuki. One moment she was there, and then she was not. 

In the periphery, 

of where I wanted to be. 

I felt invigorated. Anxious and curious. 

Piqued.

I got back to the copy room and looked at my digital casio watch, 2:04pm.

My inbox of “to be copied” was now spilling out. I assumed position in front of the plastic, off-white monstrosity. 

First, I’ll take the source material in my left hand! Then! I read the copy instructions and made the proper adjustments and number of copies. After the copies were completed I placed a single paper clip on the ream and set it in the pick up box. Organized alphabetically. To most people, the job would seem boring, though I would argue that there are quite a lot of nuances to it. For example: Eighteen copies of pages one through three, six copies of pages four through ten, and that’s an easy one. 

A page goes in, the scanning light travels from right to left, and left to right, pages come out. I know the machine inside and out. I know because I have had to take it apart and reassemble it, not without hiccups, of course. I went home that day with a black ink stain on my chest. Like I was blasted by a shotgun, and bled black. The skin on my belly was still stained where the ink and bled through the shirt. 

Occasionally pieces of dust or folded paper would cast a shadow on the rest of the page. It caused a ghastly, black, pixelated shadow to print on the copies. Sometimes the shadowed copies were fine to pass along, sometimes, they were better discarded. 

At five pm, I stood outside of Ji-Woo’s office. I was nervous to enter. She sat behind a sleek mid-century desk with her legs folded. Her slate gray dress suit and Mac Pro reminded me of a brutalist era sculpture I saw once as a teenager. I didn’t understand the sculpture then, though maybe I do now. 

She had nice legs, I absolutely understood that. I caught glimpses of her toned calf muscles through the gap of her desk as I paced as casually as possible in front of the open doorway. 

After a few paces back and forth, I heard her call out to me, “You can come in, you know.” I froze. Then somehow came to find myself sitting in the chair across from hers. The desk remained between us. I didn’t know what to say, at that moment, I couldn’t be sure if I knew how to speak. 

“I noticed you today in the Carter vs. Amadeo-Hastings meeting.” She said. 

“No… I mean, yes, I was there. Just trying to learn what it’s all about.” Do you think she bought it?

“Are you interested in practicing law?”

“Uhm, yeah, interested? Definitely.” 

I actually had only worked at the office for about a month. I was still fairly unclear on what business the office conducted, let alone the ‘partners’. Before, I worked at the busiest copy center in Seattle. I got let go after I yelled at a customer, “Stop breaking my shit!” and in my defense, they were going to break the

Konica Minolta c754e! Those things aren’t cheap, and the replacement parts take three weeks to get to the states. 

 “Would you like to go to dinner with me?” She asked. 

    I felt a draft in the back of my agape mouth. Ji-Woo liked a breeze in the office. I found that out later that night when she told me at dinner. 

We continued to see each other after work every Tuesday and during the day on Saturday. This was when Ji-Woo allowed herself recreational time. I learned a lot about Ji-Woo’s schedule during this initial period of dating. I found her structure and stoicism quite sexy. She made all of the reservations at restaurants. And not just nice restaurants, she even made reservations for tacky hole-in-the-wall places that she knew I would like. A few times she would order for me. Like a mind reader, she would always order exactly what I wanted yet never in a demeaning way. She seemed to know exactly when I wanted to speak for myself and when I was comfortable with her ordering for me. 

After about a month, midday on a Friday, she sent me an email. The subject line simply read, 

“Tomorrow Night 4/16/2019”

Hi Kentaro, 

Please meet me at my house tomorrow night at 6:00pm. We’ll go to dinner. I’ve made reservations at 7:30. Casual attire.

Ji

This was more or less the usual date query. Though, interestingly, she signed it at just Ji. Futhermore, she would usually ask to meet at six with reservations about the time it took to get to the restaurant. Surely we weren’t going somewhere that was an hour and a half away. 

That night, I was talking to an old friend of mine, Leo, on the phone. I was telling him about Ji-Woo and I. About how I eagerly awaited those Tuesdays and Saturdays. And about the one time I asked her out on a whim on a Friday night. She declined. I was upset for a while. But respected her need for personal space, and strict schedule. “It’s just how she is”. 

 I told Leo that we hadn’t had sex. “That’s good dude, she’s probably a Sazae Oni” he replied sarcastically. I didn’t understand his reference, but as his tone implied, it was a snide comment I’d best ignore... but didn’t. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked sharply. 

“Sa-zae Oh-ni!” He said louder and slower in syllables, as if it were common knowledge. He continued, “They’re these folk tale snail mermaids that preyed on Japanese pirates. They would pretend to be in distress, but when the pirates brought them onboard, the sazae oni would chop off their balls and hold them ransom for gold. They’re like, obsessed with gold or something.” A weird silence filled the phone line as I looked around the room, waiting for him to finish. 

He started again, “ok, it doesn’t matter. You’re the Japanese one, should you know what a sazae oni is?”

I held my lips taught, annoyedly. 

“Well, is she someone you’d bring home to meet your mother?” He asked me. I thought about this for a while. I imagined a cartoon caricature version of my mother asking me, “Why would you want to be with someone that is so serious all the time?”

Up until this point I had never even seen the inside of her apartment. Whenever I was to meet her there, she would already be outside the gate waiting for me. 

That Saturday night I took a cab to her apartment building as I usually did. It started to rain on the way over and fog grew in density the closer I got to the apartment. I didn’t check the forecast beforehand, and I didn’t have an umbrella. I arrived at the gate and Ji-Woo wasn’t around. I checked my phone for any missed messages from her, but there were none. 

    I buzzed her intercom. “Hi, I’m here. Are you there?”

    “Still getting ready, come up.” 

She buzzed me in. This was it, I was finally going to see where(and how!) she lived. 6th Floor, apartment 6F. Embarrassingly, I panted a bit when I got to her floor. I stood on her doormat, it said ‘Welcome’. I was slightly damp, everywhere. I wore an old grey knit sweater. I had washed it so many times the collar was getting tiny holes. Faded blue jeans and shabby sneakers. I checked my casio, 6:00pm exactly. “Yes! Perfect timing” I exclaimed silently as I clenched my fist in victory, then knocked on the door insouciantly. “Come in!”, I could hear Ji-Woo shout from behind the door. I opened the door, slowly. I floated in like an astronaut, opening the hatch to an alien planet. I opened it to a small foyer. There was a modern-looking coat rack which I hung my soggy jacket on. To the right was an inviting, lamp-lit living room. There was one of those long arched floor lamps spilling its light on an Eames Lounge chair. I imagined Ji-woo perched on it, with a warm beverage, reading a dense book. Floor to ceiling bookshelves and floor to ceiling windows lined the rest of the room, I realized it was a top floor corner apartment. Black and white photographs and pen drawings hung on the wall. There were blankets draped on the modern couches. It felt uncharacteristically cozy. The furniture all flowed perfectly, like it was a team of designers’ life’s work. 

    On the left there was another closet. Then further down, it opened up to the dining room. “In here” She shouted, from that direction. 

    I kicked off my tattered sneakers and the uppers deflated like popped balloons. I took one step toward the kitchen and I was struck with the most extraordinary smell. It was rich, minerally and spicy. I let my nose lead the way. 

She stood at the stove. She was wearing a loose knit navy sweater that was well loved and jeans. Her sleeves were pushed up. She was wearing a nice apron. Her hair was pulled back, not in a braid, but in a perfectly round bun. 

    The dining table was set for two. Plates, silverware, a wine glass for her and a beer glass for me. There were two candles and a decorative bowl. The bowl was filled with some unknown liquid that looked like molten gold. I wanted to stick my finger in it but didn’t. 

    She turned and saw me, and I saw her. “I didn’t mean that casual.” she said jokingly. Lately she has been making more and more jokes, but only during our dates. It was comfortable, and usually pretty funny. 

“It smells so good, what is it?” I said. I walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter by the stove. She leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips. I was so surprised that it was over before I could react. There was a battle in my head between the heavenly smelling food and the thought of the kiss. 

“It’s almost ready. Get us drinks from the fridge.” She instructed me. The fridge was filled with different sized glass containers. They all stacked neatly, each with a label of what it was and a date. There was a bottle of white wine and a fancy looking beer with today’s date. I took them from the fridge and opened them. She looked as though she were a professional chef. She moved with tempered urgency and precision. “Budae-Jjigae. Budae is ‘army’ or ‘army base’, jjigae is ‘stew’. It’s a recipe my grandmother taught me... a long time ago.” She stopped what she was doing and looked off into space. 

A few seconds later, she regained consciousness from her memory and started to plate the food. It was finished. 

It was delicious. It was perfect. It was obvious that Ji-Woo had made this dish many times and was able to recreate it perfectly. “How many other romantic interests had she made this for?” I wondered, but quickly spurned the thought. I wasn’t shy, and got a hearty second helping. 

I wiped my mouth and leaned back in my chair, and polished off the last of my beer. I wanted badly to unbutton my pants and relieve the pressure on my waistband. Instead, we got up and cleaned the kitchen together. 

Later on, we found each other on the sofa near the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I was elated. Warm, with a full belly. Calm, sleepy, but present, I closed my eyes and relished. 

“Do not fall asleep.”

Ji-Woo instructed me. “I will be right back.” She said. 

Insubordinately, I was falling asleep when from down the hall, I heard her call me, “Come here, I need to show you something.” I sleepily approached the room at the end of the hall. A bedroom. As I got closer to the doorway, I could see a mirror’s reflection in the bedroom. It truly was a bed-room. A queen size mattress and two small side tables with lamps were the only furniture. Warm, golden light spilled out of the bedside lamps that reflected off the polished hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A single, brand new candle was lit on the nightstand. But there was no lighter or matches anywhere. How was it lit?

    Ji-Woo lay on the bed, one leg crossed over the other. Her right arm supported her posture. Her hair was down. It was now I could fully realize the length and volume of her hair. It flowed down her back and fanned out perfectly behind her like a ginkgo leaf. The low lighting in the room accented her dark makeup. Her eyeshadow shimmered subtly.

She was wearing a lacy bodysuit of lingerie so scant, it could hardly be described as clothing. A lacy and delicate fabric choker connected to thin straps perfectly obfuscated her nipples. Ethereal panties suspend a pair of elegant garters. The fabric adhered to her slender, toned body as if it were made custom. 

She eyed me fervently,

And I was very awake then.

After it was over I felt euphoric and peaceful,

Unburdened. 

I turned over, towards her in bed.

I put my head on her chest.

 And I heard nothing.

[capricornus-rex]

The Haunt of Redemption (2)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Previous: Chapter 1 | Next: Chapter 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

7 MONTHS LATER

Cameegon, a lush green planet in the Outer Rim. On the outside, it was a near-twin to Kashyyyk, with the large continental land masses patching the surface; when in the planet, evergreen valleys and lakes adorned the landscape. If tranquility was a planet, then it would be Cameegon.

This was home away from home.

Lying in the heart of the valley is Hoga, a major settlement where a diverse crowd gathers—it was a jack-of-all-trades kind of town, shop traders and market stall vendors were the faces of the bustle, people come and go for various reasons. It was more of a swindler’s paradise than a spot of honest work, thus one had to be street-smart. One is more likely to have more enemies than friends in this kind of place.

Knowing that you have to get by, you bagged a job as a mechanic in the Yewa Docking Bay & Inn. The pay wasn’t high, neither was it low—it was just enough for you to get through the days, if the boss saw you’ve worked hard enough, she’d sneak in an extra for you which could stretch until the end of the week.

To you, it was a big yet necessary adjustment. The first few days were difficult. Luckily, it wasn’t a job too unforgiving to rob you of your time to keep up with lightsaber training.

“[y/n]! Hey, [y/n]!” a woman hollered at you while working on a freighter’s busted communications satellite.

You paused from your work and peeked over the edge of the freighter.

“Yeah, boss?!”

“Come on down there! It’s lunch time already! You ain’t hungry?”

“I’ll eat once I recalibrate this old thing, shouldn’t take long!”

She replied to you indistinctly before walking away back into her office booth—which is basically a command and surveillance center for all the docks.

You slipped back into the ship’s interior through the roof hatch and went to the cockpit; you carefully examined the screens on the dashboard, hoping for an indication that your tinkering worked. You played around with the communications, hoping that you would pick up a frequency with your handheld tester—after a minute of gurgling, white noise, the blip on your little device flickered green.

“Hear that, BD?”

“Woop!”

“Yeah, piece o’ cake!”

It was a small victory that you celebrated with a private smile. Nowadays, most of your smiles are short-lived as memories, voices or images coming flooding into your mind—they come and go every once in a while, though they were numbing than comforting.

“Alright, Boss Lora, signals are clear for this old thing!” you announced, joining the boss for lunch in the control booth.

“Well, that was quick—though I’m not really surprised, since this ain’t the first time,” Lora chuckled as she scooped a spoonful of her food. “Y’know, I never really asked you where you learned all this—the mechanic thing.”

“Oh, I…” you trailed off, trying to find the right yet indirect words for your cover story. “I just had a good teacher, though he was just as old as me—he knew more things, better things.”

You took two consecutive bites of your food, hoping that Boss Lora would change the subject. A teenage girl comes walking into the booth, she arrived with a sweet smile on her face and two bowls of food occupying both of her hands.

“Hi Kaleen,” you greeted.

“Hi mom, [y/n], BD! I hope you two are hungry, there was some extra at the kitchen,”

“Oh, aren’t you just a darling!” her mother fawned and stretched her arms towards her daughter.

Kaleen stayed in the booth with the two of you, asking you how her cooking was, and you gave her nothing but compliments.

“Oh, I picked up some juice too!” the teenager hands over two steel bottles filled to the brim with Meiloorun Juice. “Papa said it’s on the house for you, [y/n]!”

“Aww, thanks Kaleen, give Dodree my thanks!”

“Sure will!”

“Are you sure these are extras or did you smuggle some ingredients from the inventory?” Lora jokingly asked.

The mother and daughter duo burst in laughter, even if you wanted to, you just can’t match up to their own cheerfulness. Kaleen asked you about the ship in the yard right outside the booth; ever since you came here working for their business, the teenager was fascinated with you and the work you do—even if she’s seen it once or twice a day for seven months.

“I guess it’s normal for teenagers to be curious,” you once said.

Kaleen easily warmed up to you on your first week, unlike her mother who was stingy at first—a sentiment which you similarly expressed, but only in your head—but was impressed with your handiwork, eventually softening up to you after your first month working there and showing you kindness in the form of salary bonuses.

The girl turned her attention to the little droid perched on your shoulder. She treated the little droid kindly—playing with him and giving him new things to scan about, then he would project the data entry in a hologram for the girl who was beyond amused with the droid and the things she learned from little BD-1.

“Someday, I hope I get a droid as cool as BD-1!” Kaleen chirped.

At the end of the day, the owner of the ship was satisfied with your handiwork and tipped you. You bid goodbye to Lora and Kaleen. You pocketed today’s pay along with the tip, donned your poncho and hood as you exited the docking bay.

It was nearly sunset and you made your way through the streets still riddled with cantina patrons and half-drunk traders. You kept your head low until the rim of your cowl obscured the top half of your face.

“Oh shoot!” you hissed at the sight of Stormtroopers standing near the parking row where you’ve kept your speeder.

Can’t back out now, my speeder’s JUST there! You coaxed yourself to take a deep breath, relax, and look unassuming as possible—something you’ve taught yourself since you got here and found that there were Stormtroopers even in this planet too.

You anticipated for the moment where they’ll have their backs turned or when they’ll be preoccupied speaking to a citizen. Some people still perceived them as a police force, reporting petty crimes and all, but you already knew that this town doesn’t have long until the Empire comes charging on such short notice.

“Okay, [y/n], relax,” you mutter under your breath.

You pulled down your riding goggles first and then put on your headgear as soon as you took off your hood. You stood with your back turned to the troopers by your speeder bike—a secondhand BARC model that you modified and repainted into black. Prior to its purchase, it has obviously seen better days in the Republic era. It was also better than going all the way from Hoga and back by foot.

“And the cycle continues,” you muttered to yourself. The engine of the speeder sputtered and you sped through the streets and out of the town, returning to the Mantis just in time for supper.

From half a mile away, you could smell the dinner that Greez was cooking and throttled the speeder forward. Parking it just under the Mantis’s wing, you hopped off and sprinted to the door.

“Oh, [y/n], just in time,”

“Hey Cere,” you greeted back. “Greez, get any better and I’ll be smelling your food all the way from Hoga!”

Greez chuckled, obviously flattered, “Hey, that’s a good challenge! Heck, I might even whip something up so that the folks at Bozam Village could whiff!”

“How’s work today, [y/n]?”

“Same old same old, Merrin, got tipped though,”

“Oh? For your mechanical work?”

“Uh-huh!”

“You always were the tinkerer,” she compliments.

Dinner was served and the conversation carried on.

The ambience in the Mantis was warm—yet it was a different kind of warm—not a single person in the ship could ever pretend like everything is normal after all these months. In a certain point of view, the crew was a broken family—one had gone astray and everyone clung onto the hope that Cal would return. It was sort of like moving on, but in a way that you could not explain, and yet they all understood.

“I think I’ll go to Bozam Village sometime this week,” you initiated.

“As long as you’re safe and you’re careful in every step of the way, [y/n], we don’t know when the Empire or Inquisitors will strike,” said Cere, she had been learning to be more open with the tone of her voice—especially if she always spoke in concern regarding to anybody in the crew.

“I’m fine, I spotted some Stormtroopers this morning but I was far from them. I doubt they’ll get to the village, it’s so secluded anyway,”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Cere replied, her pessimism disguised as caution.

That night, you put your lightsaber away on the workbench right next to Cal’s—which has been lying dormant on that table for a while now. You may not have his Psychometry, but you can still feel the emotions it emits without even touching it.

Is it still the same—the feelings, I mean? Have they dulled? Have they changed? You pondered on these questions while staring at the shiny hilt.

Hesitation and curiosity constantly fought within you whenever you stand in front of the table. The last time you held it was last month, as a result, the anger imprinted on it was so strong it had rendered you sleepless. The rage Cal had demonstrated in your last duel in Koboth was the most dominant emotion, it nearly outweighed the emotions—his­ emotions—of Light.

“Not today, I want to sleep,” you whispered, unsure to whom you’re addressing it to—yourself or to Cal in your imagination.

Regardless, you retired to bed for tonight. BD-1 nestled on the folded poncho that rests beside your tummy.

“Good night, BD,”

“Boo-wooo…”

You clutch on the poncho, crumpling it in your grip, “Good night, Cal.”

The dreams were always hazy. It was difficult to distinguish, yet they felt surreal. You warp from one place to another, regardless if it was familiar in the present or in the distant past; the voices were like the ones back in the temple in Magyon, hollow and rambling, desperate to be heard and heeded.

An image of Cal dressed in Inquisitor garments was a constant appearance in your dreams. Slowly approaching you in a threatening stride. As he got closer to you, the more terrified and frozen you stood—even if it was just a dream—and whenever he extends his hand, you can’t tell whether he was trying to Force-Choke you or offer his hand.

By now, that kind of dream should be something you’d be used to—but it always made you wake up in a cold sweat. It seemed that waking up was the only way to get out of it.

Everyone was asleep in their own quarters, you stepped out of yours. The hallikset lying on the table caught your eye, you took it and rested it on your lap as you sat down on the couch, blindly strumming a few chords here and there—the ones that you remembered learning from Cal and Cere altogether.

Faint footsteps approached the lounge—it was Cere. She was about to fix herself a glass of water until she spotted you playing the hallikset.

“Oh,” you say as you find Cere standing by the end of the stairs. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” she sits down next to you. “Is it the—”

Without even letting her finish her question, you said yes, still absentmindedly strumming the instrument as you spoke. You avoid her eyes, afraid that she will immediately read what you’re thinking—but this isn’t new, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

“I thought I’d learn how to repress them—I mean the dreams. It just keeps coming back, it’s always the same thing I see at night. Even in meditation, they just don’t go away…”

“It takes time for the feelings to subside; you either live with it peacefully or just bottle it up until it just overflows in you, making it harder for you to control it. Piece of advice: it’s healthier to choose the first one,”

She finds that expression in your face again: blank stare but your mind is obviously filled with thoughts. She felt the loneliness that plagued you—the root of your nightmares and restless nights. You weren’t really good at hiding your emotions, if ever, you could only mask them for a time until you’re vulnerable enough to show it.

“You miss him, I understand—we understand, we miss him too,” Cere continued on. “But, let me ask you this: do you really think he has gotten astray?”

A few seconds of reflection was all that you needed; you pondered over the answer that echoed in your heart, Cere noticed the shifting of your eyes.

“I think in my heart…” you turn to the woman for the first time. “No, I don’t believe he’s really gone.”

“Then, there is still hope,”

You managed a small smile and continued to strum. Cere requested a song from you—it didn’t need to be grand, she just wanted to see how much you’ve learned and retained all those music lessons between her teaching and Cal’s.

The moment was peaceful yet somber. The notes that came out of your strumming were melancholic but it was lulling. Perhaps you couldn’t help your emotions anymore that it even exudes from other objects. You stayed up for a few more hours until the soft melodies totally lulled you to sleep in the middle of strumming and you ended up sleeping on the couch.

[nam-nam-joon]

along the shore

Pairing: yukhei x reader

Genre: meet-cute, summer friendship

Wordcount: 10.3k

Warnings: proceed with caution if large bodies of water/rescue breathing makes you uncomfortable

Summary: the vacation you’ve been waiting for so long is finally here, but the sleepy town by the ocean is holding more secrets than you think

this was written for @kacchand​ ~! i’ve been thinking of dedicating a few fics to the people whose content i’ve been enjoying on here immensely, and you’re first! here is your well-deserved vacation. i hope you like it :)

It was so early that fog still obscured the tips of the cedars lining the shore.

Well, early was relative - 8 am would be late had it been any other day you’d have to get up and prepare for work. But here and now, on vacation, it was fairly early, especially considering you had, naturally, planned to sleep in every other morning. Theoretically at least.

And yet here you were, comfortably toasty in soft, fluffy clothes, stuffed into a big red wetsuit, head topped with a thick beanie and with excitement in your heart.

The little boat, driven by one of the guides knowing the area like their pocket, didn’t look too reassuring; it dipped and swayed in the little waves that licked at the pontons, shortly below the main tourhouse up half a flight of sun-bleached wooden steps.

Half a dozen other people milled around the waiting area as well, all without exception holding cameras.

You felt around one of the outer, non-waterproof pockets of the thick suit - yep, your phone was still there.

Not to think what would happen if you’d take the expensive digital camera out on a boat ride like this, only to have an unexpected little wave knock it out of your hands and plunge it into the bottomless depth…

Your phone was an acceptable substitute, especially considering how you hadn’t come here to take pictures, but to make memories.

“All aboard!” Came the hoarse cry from the driver. Anticipation washed over the group.

You would really do it. All these months of work and saving everything you could, for this vacation, for this boat ride - to drive out to the open ocean, to see wales.

The excitement made your hands quiver.

On your way out of the safe haven, a sound nestled into the embrace of the coast, you caught he guide throw a few questioning glances at the sky.

They only paused minimally in their telling about bald eagles sitting in the trees and how everyone was on watch-duty to spot them.

The fog stayed behind with the trees as soon as the driver turned towards the open ocean, past a formation of rocks that were covered in seals.

One of them lazily lifted one of its flippers and waved.

“Alright folks, so we might have to cut this tour short today - we’ve been getting reports there’s some heavy rain coming in, and we don’t wanna get hit with that on the open waters. But so far it’s looking good, so, eh, we’ll see.”

Someone asked about experiencing a storm in this boat, and the guide gave them a lopsided grin.

“In this old thing? You’d be lucky if you came out alive. Nah, you best sit out a storm safe on the shore. Better, in a warm cabin with someone to keep you company and a good drink in your hand!”

Cheers and laughter.

A little way further out the driver slowed the boat so everyone could take a good look at a sea otter that was just floating between the waves, disappearing now and then before coming back up and cleaning its little head. Not long after that, the walkie-talkie crackled and an almost not-understandable voice spoke something.

“Folks! We just got news of a whale sighting not too far from here. Hang in tight, we might end up seeing some today after all!”

The murmurs and approving words didn’t last too long, after the clouds started to look a little darker grey, hanging a little low. But then another tour-boat came into sight, and you caught a glance of a rounded back with a minimal fin and every doubt you’d had about anything else was swept away.

The salty breeze blew into your face, left a hint of the ocean on your lips as you followed the others and stood from the bench in the middle of the boat.

Two whales were gathering food, the driver narrated, explaining there wouldn’t be sights of a tail fin until one or both decided to dive deep.

For a while everyone took pictures and admired the parts they could catch of the large animals mostly hidden below water.

Then the other boat started to move, the crackling of an incoming message disrupting the otherwise very peaceful mood. Something like the sound of something big rushing over the water, still far away, reached your ears. Confused by its origin you turned in your seat.

In moments the wind picked up. The breeze from before, salty, suddenly smelled like rain, whipped the long hair of a fellow passenger next to you around and had the boat gently swaying from side to side.

“Everybody sit down and hold on to the boat, the rain might have come earlier than expected - if everybody holds on, we should get-”

You momentarily stopped listening as a boy, surely younger and nonetheless taller than you, rudely shoved his elbow into your back.

“Hey, watch it.” You grumbled, annoyed at how disinterested the other was concerning his surroundings. Another shove that brought you to the edge of your seat, literally, and you turned around, ready to raise your voice when a small wave hit the side of the boat, the top of it spraying water on the passengers. Some of it got into your eyes and you blinked at the sudden sting.

Raindrops began to fall, the water like a wall pushing itself over the ocean.

Mind focused on the primary problem at hand - not being able to see without mild irritation in your eyes - you didn’t see the second wave coming, larger and wilder than the first.

It hit, unexpected, and your butt slipped off the seat completely, forcing you to stand to hop back up. In the short moment in which you still tried to find your balance in the swaying, now moving, boat, a third wave collided with the vehicle.

The edge of the boat had seemed quite high.

And then suddenly it wasn’t, and you couldn’t muster as much as a noise of surprise before the sky and the ocean switched places and you plunged into the water.

Everything got very quiet suddenly.

And cold.

It was cold, so, so cold, and you dimly remembered the safety instruction, some hour ago, and how the person had mentioned that the suit would automatically fill with water. What had been the next step in securing your survival in the water…?

You opened your eyes.

The pain was all but forgotten as you looked out through the surprisingly clear water, saw the whales - three, not two - move under the surface.

They turned and twisted, and their songs reached your ears through the water.

Peaceful.

Something glinting on one of their flippers caught your attention. Narrowing your eyes at it, they almost immediately widened again at the sight.

Someone was swimming around the gigantic animal, their hands rubbing over its skin. A silver grey tail shimmering behind them.

The salt began to burn in your nose.

Nothing changed, and yet the person - was it a person? Were you seeing things? - let go of the whale and paused.

Your thoughts started to grow sluggish in the treacherous cold of the sea.

The person was incredibly fast in swimming around its larger friends. Within seconds large hands reached for you and intelligent, dark eyes, found yours.

“Humans…” Mused a voice, so clear in your ears as if they were speaking above water. “You always forget the most important parts when falling into the ocean.”

A broad smile brightened the boy’s - or was he a young man already?- brightened the face in front of you as quick, nimble fingers worked to tighten the loops around your arms and legs that would halt the flow of water into the suit.

You could do nothing but stare.

Short, dull brown hair flowed with every movement; pearls and other small stuff delicately woven into it, shimmering and glinting now and then.

You tried to speak but the boy was quick to press the pad of his finger to your lips.

“Hush, human. Your voices were made for the air, not the water. Save your breath.”

Breathing.

Only then did you realize your chest hurt.

“Hmm? Human, what’s the m-” His wide eyes travelled up to your own gaze after lingering on your lips, where his finger was still mushed against. Then he noticed your hand, weakly clutching at your chest.

“Oh. I see.”

His eyes seemed to search for something above before reconnecting with yours, and for the first time you thought to see something like mild worry in them.

The bewilderment reached through the haze that settled over your oxygen deprived brain as the boy moved forward, one of his hands on your jaw, the other holding you close, and then pressed his own lips to yours.

There was no leverage to hold on to, or to push away the stranger, and your fists weakly connected with his chest.

His hands only held you tighter, your heart beating faster in a rising panic.

With the shock it was easy for him to tilt his head and open both of your mouths together in what turned out to not be a kiss. Instead, he gave you air, and even though your head still swam, the pressure on your temples lessened.

“Let’s get you back up, you don’t belong here.” Were the last words you could hear before you felt the water pulling at you as the boy swam forward.

Shortly before you could break the surface you went limp in his hands.

You came to as the boat docked below the tourhouse, wet to the bones and shivering.

It took three mugs of steaming tea, an abundance of warm blankets and a donated hoodie and pants you were ushered into in favour of your soaked clothes, until you were somewhat clear in the head again and your hands weren’t shaking anymore.

After the head of tours had apologized, along with the rude boy from before that had definitely been a big part of the reason why you’d fallen, you sat on a bench above a heater, overlooking the haven and following the raindrops that raced down the glass.

Outside the storm was fully raging, and the opening through which the boats entered and left the haven was hidden in the rain.

The young man with the fishtail wouldn’t leave your mind.

Had you hallucinated him? The combination of the shock from the cold water, the salt, the lack of air…?

You had almost asked about it, after the guide had helped you ashore, the small team from the tourhouse already waiting to get you inside to dry and get warm as soon as possible.

There had been something like a silent exchange of words between the staff, at least it had seemed so. Or maybe the guide had just quietly accepted their fate of being beheaded later.

“How are you feeling, dear?”

As if sensing your thoughts were circling back to one topic and one topic only, the friendly woman from behind the counter slipped around it and towards you, hand already extended towards your mug in a questioning manner.

You nodded and smiled, politely declining the offer to get another refill.

“Better.” You sighed, then. “Can feel all my toes and fingers again.”

The woman pursed her lips but refrained from apologizing once more.

“You had the unfortunate luck to be our one-in-a-hundred case… Good thing you remembered the safety procedure.” She lifted an eyebrow, and you dipped your nose back into your mug to humm in agreement.

Except you hadn’t, hadn’t remembered, had been frozen in fear and if it hadn’t been for-

“Well, I guess, the kayaking tour this evening will have to be postponed to tomorrow… doesn’t look like the rain will stop anytime soon.”

As if on cue, thunder clapped in the distance. The woman frowned.

“Yikes. Stay as long as you’d like, okay? I threw your clothes into the wash, they should be good in an hour or so.”

You set the mug down on the windowsill quite suddenly as a thought fell into your head.

“The wetsuit… did you find a phone in it? I remember putting it in one of the outer pockets…”

The apologetic look on the woman’s face was saying it all.

“So sorry. There wasn’t anything in your suit after we helped you out of it. It must have slipped out when you fell.”

“Damn.” Your eyes fled outside the window, and resignation tugged at your heart. 

This long awaited trip had, within only its first two days, gone from the dream of your dreams to a very unfortunate collection of mishaps.

“But there’s good news too; The weather’s supposed to get a lot better in the next days. It’s not much, I know, but it’s something, hm?”

After your clothes had come out of the drier, as fluffy and warm as they had been before, the friendly woman from the counter lend you a sturdy, bright yellow wax coat to keep you dry on your way to the hostel, and you took your leave.

On the way there you stopped by one of the many cozy, tiny restaurants.

The salmon soup and the freshly baked bread that came with it somewhat soothed the loss that your missing phone had left in you midst; replaced with food it was bearable for now.

It still sucked, but that was out of question.

The afternoon was spend in the common room of the hostel, overlooking part of the harbour and the sound.

There was a guitar sitting in a corner, and someone picked it up and began plucking calm tunes that mixed with the chatter of the two handful of people milling in the beautiful glass house addition to the main hostel.

Wrapped in a blanket with your book the time passed easily enough. The rain was still pouring and you decided against going out for dinner. Instead you raided the ‘up for grabs’ section of the hostel kitchen, and later slept in with a belly full of noodles and sauce you had cooked up from the bounty of the free shelve.

The next day dawned bright and early, warmer than the ones before and without a single cloud in the sky.

The sunscreen you had packed suddenly didn’t look as obsolete anymore, and you generously applied it before leaving the hostel to finally explore the small town.

It was already past noon when you stumbled through a patch of forest, the trees unkept and the barely there path overgrown. The tote over your shoulder held a sandwich of a respectable size and two cans of lemonade, and your belly had been loudly requesting them for a while.

You had been looking for a good place to sit down and rest for about the same time. As the trees thinned out and gave the view free on an old walkway that reached into the water, you felt relief washing over you.

The place for lunch had been found.

It felt awfully touristy but along with your food you had bought a simple straw hat. Sitting here on the edge of the walkway now, it made the burn of he sun bearable.

Your toes barely touched the water below as you dangled your legs over the edge, leaned back on your hands and just resting after wolving down the sandwich.

The sun was glistening on the surface of the waves. A few seagulls passed by overhead.

It was very quiet here, the trees in your back doing a great job at filtering the noise from the street beyond them and shielding the seclusive lagoon from prying eyes.

Sat here the awful events from yesterday were almost forgotten.

Almost.

Until…

“Hi.”

The voice startled you. There was noone on the wooden planks behind you, noone on the shore; it took your searching eyes a moment to move to the water.

“I’m- I’m down here.”

There was humour swinging in the words but you inched forward on your hastily pulled back legs, wary. You spied over the edge and sighed.

A head was bobbing shortly above the waves; the same wide, brown eyes staring up at you now that had so curiously taken in your face yesterday.

Here, in the sunlight, his skin had nothing of its ghostly paleness from below water anymore. Indeed he was quite tan, although his hair was still much darker. The pearls in it blinked.

“Hi?” You answered, not entirely sure if you had fallen asleep in the sun and were experiencing a very realistic dream.

“Hey. You’re the one from the tour yesterday, aren’t you? I found this after I brought you to the surface, it was just sort of… drifting. This morning it wouldn’t stop making noise, Yuta said it was probably yours?”

His words didn’t make much sense before he lifted a hand out of the water, droplets of the liquid running over the skin that blended into scales on one side of the appendix. Clutched in his fingers, looking almost entirely human, was your phone.

“My phone!” You repeated, hastily taking it from the boy and drying it with your shirt. The screen lit up after you pressed a button, and even though one edge of the display was of a slightly distorted colour, otherwise it seemed to be fine. You looked back at the boy, still floating in the same spot.

“Thank you so much!” You blinked, and lowered the device until it rested on your thigh. “Thank you. Not only for my phone but...you know. Saving my life.”

The previously rather passive expression on the merman’s morphed into a big grin. One hand ran through the wet locks, messed them up a bit. Already they were drying under the sunlight.

“You’re welcome. Taeil was worried when they saw you fall.”

“Taeil…?”

“My friend! One of the whales you saw yesterday.”

“Right.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “I-”

“Sorry,” He interrupted you, and you fell silent immediately. “Would you mind if I came up and sit with you? It gets super exhausting to keep talking up to you like that.”

“Um, sure.” You shuffled over to the left until there was more than enough room for one more to sit. After hastily stuffing the sandwich wrapper into your bag, you gave a thumbs-up to the guy below.

In the next breath he was already pulling himself up, arms flexing and tail splashing a fine mist of water over you before he settled down next to you.

You ran both your hands over your face and lifted your hat to brush back a few strands of hair. When you opened your eyes again you suddenly had to look up.

The guy was taller than you while sitting, his friendly face smiling down on you.

It was a fleeting thought in your head before your eyes travelled down and latched onto the same, glimmering, grey tail that had caught your attention yesterday already.

Up this close it was incredibly beautiful.

The scales overlapped, creating a shimmering slick surface that was able to follow every move the strong muscles did below.

It narrowed where it vanished in the water, the end concealed in the depths. The occasional single scale was brighter that the others wich, under a closer look, ranged from dark grey, almost charcoal, to a silverish concrete grey. The ones around the boy’s hips were overall lighter than the ones closer to the water, but the brighter scales dotting the whole tail were more noticeable there.

You realized you were staring and turned your head in the other direction, feeling a heat that had nothing to do with the clear sky entering your cheeks.

“First time seeing a mermaid, huh? I get it, we can be quite breathtaking.”

“Oh jesus christ.” You let out, glaring at the smug grin on the boy’s face. “At least introduce yourself before subjecting me to such horrible… horrible puns.”

The laughter, waiting to boil over beneath the cold surface, finally broke free after looking at the other’s face a little longer.

“You really think it was terrible, hmm?” He grinned, hands folded in his lap. “I’m Yukhei. What’s your name?”

“_______. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh please, the pleasure is all mine.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and you laughed again.

“Do you do that often?” You asked, after taking a sip from your drink.

Yukhei made a small noise of question and turned his head. Your eyes were trained on the horizon melting into the ocean in the heat.

“Save people who fall overboard.”

“Oh.” He huffed, following your gaze. “No, not usually. I mean, usually, people don’t fall in, and usually, on the rare occasion they do, they’re busy helping themselves.” He shrugged.

“Guess I owe you big time, then.” Your eyes dropped to where your legs dangled next to Yukhei’s tail.

The other watched you for a moment.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. Many people forget everything as soon as they join us in the water. It’s not your fault.”

Your eyes briefly met with his and got stuck on the empathy in them. 

The fingers in your lap, circled around your phone, tightened.

“Still. If there’s something I could do for you - it’d make me feel better.”

Without asking, Yukhei’s hand stole behind you and grabbed the unopened can of lemonade.

“Well, if you put it like that…” He took a sip of the drink, paused, and looked at the label. “Ah, this one’s good. Um. Yeah, if you really want to, I’d love to get some licorice. The good, german one. Think you can get me a pack of those?”

He lifted his eyebrows over his drink, hopeful smile half hidden behind the metal.

“Sure.” You laughed, incredulous at his odd request. “I think I can manage that.”

Yukhei’s smile was a radiant as the sun above. “Great! Thanks.”

A moment of silence in which you both sipped your lemonades in silence. Then he spoke up again.

“So did you get a good photo of my friends? That’s why you were there, right? To take photos of the whales?”

You shook your head, eyes leaving the deep blue of the ocean for the brown of Yukhei’s gaze. “No. I have a good camera but I didn’t take it out to the tour - looking back it proved to be a really good decision because I was- Well I wasn’t anticipating taking a dive but the possibility was there. You know? I mostly went to see whales and make memories.”

“Huh.” The mermaid sipped his drink, lazily swishing his tail through the water below. “That doesn’t happen too often. Mostly it’s just ‘Oh I gotta take a picture of this! Oh I gotta take a picture of that!’.”

“Tell me about it…” You sighed into your can, eyes squinting at the glistening water once more. “This is a super beautiful tiny town, I’m just glad not more people are as crazed to ban everything they get in front of their lense on photos. It’s the worst when they stop in the middle of the walkway and if you don’t pay attention you just smack right into them!”

Exasperated you dropped the hand that had gesticulated wildly back on your leg. Yukhei watched you with interest, taking in every word.

“So you’re not a tourist-tourist?” He asked, tip of his finger running over the top of the can in his hand.

You shook your head.

“I mean, I do take pictures as well, but at least I try to… Not inconvenience anyone else while doing it. I wanna have keepsakes that I won’t just throw away after they gather dust on some shelve.”

“That’s a good approach.”

The time seemed to fly by the longer you sat on the walkway with Yukhei, even after you had both finished your drink. He was a great listener and soaked up everything you told him about the town you usually lived and worked in, about the town just behind the line of trees that the merman had obviously never seen.

Before long you glanced at your watch and had to hurry to excuse yourself because the kayaking tour you’d signed up for would depart soon.

“Kayaking?” Yukhei’s eyes glinted. “Maybe I’ll come.” His smile was mischievous, and you worried your eyebrows.

“But- That means people would see you.”

“You saw me just now?”

“Yeah but-”

“Relax, I won’t swim next to your boat or something.” He grinned, entertained by your exasperation at the prospect of having a mermaid trailing your boat. “But maybe you’ll catch glances of me in the distance - keep an eye out on the horizon, baby.”

He winked, with both eyes, and clicked his tongue suggestively. It had you breaking into a laugh before you shoved him back into the water. He went in with a great splash, hovering in one spot and beaming up at you.

“Meet you back here at sundown? With my licorice?” His eyebrows curved on his forehead in an adorable way, and you weren’t entirely immune to those round, hopeful eyes he gave you.

“Sure.” You laughed again, hoisting the tote higher up your shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

You waved with the hand still holding your phone, and then had to run to still make the kayaking trip.

In the evening you went into one of the shops and eventually had to ask one of the clerks there if they had what the mermaid had asked for.

With a small package of ‘Haribo Rotella’ in your sunburned hands you returned to the thick patch of forest you’d been wondering by noon. The store had had a select few packages of other Haribo sweets as well, smurves and something colourful, too, but you’d stuck with the ‘Rotella’ stuff since it was purely licorice.

Another two cans of the lemonade you’d bought before were in your bag now, and as you made your way down the hill to the walkway you could see something bobbing in the water next to it.

Yukhei was waiting already when your feet touched the wood on the construction, hair dripping water on his shoulders and droplets glistening all over him.

He waved enthusiastically as you approached, hopping in place and reminding you very much of an excited puppy.

“Did you get it?” He almost shouted, and wordless you held out the sweets. “Omg yass!”

He tore into the package and fished a coil of the black stuff out, munching on it excitedly.

“Did you just say ‘omg’?” You remarked with a smile as you smoothed down the fluttery fabric of your summer clothes to sit next to the merman. He grinned at you.

“So what if I did?”

“I didn’t know that was something merfolk - do you call it that?” Yukhei nodded patiently. “Didn’t know merfolk used such words.”

He shrugged. “You pick up a lot, you know? I mean, I do speak your language as well, so.”

“Oh yeah you’re right.” You looked at him with new interest. “Where did you learn it? Do merfolk have school as well?”

He was on his third of fourth coil now and not showing any signs of stopping.

“Your parents teach you, mostly. And the human children coming to the sea sometimes.”

At your astonishment he chuckled, plopping another piece into his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Mermaid’s a fairy tale right? Except for the natives living by the coast. They know they’re not. But you can’t really trust anyone else.”

Uncomfortably touched you looked away. The sky was a dusty orange dulling into greyish blue the lower the sun, just out of sight already, sunk. The breeze was still warm, but the freshness of summer nights began to circle on the area.

“But… That means… You trust me not to tell anyone I saw a mermaid.”

You looked back at Yukhei who, after more than half the pack, had seemed to finally slow down. The sweets were momentarily placed aside as he leaned forward, his elbows on his tail and holding your gaze with an unfamiliar intensity you hadn’t seen before.

“It’s less trusting and more desperately hoping. Of course, nobody would really believe you if you told them you’d seen someone like me… The locals who know will say you got a bad sunstroke and the glittering on the light on the water fooled your eyes. Nobody will carry word outside this town except you, maybe, but we hope you don’t. That wouldn’t be very nice. Not only because I saved your life.”

Stunned by the calm sincerity in his voice you just sat next to him for a moment. The bubbly, loud demeanor from before was entirely gone and there was something intense in his eyes the longer you looked into them.

“I won’t say anything. I promise.”

“Good.” He leaned back, smiled, and the tension dissipated.

His broad shoulders relaxed and he sporadically took out another piece of licorice, going back to the somewhat mindless chatter he’d filled your conversation before.

It felt a bit strange, to have the bubbly, open, happy version of himself back so suddenly, and it made you think twice when regarding him.

His looks were easygoing and borderline cheeky again, but now you could see something simmering beneath it.

When you had parted ways that evening, the night sky dotted with stars already, and finally lay in bed, your thoughts wouldn’t let go on how much he had risked in the gamble of not only saving you but also returning your phone.

It was currently charging at the port inside one of the small lockers that had come with the room. The discoloured corner would probably remain, but after a few hours stuck in rice you were positive the rest would work just fine.

Before you knew it, the first week of your vacation ended already.

Almost daily were the visits to the ocean, to the little, hidden walkway. More often than not you could see Yukhei already waiting, swimming between the wooden pollers keeping the walkway up, weaving in and out of them. After a few days he was laying with his arms and upper torso on the wood, baking in the sunlight.

As you approached your meeting space today you found him laying completely out of the water, with only his fluke hanging over the edge.

To see his tail in all its glory  brushed all conscious thoughts from your head.

The boy seemed to sleep, his eyes closed and face relaxed as you crouched next to where his ankles would have been.

The glint of his scales was inviting you to reach out with a hand, to touch it, but you refrained and stuck to only watching how it slowly moved from side to side.

A sheen of moisture sparkled in the sunlight.

When a cloud pushed itself in front of the radiant orb in the sky the temperature went from scalding to bearable, waking Yukhei.

He scooted forward until he was on one height with you, at the edge of the walkway, yawning and pouting a bit.

“Why the long face?” You playfully jabbed an elbow into his side.

“You should have woken me up when you arrived! I don’t want to waste time I could spend in your company.”

It was difficult to suppress the fond smile spreading on your face.

“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you. Sorry.”

He shook his head and placed it on your shoulder.

“You were looking at my tail again, weren’t you?”

Now it was your turn to pull a pout. “Don’t call me out like that. Yes I was. It’s a very pretty tail.”

“You can touch it if you want, you know?”

You lifted your head and turned it to look at him. “You sure?”

He hummed affirmatively, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he watched where his appendix sloshed in the water below.

Hesitation made your hands heavy. But curiosity won.

With a single finger you poked the skin, on the height of where his knee would have been.

He giggled at the way you leaned down to inspect it better. The scales where smooth and covered in a thin film of slick, and it was almost like petting koi. His smile was still wide and the twinkle in his eyes still glinting when you leaned back after your thorough inspection.

The slick rubbed off and stuck to the palm you had hesitantly stroked Yukhei’s tail with and you were a bit grossed out at how it coated your skin.

The water wasn’t too far down and so you switched your legs hanging over the edge for your torso, reaching down to wave your hand around the water, hoping the sheen would dissipate. It didn’t, at first, and you went on to rub the fingers of the hand against each other before outright wiping the palm on the wood of a pillar. Still hanging with around half your body over the edge you collected your strength to pull yourself back up, before-

“Watch out!” Yukhei suddenly called, his hands jerking to your sides as you startled at his voice.

“Wh-!”

The blue came a lot closer and the next moment you were sputtering and coughing, treading water to hold yourself up while attempting to blink the salt out of your eyes.

“Yukhei!”

The merman was cupping the lower half of his face in his palm, trying and obviously failing to hide his laughter.

“You idiot!”

He cackled at that, head tipped back and with an arm wrapped around his middle to hold himself together while you glowered at him from the wetness.

Grumbling you went to the rusted steps of an ancient ladder mounted to the wood meant for this exact occasion.

The water clung to your clothes, dragged you back, and you needed to strain your arms to heave yourself up - were almost out of the water when two strong hands clamped over your hips and pulled you back in.

His name got half swallowed by a mouth full of saltwater and again you were coughing and glaring at the face of one all too happy merman.

He was effortlessly floating by your side, staying out of reach of your moving legs.

“Hm?”

He was giving you the doe eyes again, the fake-i-am-so-sorry-pls-don’t-hurt?-ones, and you shoved water at him. It didn’t yield much result as all it accomplished was soaking his hair, but the smile on his lips widened a little.

“Aww come on!” He circled you once, coming closer and tugging you towards him afterwards. With his arms around your middle it was easier to stay up, and the immediate fear of being pulled underwater by something vanished.

“We always sit on that dumb pier and talk, how about we play a bit now? In the water? Pretty please?”

All by themselves did your arms come to rest on top of his shoulders, after wiping the strands of hair from your face.

“You could’ve just asked instead of shoving me in!”

He was pouting now.

“You were slipping in already! I meant to save you!”

“The hell you were… you’re a really fishy person, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.”

He released you as you made attempts to get to the ladder, his expression now a little dulled at you continued lack of excitement.

“Don’t pull a face, Mr. Fish, I’ll come back in, I just need to take off my shoes first.”

He was beaming up at you again as you came back from stowing away the shoes, bag and other valuables you’d brought in a shaded spot under a tree, where it was unlikely to be spotted or taken. This place was pretty reclusive as it was already, but better safe than sorry. You’d already lost your phone on this trip once, you weren’t keen on that or worse happening again.

That evening you slept in early, tired as can be.

It had been fun, playing with Yukhei where he was most at home. The shallow water in the hidden lagoon had been a lot warmer than that out on sea, but even with the hot temperatures that had settled in after the first days it was still taxing on your body. Not to mention the exhaustion the physical exercise brought.

The next evening you brought your polaroid camera down to the hidden beach.

Yukhei in the light of the dying sun was something you didn’t want to forget.

It lit up his skin in touches of caramell and gold, caught in the pearls and glittering stones woven into his hair and the droplets of water on his skin.

You made sure not to aim at anything of his lower body, so to anyone who didn’t know, he just looked like a boy fresh from the surf, shirtless and with salt-swept hair.

There were soft scales running along parts of his upper body too, but to anyone who didn’t know what they were, they would just look like a funny reflection.

Yukhei hovered over your shoulder, asking to see the selfies you’d taken on your phone, gasped in amazement as you handed him the polaroid one and told him he’d have to wait until the image showed.

You laughed a little at how he spend the next few minutes sitting hunched forward, the small picture cradled in his palms, eyes fixed on the developing image.

“Look! Look, it showed up! It’s us!”

“I know.” You smiled at him and stabilized the shaking piece of paper and plastic he held out to you. His fingers didn’t let go and together you watched on as the final details showed up.

“You look happy.” You commented, peeling your eyes away from the keepsake and looking up at the merman.

“You too.” He mirrored you, squinting against the last rays of sunlight falling from around your back into his eyes. The smile seemed glued to his face the past days.

“Can I keep one as well?” His voice was a bit smaller than usual, his hands gripping the other in his lap.

“Mhm- Yeah, I think I could print one of the selfies and laminate it, so the water wouldn’t soak it. I’ll see what I can do tomorrow, okay?”

Satisfied, he nodded, slinging an arm around your side and tugging you into a hug.

“Thank you. I’m so glad I pulled you from the water. You’re a great human.”

You smiled and leaned your cheek against his shoulder and hugged him back, but when the sun had vanished completely and the darkness pulled over the sky on your way back to the hostel you were reminded how your vacation would end soon.

It was still several days, and yet…

The end drew closer with each sunkissed day you spend in this sleepy town, with Yukhei by your side.

He picked up on the somewhat gloomy mood you’d fallen into, asked what was wrong with a concerned expression and his head ducking down to meet your line of sight.

You told him, throwing tiny pebbles you’d picked up by the waterline back into the small waves lapping at the wooden structure.

He grew silent after that, and it seemed you weren’t the only one who had temporarily forgotten there was a clock ticking down.

You hadn’t explored nearly as much of the town and the surrounding area as you’d originally planned, and that was okay because there was Yukhei, but part of you knew the people who knew about your trip would nag you endlessly if you came back and told them you’d only seen a fraction of the scenic area.

For a while both of you stewed in silence.

Eventually your thoughts cleared a little again and you were able to focus on nicer things, but when you turned to Yukhei and wanted to ask him something he was already squinting his eyes into the distance, hand shielding his face. Shortly afterwards he turned and met your eyes, an apologetic look on his face.

“-Sorry, whatever you wanted to say, do you think you can keep it ‘till tomorrow? I think I have to go back, I’ve kind of been neglecting my duties these past days to come hang out with you and I think they caught on to me.”

You nodded in understanding.

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

He shrugged, already slipping into the water.

“Don’t know.”

And without saying more, he was gone.

You came back the next day, finally with the laminated selfie he’d asked about. You’d taped off the edges to make it even less likely for water to  get to the image safe between the sheets of plastic, had put it into an envelope, even.

But Yukhei wasn’t there.

You waited, more than an hour. The waves and the gulls overhead were the only things keeping you company.

Back up on the hill you looked down one more time; at the spot on the walkway you knew was the envelope with a stone on top so the wind wouldn’t blow it away. You hoped Yukhei would find it, if he came by later.

The rest of the day was spend walking the town and finally crossing some things off your checklist.

It was nice, to see so many other people, to hear different voices and laughs and bathe in the general, light-hearted mood, but the disappearance of Yukhei yesterday nagged at the back of your head and wouldn’t go away completely.

As the sun lowered and you came by the path through the small forest, familiar for your eyes already, there was a moment in which you hesitated. Should you go look, see if Yukhei had found the photo? -But he hadn’t been there in the morning, he’d said people had caught him slacking off, maybe he would be banished to work extra now.

Your feet hurt and your shoulders too; Forgoing to put on sunscreen just because you wore a light button down with short sleeves over a tank top. But the day had been warmer than expected and so you’d taken the shirt off eventually, forgetting about your unprotected shoulders.

A cool shower and a snack and then bed would be nice.

A bird flew past you, keckering and complaining in the still evening air, and brought you back from your thoughts. No. It’d be best to just head back for now. Tomorrow you could come by again. And the day after, and then another day, and the day after that… Maybe you could say goodbye before catching the bus back. Maybe. Hopefully.

The moon hung over the ocean, big and bright, casting silver light on your path and dipping everything in mystic touches.

There were light clouds coming in from the sea over the following morning. By noon they had thickened, rain beginning to fall.

The earth smelled rich, the scent of the water on hot stones surrounding you.

The hostel had provided an umbrella as you’d mentioned you had forgotten to bring your own, and now you were huddled below it, barefoot and in shorts to get as little of your clothes wet as possible.

The path down the hill was slippery and you had to focus on every step in order to not take a tumble over the rocky patches of grass.

Mud squelched between your toes as you stepped onto the sand finally. The pier was deserted.

Still you walked the length of it, the raindrops washing your feet clean while you moved.

There was the stone you had left behind.

A sigh escaped you as you crouched down, gently lifting the weight. The envelope had turned to off-white mush, the last, dry spot it had had under the cover of the stone quickly soaking.

Among the dissolving paper was the selfie.

“Well, at least I know it’s waterproof now.” You put the stone back, deciding against taking it with you. Maybe if Yukhei would come by, maybe he would find it. There was a lot of maybe and you weren’t ready to accept he might have just left like that.

The inside of the restaurant was warm and dry and nobody gave you dirty looks for coming in like you had.

The sky was still covered in clouds when you went to bed, afternoon spent exploring the local museum and art gallery, but the rain was that of a summer day, not pelting down too harshly.

It trickled down the window in the dorm room and whenever the wind came in just right you could hear the waves crashing in the distance.

It was still dark when you sat up.

Hands reached for the water bottle by themselves until your thirst was quenched and still you didn’t feel like lying back down.

Moonlight shone through the window and painted rectangles on the floor, patterned by the half-drawn blinds.

No sound came through the cracked window, and none came from the people sharing the room with you, either.

For a moment you froze in your place, not daring to breathe.

It was like the world was holding its breath alongside you, was waiting for something. Anything.

The breeze came back, gently carding through the long grass below the window.

Someone turned on their other side in their bed, the wood creaking.

You relaxed, shoulders dropping. Whatever it had been seemed to have passed.

The pillow settled around your face as you lay down, drawing the blanket up higher as a shiver in the still air crept down your back.

Even with eyes closed your ears remained wide open, sensitive to any sound.

Sleep began to reach out its hands towards you once more, until-

The world spun a bit, so fast had you sat up.

There it was again.

Whatever had woken you before, there it was again, and it was… Music?

A song?

On quiet feet you stole towards the window, opening it a little wider.

The wind turned and the singing voice couldn’t be heard anymore.

Your phone proclaimed the time to be one am as you plucked it from its charging place, shrugged into a cardigan and slipped into a pair of shoes.

All the clouds had left the sky and it stretched endless into every direction, littered with stars.

There were so many more than you were used to, empty spaces filled in by more glowing dots than you could count, and every time you had to pause, wait for the wind to carry the song to your ears again, you stared up at the dome with wide eyes and wonder.

The patch of trees came into view and your steps sped up.

You really hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be a dream as you pushed through the bushes, eager to get to the other side, stumbling once and only barely regaining your footing as the slope began to dip further.

Next to the walkway floated Yukhei.

With steps as quiet as you could muster you inched over the wood, towards the mermaid drifting close by the edge. A small rectangle on his chest was a ghostly white and you didn’t know what it was until you stood next to him, saw the tape around the edges.

But by then his singing had picked up a note, had won in intensity.

He didn’t need instruments to accompany his voice. It was so rich, so deep and yet so melodious that anything else would have only interferred with the story he wove with the words that you couldn’t understand.

There was an ache in your chest growing as Yukhei’s song went on, his notes becoming more desperate until there were tears in your eyes because you knew Yukhei was calling for something, something out of his reach, but you didn’t know what and it brought pain into your heart.

His voice grew hoarse on the next verse and he broke off, closing his lips and swallowing once.

The silence filled the air around you, made the cool summer night heavy. Breathing was difficult and you hoped, longed Yukhei would continue.

But his eyebrows furrowed, creasing the skin between them, and he stayed silent under the stars, only drawing a slow breath every once in a while.

“What were you singing about, Yukhei?” You asked, crouching on the wood, cardigan wrapped around your legs.

The merman startled so badly he caused a small wave that swept over him, got into the wrong pipe and made him cough.

Bobbing upright in the water his wide eyes stared up at you, as if you were the mythical creature bathed in the light of a million stars and not him.

As if the moonlight didn’t put silver between his strands, place a silver glow over his shoulders.

“You’re here.”

You nodded, still looking down on him in the water.

“You- You came.”

Again you moved your head.

Yukhei seemed at a loss for words.

“You weren’t here yesterday.” You picked at a loose thread on your knitwear, averting your eyes. “I see you found the photo.”

He stilled in fiddling with the rectangle, flattening it to his chest instead.

He remained silent.

It must have been the longest time you hadn’t heard any sound coming from him before he gently laid the photo on the wood and pulled himself up to sit beside you.

His tail was so close to your leg you could feel the coolness that clung to his scales so fresh out of the water.

“Your song,” You continued, as it seemed unlikely he would raise his voice sometime soon. “It was so… full of emotion. What were you singing about?”

His gaze, erratic, fled your face and focused on the water rippling around his tail.

“I lost a friend.” He answered eventually, and although he didn’t whisper, it almost felt like he had. “I was trying to call them, pleading for them to come back to me.”

“I’m sorry.” You held your gaze trained on him until the brown, in the moonlight grey, eyes met yours again. Under your attention he stilled. “You must have liked them a lot if you were this desperate to have them with you again.”

He nodded, not losing the contact. His tongue flicked over his lips and the crease between his eyebrows returned before he spoke again, slowly, like he was picking his words with great care.

“They’re in a place I can’t reach. We don’t sing often. Your kind have made tales and warning stories of those you call Sirens, who lure sea-faring folk to their death by bewitching them. But it’s not like that. We protect what is most dear to us with the only thing more powerful than any weapon your kind could craft. We sing. But we don’t sing for destruction. We sing to make peace, to calm waves and to save those too weak to defend themselves.” He paused, the interruption minimally. “We sing for our loved ones, to heal and to lighten the mood and when they leave for their safe return.”

His face was uncharacteristically somber as he spoke, and you listened intently.

“Your friend,” You looked out over the ocean, thinking about how incredibly it had looked to see him swimming with the whales. “I hope they’ll come back to you soon. Even though that song was so beautiful, if it speaks of loneliness and the wish to see them again, I hope you won’t have to sing it too many times.”

Yukhei had taken the hand that had been lying on the wood between your bodies away, holding it by its wrist with the fingers of the other hand.

His expression was unreadable as you looked up into it, tried to see anything.

“Where is your friend? How far have they gone?”

The tips of his fingers were dry but still cold to the touch when they met with the skin of your own hand. You felt them when he moved his hand up your arm, to your shoulder and then across your back.

Tears collected on the waterline of his eyes as he turned to fully face you, looking down and taking in every detail of your face.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and you didn’t know what for exactly.

He closed his eyes before  leaning forward, his chin on your shoulder and his arms holding your tightly.

With the weight of his arms over yours it wasn’t easy but you did your best to hug him back, waiting if he would explain.

His voice was husky when he drew a shaking breath through the hot liquid running over his cheeks and collecting in your cardigan.

“I don’t know where my friend went, but it was because I left them first, but they’ve come back now and I’m so happy but I’m so sorry.”

He tightened his hug and in the breathless moment in which he squeezed you as close as he could you realized he’d meant you.

He’d been singing about you.

With your hands cupping over his shoulders you pushed him back a little to be able to see his face properly.

He squinted his eyes at you through sniffling a little.

“You were singing for me? To come back to you?” He nodded, biting on his lower lip and covering the hand you’d put on his cheek to wipe away his tears. “You wanted me to come back? But- You were the one who didn’t show up. Who left without saying anything.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he knew exactly what you were saying was true.

“I know. It was rude of me and I hate myself for doing it and- That’s not true, I was there when you put the photo on the pier, but I didn’t show myself which makes it even worse and I’m so sorry but when you said you were going to leave soon I just- I didn’t know what to do. Of course I knew you’d be gone sooner or later, of course I knew it shouldn’t mean anything to save you from drowning, but I still hoped… We would have more time.”

The corners of his mouth drooped down alongside his shoulders.

“In a way, I- I didn’t want the time I could spend with you to end yet, and that’s why I didn’t show- And also you said you wanted to see lots of the village, and I thought I kept you long enough but-”

You sighed deeply. “I understand.”

He closed his mouth and looked up to you ruefully.

“I’m sorry too. For not telling you earlier.”

This time it was him sighing, taking your hand from his cheek to his lap and curling both his palms around yours.

“Can we watch the stars together tonight?” He asked after a bit of silence in which he’d tapped on your skin in what you were pretty sure was morse code for something but you didn’t know morse and so didn’t know what he was saying.

“Yeah.”

Lying side by side, with your pinkies linked, Yukhei pointed at brighter spots overhead with his free hand, telling you about formations and tales he’d been told as a child about those who swam among the stars.

He described a gigantic whale, swimming through the sky, and you told him how humans had been to the moon and how there was no air in space and eternal cold that would freeze anyone who didn’t wear a suit.

“I don’t believe that.” Yukhei said after a moment of consideration. “Your stories are a lot less fun than mine.”

You turned your head to look at him, watch him looking into the endless dark, and laughed at his defiant comment.

There was no point in disagreeing with him or trying to prove what you had said was right and the space-whale he was sung to about wasn’t.

There were many things he wouldn’t believe if you would have told him, but you figured the concept of space was one of the most harmless he could choose to disbelief.

In the grew hours of dawn the day of your departure you sat in front of Yukhei on the walkway again, legs crossed and hands folded.

He had dipped down into the water for a moment before setting himself next to you again, and now your eyes switched between his hands, which he held cupped close, and his face; holding barely contained excitement.

“Okay, close your eyes and open your hands.”

“If this is a fish you caught for me, I told you, I can’t eat raw-”

He rolled his eyes but failed to bite back his grin.

“I promise, it’s not. Not this time.”

Mouth falling open you stared at him. “Wh- Not this time? When did you plan to give me a live fish?!”

“Can you please close your eyes now I want to give you your present.” He pouted, and finally you complied. Closing your eyes against the pastel colours of the coming sunrise in the sky, holding open your hands.

Something was placed into them; thin, with a small roundness to it at one point.

The wetness of Yukhei’s fingers brushed the side of your palms as he retracted his hands and then made a small sound, signalling it was okay for you to look.

Blinking down on your hands you took in what he’d put there.

It was dark with water but it looked like yarn or some other string, twisted and knotted and braided into something that was barely large enough to be a necklace.

Three small pearls were woven into it, a bigger one the size of your pinky finger’s nail flanked by two smaller ones.

You looked up into Yukhei’s nervous face.

“We give pearls or other pretty things as gifts, but my kind doesn’t wear bracelets or anything like that because it can get caught on sharp edges and strangle us; We put everything we get gifted into our hair, because it’ll hold on to it for us, but for you I had to improvise because your hair is dead and won’t be able to hold them.”

Your fingers curled around the gift protectively, but faced with this new information you couldn’t help but wonder.

“Your hair is alive?”

The merman nodded, hands clasped in front of him. “Touch it! You’ll see what I mean.”

Even more careful than when you had first stroked over his tail you now reached out with a hand, two fingertips brushing the darkened strands.

To your bewilderment and elation the hairs pulled away from the skull and wrapped around your fingers for a moment.

Spurred on by the soft giggle of Yukhei and the positive first contact you extended the rest of your hand and ran it over the side of Yukhei’s head.

The strands parted easily for you, reached up and placed themselves around your hand, slipped into the creases on your palm and held you in place for a moment before giving you free again.

“That’s amazing!”

Yukhei’s grin was big and contagious as you gave him his space again.

“Pretty cool right?”

“Yeah!” You sat in front of him for a moment longer, marvelling at him, all of him.

“You want me to help you put the necklace on?” He offered, but you insisted on trying it on your own first before having to relent to his help after not being able to fit the small wooden pearl through the designated clasp.

The necklace sat against your throat like a choker, and even though Yukhei expressed worry at how tight it was you waved it off and told him it was fine.

“Thank you so much.” You held out your hand, waiting for him to put his own into yours.

He did, thumb rubbing over the skin around your wrist.

“Thank you.” He echoed, smile wide and warm. It simmered down a little the longer you held eye-contact, until he looked away and cleared his throat.

“You’ll come back soon, right? I want to introduce you to everyone.”

“I have free time during winter again, but maybe I’ll be able to come by for Autumn break.” Yukhei groaned a the prospect of having to wait that long, pouted at you shamelessly.

“That face won’t get me back to you faster, I still have to earn the money it’ll cost me to come and stay here, you pebble.”

The playful expression replaced the half-hearted sulking, and he nudged your knee.

“Don’t you have a bus to catch?”

You checked the time.

“I think I have enough time for one last hug.”

And even though the saltwater still covered him head to fin, you held on to the other until the sun had almost fully risen above the horizon. Unwilling to let go just yet.

Months later you sat on the bus, face so close to the window the glass fogged over. There was a lot less green outside, and the thick clouds didn’t let through much daylight, but you could make out the rocks in the distance, the roofs of the houses.

In your luggage, safely stored underneath your seat, were gifts for a certain someone, alongside a neoprene suit and diving goggles.

Soon you would check into the hostel, to get rid of the bag. But after that there’d be nothing holding you back from venturing through the path of trees, down the slope of the hill and onto the wooden planks above the water - you’d see how many stones Yukhei had been able to gather and put there, one for each day he’d waited for you. And then you’d put them all into a single heap, a pyramid maybe, and wait.

You had a feeling it wouldn’t be too long before the familiar blinking of the pearls and glittery things in his hair would break through the surface, and you smiled to yourself, looking forward to being able to hug him again.

Soon.

You settled back into your seat and watched the world outside, watched the town by the ocean grow closer every moment.

i hope you liked it! ♥

[snowbellewells]

Savior’s Haven {Part Two of Two}

by: @snowbellewells

Here, at last, is the woefully delayed conclusion to my contribution for the @csseptembersunshine event. I hope it will still be enjoyable despite its tardiness. Thanks so much to @captainsjedi for introducing such a lovely event and allowing me to take part, and to all the lovely ladies on the @cssns Discord chat who offered a wealth of name suggestions to me back when I was working on Part One - particularly @shireness-says @profdanglaisstuff @snidgetsafan @darkcolinodonorgasm and @kmomof4. 

This continues from Part One (which can be found here) and is what I call “missing moment fluff”, meant to be taking place sometime post season six in Storybrooke, but before Henry leaves and prior to Hope’s birth.

{Well, I must say...I really didn’t intend to keep you waiting so long for Part Two to wrap this all up. Technically, now it’s October, but I hope you will still enjoy the conclusion of this fic all the same. Thanks so much for all the lovely likes and kudos on this story’s first part! They were very much appreciated…. And now, here’s Part Two…}

Savior’s Haven

Part Two

As it turned out, Rolly and Oliver were only the start of a train of outcasts and strays - lost souls one and all - who began to make their way to Emma and Killian’s home by the harbor in Storybrooke.  Even if there was some occasional wondering about having enough room or rearranging how all of the house’s occupants might fit, neither sheriff nor sailor had the heart to turn anyone, young person or beast, away from the only thing both of them had ever wanted and finally had to share - a home.

Not long after Oliver had left their house for college in the Land Without Magic and Henry had gone through the portal he’d procured to explore the realms and find his own story, Emma found herself feeling the loss of their once quite full nest. She would never trade the quiet evening strolls she and Killian took around the town, both in an effort to lessen Rolly’s boundless energy before he destroyed the entire first floor, and to enjoy the crisp scent in the autumn air and the crunch of fallen leaves under their steps. It was a genuine luxury to actually have downtime together merely to look at the Fall oranges and reds transforming their tiny town and take in the cool temperatures and the cozy smells of cookout bonfires on the air arm-in-arm with her husband, Emma’s head resting easily on Killian’s shoulder. Still, despite that priceless comfort and harmony, as much a novelty as it was, Emma couldn’t help missing the hum and bustle of a house full of life and action, crammed to the ceiling with the marvelous chaos that she had enjoyed for the last couple of years.

Yes, she had long been part of the shuffle of too many kids no one wanted in one foster home after another; all shoved in under one roof with not enough room, not enough food, and never enough attention or affection. But what a difference just a bit of love made, turning a crowd within four walls into a family. If she could give that to kids like her, so they didn’t need to spend years of their lives feeling unwanted, then she would do it. And she knew that Killian’s childhood had been even more scarring, and that he absolutely shared her desire to offer better where it was needed.

Granted, they had also been trying for a child of their own, but so far they’d had no luck. Emma didn’t want to stress over it unduly, but the doubt and fears couldn’t be fully kept at bay. Even if there were no real medical reasons behind it, she tormented herself wondering if the trauma of having Henry so young, shackled to a bed in as high a stress environment as prison, without the best prenatal care or nutrition, had done some damage she had been unaware of, or left some scar tissue that made conceiving again more difficult. In her guiltier moments, she struggled to dismiss the creeping voice that whispered, “You had a healthy, perfect little boy, and you gave him up.” Regardless of her unselfish intentions at the time for Henry being able to have his best chance, during the darkest hours of a late night or early morning, when sleep eluded her, Emma found herself fearing that maybe she just didn’t get a second chance.

Killian was unfailingly gentle, sweet, and patient with her; encouraging her that they had all the time in the world for a babe of their own, the rest of their lives together. Still, she knew her pirate had regrets and blame of his own that he shouldered when he thought no one was looking. He had lived in Neverland, completely outside the normal passage of time, and while he might appear only slightly older than her, in reality, he had lived for centuries. Was he too old to father a child? Was they why they kept failing to get pregnant?

It wasn’t something that could be easily answered, and making themselves crazy certainly wouldn’t improve their odds, so most times both Sheriff and her deputy tried to put their desire for a little one of their own out of mind and to focus on the many happy moments they enjoyed. They baby-sat the little prince - Emma’s brother was now nearly ten and a ball of energy interested in practically every sport, activity and skill under the sun, when her mother and father needed to get away for a date night. Killian took to helping Belle reorganize and reshelve the books in the library on free afternoons and evenings, and added an extra frisson of excitement for the regularly attending children when he dressed up in character for the storytime selection Belle read, or when he served as enthusiastic reader himself.

Emma discovered she found it quite therapeutic to go out to the beanfield Anton tended on the outskirts of town and burn up frustration or anxiety digging, shoveling, raking, weeding, or whatever the gentle giant needed done. He’d made himself a regular attraction by this point - especially in the Fall, since he also nurtured a pumpkin patch and sold berry preserves and cider from plants grown himself. She’d always had a soft spot for Anton, and many of the dwarves who often worked there as well were much more palatable in the fields than when they were running into the station yelling the alert about whatever new danger had arrived in town or forcing her to play referee in their own petty disputes. Even Leroy was markedly less Grumpy out in the brisk air with solid, dependable work at hand to do. His gruff ‘Mornin’ Sister,” if she was able to join them early in the day, and his handing her a shovel or hoe as she took the row next to him seemed to be his way of accepting her into their number, and though Emma wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone else, it did warm her heart each time. The bearded man who would have been an “uncle” of sorts to her in another life seemed less abrasive and more grudgingly affectionate the more time that passed.

Whatever the case might be, and whatever else they found to do or to fill their time, Emma knew the wish was still present in both their minds. Though Henry and Killian’s house operation, the place they had dreamed of sharing with her even in her darkest moments when she had felt almost lost to them both, had long since become each of them’s first true home, some part of her still wanted it full of giggles and mischievous whispers, shrieks of glee and the slap of little bare feet on the hardwood floors.

One night, about a year after Oliver had left for college and Henry had set off for other realms, Emma had gone down to the docks as evening neared, anxious to see her husband after a day spent at separate tasks, and to walk home with his warm, familiar arm wrapped comfortably over her shoulders. She had made a casserole that was one of Killian’s favorites from dinners with her mom, dad, and little brother; she had followed Snow’s instructions to the letter and was anxious to see how it had turned out. Home cooking was still not what Emma would call a strength of hers, but she was getting better… she hoped.

However, as she neared Killian’s ship, docked in its assigned slip at the harbor, Emma noticed the sky had gone rather suddenly dark, wind gusting distressingly through the sails and spars and whistling loudly. She had to genuinely lean into the breeze with determination as she reached the side and then took Killian’s outstretched hook when he saw her coming up the gangplank, pulling her into his arms as she clambered over and onto the deck. 

“Bit of a squall on its way, eh Love?” he murmured against her hair, brow raised in teasing question as he pulled back just slightly to study her rather anxious face.

She gave him a soft smile, reaching light fingers up to brush over the scar on his cheekbone. “Well, I came to walk you home for supper, but do you first need help battening down the hatches, Captain?”

Her pirate shook his head, chuckling lightly at her playful banter. He had already secured the Jolly as well as could be accomplished, having an innate, almost sixth sense for inclement weather after so many years on the sea. She might be tossed on the swells that were already beginning to rise and fall and to rock the hull wildly, but the old girl had withstood much worse in her time, and she would still be there come the morrow. “She’s all set, actually,” he answered, moving to grab his jacket, scarf and the other items he needed, ready to head home with her, but unable to resist teasing back at least a bit. “The Jolly’s a steady lass, Swan. She’ll manage the weather just fine.”

They were both prepared to disembark for the docks and be on their way, when a frightened howl of distress met their ears over the wind whipping the sails and the water smacking against the wooden sides.

Swinging back around in concern, they both sought the source of the animal cry for help in the rapidly darkening and turbulent surroundings. However, it was a sailor’s sharp eye which let Killian find the distressed and already bedraggled mass of wet grey and brown fluff somehow tangled in the rigging a few feet over their heads. Probably the poor thing was a stray, not long separated from its mother and littermates by the size of him, and might have begun the climb for fun, but was now both entangled and terrified, and nearly drenched from the rain which had begun pelting down around them.

“Oh, there he is!” Emma cried out once she spotted their poor feline victim as well; illuminated in his uncomfortable perch by a startling flash of lightning. “How did he even get up there?”

Both of them moved almost as one in an effort to reach the poor kitten wriggling valiantly to free itself, ‘mewing’ pitifully to beg help of anyone who would listen. However, Killian, with years of practice manuevering about his ship in all sorts of weather, and with a natural agility and grace that never ceased to leave Emma marveling, was quickly hopping up onto the railing, and had a foot in the rigging himself, a couple steps bringing him close enough to reach their unhappy stowaway, before Emma could even figure out how to proceed.

The yowling of the tiny creature intensified as Killian stepped onto the rope, probably squeezing the poor little guy, Emma realized, if he were tangled tightly enough. “Swan!” her husband shouted over the ever-increasing wind and rain. “I can’t unravel him! Get the knife from my boot and hand it up to me!”

Moving quickly, Emma did as he asked, and finally, with a few expert slices, the kitten was free, cradled to Killian’s chest beneath his jacket. The wretched squalling now lowering to a more plaintive and pitiful refrain. A few seconds later, her husband was alighting on the solid deck once more and holding out his rescued prize for her inspection.

Unwinding her own scarf and wrapping it around the nearly weightless seeming body of skin, bones, and fluff, Emma cooed to the tiny cat gently, hoping to soothe and reassure the frightened animal that it was safe with them now. She looked up at Killian, who was shivering slightly and fairly drenched himself, but all the same, appeared rather pleased with his efforts and watched the new critter - clearly already one of their own - burrow into Emma’s warmth and begin to purr with such gentle affection that it made Emma’s chest swell in response. 

“Let’s get you both home, dry you off and warm him up, and see what we can do for this little guy,” Emma suggested, squeezing Killian’s hand gratefully for his kindness and caring and wanting him to know how glad she was he had scaled the height for a poor, lost cat.  

*****~~~*****~~~*****

The next day’s trip to the veterinary clinic on Storybrooke’s outskirts confirmed what they had already nearly determined for themselves in the intervening hours - their scrawny but handsome new arrival was malnourished but otherwise quite well, except for the fact that he seemed unable to use his right front paw and leg, the appendage having been caught for too long with blood flow cut off, rendering it useless and mostly dead weight. 

Yet, even if they had suspected as much, the vet’s stark, unconcerned manner had Emma’s eyes immediately welling up, tears starting quickly with empathy, while Killian went tensely still and quiet beside her, his only motion to reach out and caress the kitten’s striped head in comfort. The vet went on to caution them that there was simply too much risk of infection and swelling, artery blockage or gangrene. It simply wasn’t viable to leave the leg. But he didn’t seem to realize what dangerous ground he was treading on when he suggested that the animal could be put down painlessly at little cost to them rather than their needing to take in a maimed stray and force it to live life on only three legs, until the sheriff’s eyes flashed a venomous, angry emerald at him when she gathered the cat to her chest protectively.

“And just what makes you think we wouldn’t care for a cat with a few more needs?”she challenged hotly, letting Dr. Terrence Doolittle know just how seriously he had stuck his foot into his mouth. “I don’t recall asking if you thought he was worth saving, or even what you thought we should do - just what he needed.”

The Savior was practically vibrating in her indignation, looking as though she might not even turn what was clearly their new pet over to him again to perfrom the necessary operation. He remembered belatedly just how powerful a magic wielder she was, as well as the upholder of the law in Storybrooke, and found himself hoping he wouldn’t end up a newt or a lawn statue before he could apologize and insist he had meant no offense. Before any of that could happen though, her husband gently took the kitten from Sheriff Swan - as it had begun to squirm and mew uncomfortably at her distressed and tigthening hold. A gently staying touch of his namesake brushed back her hair in what was clearly a familiar and soothing gesture, and the sight of the steely appendage suddenly made the cause of her ire all too clear.

Emma Swan visibly calmed at her husband’s caress, blowing out a harsh breath and stepping back before she answered in a tersely clipped but more collected voice, “If the amputation is needed, then please just do it. Whatever he needs to be as comfortable and healthy as possible. We’ll take care of him from there, alright?”

“Yes, Sheriff, of course,” the man agreed readily, nodding with vigor. Adding as direct a look at both of them as he dared, he added in stuttered uncertainty, “and my apologies for my earlier callousness. I meant no offense.”

While Emma merely huffed a sort of noncommittal sound in her throat, bobbing her head in a bare nod of acceptance, Killian Jones, took him by complete surprise when he kindly replied, “Apology accepted, mate. I understood that your intention bore no malice.”

But if Sheriff Swan stuffed their newest family member with salmon, the priciest treats, and as much catnip as he could stand the next evening when the newly dubbed Maelstrom returned home to stay, and cuddled and spoiled him within an inch of his life every day afterwards, well, she would challenge anyone to blame her. It wasn’t long before the well-fed and cared for cat sported a sleek, silky, long-haired and dark-striped coat and looked quite the handsomest feline in the neighborhood follwing right behind Emma anywhere she went in the house and yard like a contented little shadow. His rapid, balanced hopping gait didn’t seem to trouble him or slow him down in the slightest as time went on; for all intents and purposes, their little Maelstrom was every bit as agile, curious, and playfully quick as any four-legged cat.

*****~~~******~~~*****

When trick-or-treating season came around, and Emma’s stomach had at last begun to round with a babe of their own, Killian could only smile at her indulgently, his heart too full of happiness and love to gainsay or spoil her fun when she dressed their cat in a red vest and little black leather breeches of an animal costume, sewn by none other than her royal princess mother. Emma magicked her own tiny version of a hook that could be strapped around Maelstrom’s furry chest to sit where his missing leg would have been, and it was clear their cat was a rather adorable feline version of himself. 

His wife, meanwhile, sported a red stocking cap and a red and white striped T-shirt that stretched over her growing baby bump, a much more fetching version of Mr. Smee in all his traditional Disney cartoon buffoonery if Killian had ever seen one. For a moment, he was rather uncertain how to work himself in with their theme - not about to dress as his own insulting Disney likeness, nor as Pan or the crocodile. He did eventually feel a bit smug at getting the last laugh once he settled on a Victorian formal suit complete with tails, white ascot and silver-rimmed spectacles, making himself rather the most dashing Mr. Darling one could have envisioned. Emma’s mouth hung open, in fact a little breathless, as he joined her at the door. At least, that was until the shrill ringing of the doorbell broke the moment, announcing their first visitors seeking candy.

*****~~~*****~~~***

Two weeks later, two little girls, ten and twelve years old, named Sara and Anne, whom they had noticed hanging back from the rest of the group of trick-or-treaters, not seeming to be escorted by parents as the others were, but eager to come forward and get as much candy as they could hold at he and Emma’s insistence once the rest of the group had moved on, were part of their household as well. They had cooed over Maelstrom’s Captain Hook costume, giggled as he wended his way between their skinny legs, and petted him gently and admiringly.

“I’ve never had a pet,” the brunette named Sara had explained wistfully, her big doe eyes looking up to meet theirs and capturing Killian’s heart in an instant. He knew even before an official and thorough search proved that they were alone, that these two girls needed he and Emma. It seemed they had been brought over with the other Untold Story realm’s citizens, but rather than with a whole family, as most who’d even noticed them about had assumed, each had instead been separated from her parents and all alone. They had located each other at school, and found an abandoned building at the edge of town where they had managed to squat under the radar. But Emma’s stomach panged with remembered hunger and her heart beat rapidly at the fear and loneliness that would never completely fade. The two girls couldn’t have found any two other people more likely to know what they’d been through than she and Killian.

By the time Emma delivered a healthy baby girl in the early morning of a brand new year, Hope Lianna Jones had two big sisters in her family ready to greet her excitedly.

Their house was once again full of squeals and yelps as feet pounded down the stairs and peals of laughter at all sorts of odd hours. David might tease Killian about how badly outnumbered he was by women in their own little haven, but Emma could only think her prayers had been answered by their house’s fullness. The more the merrier was by now their enthusiastic motto. It was a view not held by nearly enough of the world when she and Killian were growing up on their won. And they were doing their part to change that - one kid and one animal at a time.

**Author’s Note: Again, I apologize for the length of time between Parts One and Two of this story, but I do hope that you will find this conclusion satisfying. You might have noticed that I strove to find literary/legendary orphans to use as potential new members of Emma and Killian’s family. Oliver from Oliver Twist, Sara from A Little Princess, and Anne from Anne of Great Gables.  And thanks once again to the lovely ladies on Discord for the animal names, I couldn’t resist switching one from dog to cat here in Part Two! ;)

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @scientificapricot @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @therooksshiningknight @laschatzi @effulgentcolors @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @profdanglaisstuff @snidgetsafan @resident-of-storybrooke @winterbaby89 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @darkcolinodonorgasm 

[she-wolf-of-highgarden]

Every time Dany mentions home

*Buckle in kids, this is a long one*

“At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother's crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother "the beggar king." Dany did not want to know what they called her.” - Dany I, GoT

“Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. "I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home." "Home!" He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. "How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!" He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. "How are we to go home?" he repeated, meaning King's Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost.” - Dany I, GoT

“Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio's estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no homethere for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into her arm, demanding an answer. "I don't know …" she said at last, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes."I do," he said sharply. "We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo's army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will." He smiled at her. "I'd let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now dry your eyes. Illyrio is bringing him over, and he will not see you crying.” - Dany I, GoT

“Home," he said. His voice was thick with longing. "I pray for home too," she told him, believing it.” - Dany III, GoT

“He could not lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one," Dany said. "He has no coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a snake. The Dothraki make mock of his weakness. He will never take us home.” - Dany III, GoT

“She was lying there, holding the egg, when she felt the child move within her … as if he were reaching out, brother to brother, blood to blood. "You are the dragon," Dany whispered to him, "the true dragon. I know it. I know it." And she smiled, and went to sleep dreaming of home.” - Dany IV, GoT

“The Dothraki do things in their own time, for their own reasons," the knight answered. "Have patience, Princess. Do not make your brother's mistake. We will go home, I promise you."Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door … was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? When she looked at the crones of the dosh khaleen, was she looking at her future?” - Dany VI, GoT

“If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old … and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman … but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget.” - Dany VI, GoT

“But the Western Market smelled of home.” - Dany VI, GoT

“Under the hollow hummock of earth that was her home in Vaes Dothrak, Dany ordered them to leave her—all but Ser Jorah. "Tell me," she commanded as she lowered herself onto her cushions. "Was it the Usurper?" - Dany VI, GoT

“Her words were a knife through Dany's breast. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was finally going home. And now to lose it all … "No," she pleaded. "Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way … some magic, some …" - Dany VIII, GoT

“She saw sunlight on the Dothraki sea, the living plain, rich with the smells of earth and death. Wind stirred the grasses, and they rippled like water. Drogo held her in strong arms, and his hand stroked her sex and opened her and woke that sweet wetness that was his alone, and the stars smiled down on them, stars in a daylight sky. "Home," she whispered as he entered her and filled her with his seed, but suddenly the stars were gone, and across the blue sky swept the great wings, and the world took flame.” - Dany IX, GoT

“The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.”  - Dany IX, GoT

“Saved me?" The Lhazareen woman spat. "Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me? I saw my god's house burn, where I had healed good men beyond counting. My home they burned as well, and in the street I saw piles of heads. I saw the head of a baker who made my bread. I saw the head of a boy I had saved from deadeye fever, only three moons past. I heard children crying as the riders drove them off with their whips. Tell me again what you saved.” - Dany IX, GoT

“As my queen commands." Ser Jorah frowned. "My home . . . you must understand that to understand the rest. Bear Island is beautiful, but remote. Imagine old gnarled oaks and tall pines, flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. The hall of the Mormonts is built of huge logs and surrounded by an earthen palisade. Aside from a few crofters, my people live along the coasts and fish the seas. The island lies far to the north, and our winters are more terrible than you can imagine, Khaleesi.” - Dany I, ACoK

“A fortnight was how long it took us to sail from Lannisport back to Bear Island. My home was a great disappointment to Lynesse. It was too cold, too damp, too far away, my castle no more than a wooden longhall. We had no masques, no mummer shows, no balls or fairs. Seasons might pass without a singer ever coming to play for us, and there's not a goldsmith on the island. Even meals became a trial. My cook knew little beyond his roasts and stews, and Lynesse soon lost her taste for fish and venison.” - Dany I, ACoK

“She had heard the longing in Ser Jorah's voice when he spoke of his Bear Island. He can never have me, but one day I can give him back his home and honor. That much I can do for him.” - Dany I, ACoK

“Pyrat Pree conducted her little khalasar down the center of a great arcade where the city's ancient heroes stood thrice life-size on columns of white and green marble. They passed through a bazaar in a cavernous building whose latticework ceiling was home to a thousand gaily colored birds. Trees and flowers bloomed on the terraced walls above the stalls, while below it seemed as if everything the gods had put into the world was for sale.” - Dany II, ACoK

“Xaro Xhoan Daxos had offered Dany the hospitality of his home while she was in the city. She had expected something grand. She had not expected a palace larger than many a market town. It makes Magister Illyrio's manse in Pentos look like a swineherd's hovel, she thought. Xaro swore that his home could comfortably house all of her people and their horses besides; indeed, it swallowed them. An entire wing was given over to her. She would have her own gardens, a marble bathing pool, a scrying tower and warlock's maze. Slaves would tend her every need. In her private chambers, the floors were green marble, the walls draped with colorful silk hangings that shimmered with every breath of air. "You are too generous," she told Xaro Xhoan Daxos.”  - Dany II, ACoK

“Ser Jorah, find the docks and see what manner of ships lay at anchor. It has been half a year since I last heard tidings from the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps the gods will have blown some good captain here from Westeros with a ship to carry us home.” - Dany II, ACoK

“The thought of home disquieted her. If her sun-and-stars had lived, he would have led his khalasar across the poison water and swept away her enemies, but his strength had left the world. Her bloodriders remained, sworn to her for life and skilled in slaughter, but only in the ways of the horselords. The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King's Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.”  - Dany II, ACoK

“I have given you my home and heart, do they mean nothing to you? I have given you perfume and pomegranates, tumbling monkeys and spitting snakes, scrolls from lost Valyria, an idol's head and a serpent's foot. I have given you this palanquin of ebony and gold, and a matched set of bullocks to bear it, one white as ivory and one black as jet, with horns inlaid with jewels.” - Dany III, ACoK

“I am half a world away from my kingdom even here. If I go any farther east I may never find my way home to Westeros.” - Dany III, ACoK

“She fled from him, but only as far as the next open door. I know this room, she thought. She remembered those great wooden beams and the carved animal faces that adorned them. And there outside the window, a lemon tree! The sight of it made her heart ache with longing. It is the house with the red door, the house in Braavos. No sooner had she thought it than old Ser Willem came into the room, leaning heavily on his stick. "Little princess, there you are," he said in his gruff kind voice. "Come," he said, "come to me, my lady, you're home now, you're safe now." His big wrinkled hand reached for her, soft as old leather, and Dany wanted to take it and hold it and kiss it, she wanted that as much as she had ever wanted anything. Her foot edged forward, and then she thought, He's dead, he's dead, the sweet old bear, he died a long time ago. She backed away and ran.” - Dany IV, ACoK

“All the brass in this booth is not worth twenty honors," Dany told him as she studied the reflections. The old man had the look of Westeros about him, and the brown-skinned one must weigh twenty stone. The Usurper offered a lordship to the man who kills me, and these two are far from home. Or could they be creatures of the warlocks, meant to take me unawares?” - Dany V, ACoK

“Three heads has the dragon, Dany thought, wondering. "I shall tell my people to make ready to depart at once. But the ships that bring me home must bear different names." - Dany V, ACoK

“But that time was not yet come. Rhaegal and Viserion were the size of small dogs, Drogon only a little larger, and any dog would have out-weighed them; they were all wings and neck and tail, lighter than they looked. And so Daenerys Targaryen must rely on wood and wind and canvas to bear her home.” - Dany  I, ASoS

“Mero tossed down his wine straightaway, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leered at Dany. "I believe I fucked your twin sister in a pleasure house back home. Or was it you?” - Dany IV, ASoS

“Varys said . . . I might go home." He bowed his head.I was going to take you home! Her dragons sensed her fury. Viserion roared, and smoke rose grey from his snout. Drogon beat the air with black wings, and Rhaegal twisted his head back and belched flame. I should say the word and burn the two of them. Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe? "Are all the knights of Westeros so false as you two? Get out, before my dragons roast you both. What does roast liar smell like? As foul as Brown Ben's sewers? Go!” - Dany V, ASoS

“No. I must hold court soon." Dany had grown very fond of Missandei. The little scribe with the big golden eyes was wise beyond her years. She is brave as well. She had to be, to survive the life she's lived. One day she hoped to see this fabled isle of Naath. Missandei said the Peaceful People made music instead of war. They did not kill, not even animals; they ate only fruit and never flesh. The butterfly spirits sacred to their Lord of Harmony protected their isle against those who would do them harm. Many conquerors had sailed on Naath to blood their swords, only to sicken and die. The butterflies do not help them when the slave ships come raiding, though. "I am going to take you home one day, Missandei," Dany promised. If I had made the same promise to Jorah, would he still have sold me? "I swear it.” - Dany VI, ASoS

“Leave him be. The scales are balanced now. Let him go home." Dany pictured Jorah moving amongst old gnarled oaks and tall pines, past flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, and little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. She saw him entering a hall built of huge logs, where dogs slept by the hearth and the smell of meat and mead hung thick in the smoky air. "We are done for now," she told her captains.” - Dany VI, ASoS

“They could not feed him his own genitals. The Astapori left him neither root nor stem. "The Sons grow bolder," Dany observed. Until now, they had limited their attacks to unarmed freedmen, cutting them down in the streets or breaking into their homes under the cover of darkness to murder them in their beds. "This is the first of my soldiers they have slain.” - Dany I, ADwD

“Mossador. Dany made a fist. Missandei and her brothers had been taken from their home on Naath by raiders from the Basilisk Isles and sold into slavery in Astapor. Young as she was, Missandei had shown such a gift for tongues that the Good Masters had made a scribe of her. Mossador and Marselen had not been so fortunate. They had been gelded and made into Unsullied. "Have any of the murderers been captured?” - Dany II, ADwD

“Three freedmen, murdered in their homes," the Shavepate said. "A moneylender, a cobbler, and the harpist Rylona Rhee. They cut her fingers off before they killed her." - Dany II, ADwD

“As he loved you." Dany stroked the girl's hair. "Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath.” - Dany II, ADwD

“Kisses came easier than sleep, however. Dany shut her eyes and tried to think of home, of Dragonstone and King's Landing and all the other places that Viserys had told her of, in a kinder land than this … but her thoughts kept turning back to Slaver's Bay, like ships caught in some bitter wind. When Missandei was sound asleep, Dany slipped from her arms and stepped out into the predawn air to lean upon the cool brick parapet and gaze out across the city. A thousand roofs stretched out below her, painted in shades of ivory and silver by the moon.” - Dany II, ADwD

“The truth … but truth was never welcome at that court. I walked from the throne room with my head high, though I did not know where I was going. I had no home but White Sword Tower. My cousins would find a place for me at Harvest Hall, I knew, but I had no wish to bring Joffrey's displeasure down upon them. I was gathering my things when it came to me that I had brought this on myself by taking Robert's pardon. He was a good knight but a bad king, for he had no right to the throne he sat. That was when I knew that to redeem myself I must find the true king, and serve him loyally with all the strength that still remained me." - Dany II, ADwD

“The gift you begged of me in Qarth. Ships. There are thirteen galleys in the bay. Yours, if you will have them. I have brought you a fleet, to carry you home to Westeros.” - Dany III, ADwD

“Of him, little and less. These ships, though … Your Grace, with these ships we might be home before year's end."Dany had never known a home. In Braavos, there had been a house with a red door, but that was all. "Beware of Qartheen bearing gifts, especially merchants of the Thirteen. There is some trap here. Perhaps these ships are rotten, or …” - Dany III, ADwD

“It was good counsel. "Yes, make it so." Westeros. Home. But if she left, what would happen to her city? Meereen was never your city, her brother's voice seemed to whisper. Your cities are across the sea. Your Seven Kingdoms, where your enemies await you. You were born to serve them blood and fire.” - Dany III, ADwD

“Enough." Dany slapped the table. "No one will be left to die. You are all my people." Her dreams of home and love had blinded her. "I will not abandon Meereen to the fate of Astapor. It grieves me to say so, but Westeros must wait.” - Dany III, ADwD

“Ser Barristan went to one knee before her. "My queen, your realm has need of you. You are not wanted here, but in Westeros men will flock to your banners by the thousands, great lords and noble knights. 'She is come,' they will shout to one another, in glad voices. 'Prince Rhaegar's sister has come home at last.” - Dany III, ADwD

“I am a sailor, not a shipwright. I was sent to fetch Your Grace back to Pentos. Instead you brought us here and tore my Saduleon to pieces for some nails and scraps of wood. I will never see her like again. I may never see my home again, nor my old wife. It was not me who refused the ships this Daxos offered. I cannot fight the Qartheen with fishing boats.” His bitterness dismayed her, so much so that Dany found herself wondering if the grizzled Pentoshi could be one of her three betrayers. No, he is only an old man, far from home and sick at heart. "There must be something we can do.” - Dany V, ADwD

“Ser Barristan will show you out." Dany hurried off, calling for her handmaids. She would not welcome her captain home in a tokar. In the end she tried a dozen gowns before she found one she liked, but she refused the crown that Jhiqui offered her.” - Dany VI, ADwD

“This?" Daario touched his temple. "A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile." He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. "This blood is not mine. One of my serjeants said we should go over to the Yunkai'i, so I reached down his throat and pulled his heart out. I meant to bring it to you as a gift for my silver queen, but four of the Cats cut me off and came snarling and spitting after me. One almost caught me, so I threw the heart into his face.” - Dany VI, ADwD

“Instead she slipped into a hooded robe and stepped out onto her terrace. She went to the parapet and stood there gazing down upon the city as she had done a hundred times before. It will never be my city. It will never be my home.” - Dany VII, ADwD

“He will give us these castrati, Dany thought, and then he will march home and make some more. The world is full of boys.” - Dany VIII, ADwD

“No." Dany knew enough of Westerosi history to know that. Nymeria had landed ten thousand ships upon Dorne's sandy shores, but when she wed her Dornish prince she had burned them all and turned her back upon the sea forever. "Dorne is too far away. To please this prince, I would need to abandon all my people. You should send him home." - Dany VIII, ADwD

“Home," said Dany. "Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world.” - Dany VIII, ADwD

“The hill loomed larger down here. Dany had taken to calling it Dragonstone, after the ancient citadel where she'd been born. She had no memories of that Dragonstone, but she would not soon forget this one. Scrub grass and thorny bushes covered its lower slopes; higher up a jagged tangle of bare rock thrust steep and sudden into the sky. There, amidst broken boulders, razor-sharp ridges, and needle spires, Drogon made his lair inside a shallow cave. He had dwelt there for some time, Dany had realized when she first saw the hill. The air smelled of ash, every rock and tree in sight was scorched and blackened, the ground strewn with burned and broken bones, yet it had been home to him. Dany knew the lure of home.” - Dany X, ADwD

“And no matter how far the dragon flew each day, come nightfall some instinct drew him home to Dragonstone. His home, not mine. Her home was back in Meereen, with her husband and her lover. That was where she belonged, surely.” - Dany X, ADwD  

“North they flew, beyond the river, Drogon gliding on torn and tattered wings through clouds that whipped by like the banners of some ghostly army. Dany glimpsed the shores of Slaver's Bay and the old Valyrian road that ran beside it through sand and desolation until it vanished in the west. The road home. Then there was nothing beneath them but grass rippling in the wind.” - Dany X, ADwD

“He boasts of bedding me, you mean. But Daario would not have been so foolish as to make such a boast amongst her enemies. It makes no matter. By now the Yunkai'i will be marching home. That was why she had done all that she had done. For peace.” - Dany X, ADwD

“Once she was certain which way was south, she counted off her paces. The stream appeared at eight. Dany cupped her hands to drink. The water made her belly cramp, but cramps were easier to bear than thirst. She had no other drink but the morning dew that glistened on the tall grass, and no food at all unless she cared to eat the grass. I could try eating ants. The little yellow ones were too small to provide much in the way of nourishment, but there were red ants in the grass, and those were bigger. "I am lost at sea," she said as she limped along beside her meandering rivulet, "so perhaps I'll find some crabs, or a nice fat fish." Her whip slapped softly against her thigh, wap wap wap. One step at a time, and the stream would see her home.” - Dany X, ADwD

“The day grew warmer, and the sun beat down upon her head and the burnt remnants of her hair. Water splashed against the soles of her feet. She was walking in the stream. How long had she been doing that? The soft brown mud felt good between her toes and helped to soothe her blisters. In the stream or out of it, I must keep walking. Water flows downhill. The stream will take me to the river, and the river will take me home.Except it wouldn't, not truly. Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.” - Dany X, ADwD

“For home. Home was all I ever wanted.” - Dany X, ADwD

[reallyautomaticvoid]

Calling It: Good Intentions: Chapter 9: Six Types of Faux Cheese

Summary: 

Batman tries to catch up with Red Robin. Then Bruce does have a conversation with Tim. Sort of. Oh, and Jason is horrified with Tim’s dining choices.

TW: angst; minor violence

Batman is not eavesdropping. He's monitoring. There's a difference.

He can feel Alfred's disapproval.

Two checks are already in the mail to the young woman (Jayla Smith) and the Williams from the Wayne Foundation.

Batman knows Red Robin is in town before Nightwing catches up with him during patrol.

"You did what, Nightwing?" Bruce pulls a weary hand over his face, trying to comprehend what his eldest told him. "You understand what an enormous invasion of his privacy that is?"

"You sound just like Babs," Dick pouts. It's the same pout that Dick used to use when Bruce had told Dick he couldn't bring an elephant home with him from the circus.

"Good." Because that means Bruce is doing something right.

Dick runs a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to know how Tim's doing."

"And you didn't just ask because…" Bruce lets his question trail off, squinting at Red Hood's current location.

Dick doesn't answer. Because they both know what the answer would be.

"How's Hood's let's teach Robin how a family works lesson going?"

Bruce nods a few roofs over. Nightwing's head swivels to look.

Both winces as Red Hood drags Robin down a fire escape to spy on something while Robin refuses to move. Unfortunately for Damian, Jason easily has a hundred pounds on the youngest (and virtual no shame in doing this), so Robin's going where Hood wants.

For what it's worth, Jason appeared to be having the time of his life.  Damian…not so much.

"Well, it could be worse I suppose," Dick sighs, watching Damian trying to remove Robin's cape (or Jason's hand; could be either one honestly) with a Batarang.

Bruce grunts.

"Should we go and help?"

"No," Bruce grimaces as Hood puts a hand on Robin's forehead to prevent the younger vigilante from hitting him. "They're almost done. Robin has a test in the morning, and Hood promised Robin would get at least six hours of sleep."

"Alright," Dick hums. "I have a few leads I need to run down for O. See you." Nightwing takes a running leap before landing on the neighboring roof.

Batman watches his eldest son until he disappears in the direction of the docks before turning the opposite direction.

Before patrol, Bruce found Red Robin's usual Gotham patrol route. He had wanted to observe Red in the field; something he hasn't done in an embarrassingly long time. It takes an hour of searching before Batman touches down; finding Red Robin fighting a group of muggers.

Batman sticks to the shadows, not wanting to draw focus from the fight, but still close enough he could hear and step in if need be. Bruce observes his youngest adopted son. However, it doesn't appear Red Robin will need Batman's help.

Red moves like water.

For the briefest of moments, Batman's hit with pangs of nostalgia. He wants to help Red take down the muggers like he'd been Robin. Batman wants to have Red's back and for Red to have his.

Batman quashes the feeling. Regret is for Bruce to deal with; not Batman.

Instead, Batman studies Red's moves.

They were precise. Controlled. Deadly.

Batman's eyes narrowed.

Red perform a distinct flip over mugger number two that flows seamlessly into a kick to mugger number three chin before taking mugger number two and throwing him into mugger number four.

Batman clenches his fist, exhaling through his nose. He recognizes the fighting style Red's using. Batman forces himself to inhale slowly from his nose. There's only one place in the world where Red could have learned those moves. Batman's mouth became a thin line. Red's elbow soared into mugger number four's nose.

He knows he'd never taught Tim those moves. He never wanted Tim to know those moves.

Dick was right. Bruce had been out of the loop longer than he realizes.

With a mixture of pride and fury, Batman watches as Red takes down the last of the mugger. Red grabs mugger number one by the collar before leaning in. Batman looks on as Red whispers furiously to the mugger. The man looks frightened. The mugger wildly shakes his head no before Red shakes him again. Dazed now, but still terrified, the mugger continues with his head shaking.

Red growls before punching the mugger out cold. He then shuffles through the mugger's pockets before dropped him like a sack of potatoes and kicking him aside.

Batman stiffness at Red's actions. Back when Tim was Robin, Bruce had never seen Robin be so…aggressive. Tim's always been the best at controlling his emotions. Measured. Purposeful of his movements. Precise. Sometimes, to an alarming degree.

Red, however….

Red's back straightens before looks directly at Batman. It's Red's turn for his mouth to thin. They stare at each other for a full minute. Bruce opens his mouth to say something, but in one fluid motion, Red turns his back on Batman, tying up the mugger before pulling out his grappling gun before shooting it onto the roof and flying away.

In a blink, Red's gone.

*    *     *

Shit, shit, mother fucking shit. How long had Batman been watching me? Goddamnit.

The ground rushes pass under Red's feet. The lead that he's been following for the better part of a month had just hit another dead end. Annnnnnd He's all out of clues.

Annnnnnd Batman had been watching him. He'd seen Red's momentary lose control.

Red soars over two roofs landing hard next to a pair who were robbing an ATM. Because he can't catch a fucking break tonight.

"Ah, great, it's a freak in a fuckin' cape."

"Yeah, that's on my business card," Red punches robber in the face. "Red Robin: Freak in a fucking cape, for all your party needs." The second robber grabs Red from behind, but Red throws him over his shoulder onto the ground. "Guess what?" Red grabs the robber he'd punches in the face before slamming him against the wall. "I'm running a two for one special tonight."

"Lucky us," Robber number two grunts.

"Yup. That means you two," Red pulls a net out, throwing it to catch the robber who started to run away, "are going down for the price of one."

"Yeah?"

A flicker of motion in the corner of his eye catches Reds attention. He glances over. Of course. Red scowl. Batman had found him.

Again. Why in the Hell did Batman pick tonight of all nights to babysit him?

"Yeah," Red pulls out zip ties from his belt, looping them around the robber's wrists, pulling them tight. The wail of sirens screech towards him.

Goddamnit, Batman.

Apparently, the Dark Knight decided Tim isn't able to handle his patrol tonight.

Fantastic.

Red fires his grappling gun, shooting it towards the farthest building Batman, cape whipping around as he flies. Red's feet slam down onto the rooftop. Pausing, Red looks around.

The Perch is miles away. Red's brain flashes to his bike, still tucked in its nook in his garage because it was going to be an easy night.  Get the info and get out.  That's it.

Even if he made it back to his apartment, Batman already proved he isn't shy about breaking and entering.

Although lost in thought, Red notes Batman is following him. A few building behind but still.

Batman doesn't even trust me to get home on my own. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Switching gears, Red turn, sliding down a fire escape. Landing with a soft thump, Red slides into a dark corner which doubles as a secret entrance to one of his safe houses.

Punching the code into the keypad, the door open with a soft hiss. Red is in the safe house before the door properly opens, fumbling to secure the door again. There's a distinct metal on metal whine before the satisfying chirp of his security system coming to life.

Red flicks the switch to the camera feed from the alley he just vacated. Batman slides down the same fire escape.

Batman slowly wheels around. He's studying the alleyway, trying to figure out how Red escaped his clutches.

Good luck. Hood helped Red set up this safe house specifically to escape the Bats.

"We need to talk, Red." It's barely more than a whisper. Tim's not even sure he correctly. He'd have to look over the footage again before he can be sure.

The Dark Knight's lips thinned before the cape crusader disappears with a whirl of his cape.

Red lets out an irritated snort.

That went well.

Ripping off his cowl, Red throws it to the side before sinking to the ground, rubbing his forehead in vain hope to get rid of the headache beginning to bloom behind his eyes.

He's out of leads.  Instead of hunting down new ones, he's been forced to spend the better part of the night trying to escape different members of the Batclan, who, for some Gods only know reason had chosen tonight to pretend to give a crap. And to top it all off, Tim's got fucking board meetings all day tomorrow.

Tim glances at his watch and groans.

Crap.

In less than four hours, Tim had board meetings all day.

Knowing he isn't going to make it to the Perch that night, Tim stands up and in one motion takes off the rest of his uniform before setting his phone's alarm to go off in three hours and crashing onto the bed.

*    *     *

Bruce's chin is resting on his interlaced fingers. Staring (glaring) at the Batcomputer, watching the footage of Red Robin fighting the muggers on a loop for the last hour. Bruce had thought Dick had been overly dramatic about Tim (as his eldest tended to do).

Now however.…

Tim had never run from Bruce. Or Batman. He'd always been the one Bruce counted on to run towards him, in either form but Red had fled when Batman tried to catch up with him before disappeared completely, of course. Bruce ground his teeth. Red disappearing before Batman got a chance to talk to his son fills Bruce with a sense of fury and pride.

A cup of coffee appears in front of Bruce with a soft clink. "

Masters Damian and Dick have gone to bed, Sir. Master Damian was unusually exhausted after his night of ‘pointless actives'," Bruce didn't need to turn to see the old man's smirk. "Master Jason is still out on patrol but radioed in saying not to wait up. What's are we watching, Master Bruce?"

Bruce glances up at Alfred who is standing at Bruce's shoulder, staring up at the screens.

"Red," Bruce grunt. He leaned back in his chair. "Notice anything?"

"He is quite thin."

Bruce suppresses a snorted because, yes, that would be the first thing Alfred notices. "Yes, he is. Recognize the style?"

Alfred frowns, leaning in. "Is that—are those…?" His voice trails off. "My word. Those are—"

"League of Assassin moves," Bruce scowls at the screen. "Apparently, Ra's has been teaching Tim some new moves." Bruce ran his hand down his face. "I knew…I knew that Tim had taken some time. Explored the world." Guilt began to weigh down in Bruce's gut. "I knew that Tim had some difficultly after losing Robin. But going to Ra's…."

Bruce's voice trails off, watching for the hundredth time his third son land a complicated motion. The Demon's Trap. When the hell did Ra's taught Tim this? Why the hell did Ra's taught him this? Bruce only knew about the move because Talia had shown it to him once, telling him it was a jealously guarded Al Ghul secret. No one outside of the family had ever been taught it. Not even Damian, who was deemed too young.

But here's Tim, doing it like he's been doing it his whole life. It's natural. It's deadly.

One millimeter. That's all would take. One millimeter to go from a stunning blow to a deadly one. But Tim knew right from wrong.

He wouldn't slip.

He couldn't slip.

Unwanted memories threaten to overtake Bruce. One of a young Red bubbled to the surface.

Bruce could still feel the brisk night air on his skin. He'd only taken the Batman mantle back from Dick a few weeks before. He was still getting back into the grove of being Batman; working with a new Robin. Bruce hadn't known that Red Robin was in town. He hadn't seen his son since Tim had pulled Bruce from the time stream.

This hadn't been the circumstances Bruce wanted for their first meeting. Then again, having a screaming match with one of his sons across a roof was on-brand for Batman.

"You don't understand what he did, Batman." Red crosses his arms.

Batman looms over Red, staring at his once partner. "It doesn't matter, Red. There are some lines we never cross."

"I tried to stop it! Hell, I stop my plan! Why else would I be up here? How the hell was I supposed to know Ra's was sending along some added insurance?"

"Because you should always know."

"Not all of us are omniscient, B. Some of us make mistakes."

"Then you should be better."

"I didn't pull the trigger!"

"No, you didn't. You just lined up the shot. And now someone's dead." Bruce's eyes stray over to the cold body of Harkness. Blood is still oozing from the bullet hole in his skull. "And there isn't anything we can do to get around that."

Red coldly laughs. "Except for Hood and your new little Robin, right? They'll get as many free murder passes as they want, right?"

Batman didn't answer because Bruce doesn't have an answer.

Red shakes his head before disappearing into the night.

The next morning, Bruce read the Gotham Gazette and discovers Jack Drakes' murder had been killed the previous night. A suspected gang shooting. Isn't it always in Gotham? That or a vigilante.

Tim Drake-Wayne had not been available to comment. He'd been back to San Francisco before the sun kissed the morning sky.

It had taken months of arguing between himself and Selina and himself and Alfred to see that Tim was just another victim in this.

He'd tried to talk to Tim about it, but anytime a discussion would stray away from work (WE or otherwise) Tim would shut it down. Tim barley tolerated Brucie Wayne interference at Wayne Enterprises back then. He would smile and say all the right things for the cameras and listening ears, but when they were gone, so was he.

So Bruce back off. He let Tim come around in his own time. And he'd started too. At least, that's what Bruce thought.

Alfred puts his hand on Bruce's shoulder, squeezing it. "Don't worry, Master Bruce, Master Tim will come back."

Bruce continues to glare at the screen.

Alfred sighs, "Master Bruce, I know this will be hard for you to understand, but not everything is lost. He's still here. You're still here. I've never known you to give up a fight." Alfred paused before murmuring, "even if it would do you some good too."

Bruce didn't react to the words.

Alfred sighed. "Not everything is your fault, sir."

"No. But I think this might be."

*    *     *

Beep, beep, beep.

Tim shuts the alarm off on his phone without a looking. Despised being tired, Tim hadn't been able to sleep. Natural solution? Starting his post-mission reports.

"Da fuck are you doing here? Don't you have a nice, cozy apartment, not one mile from here?"

Tim glances up from his laptop to see Jason coming in through the window before going back to his computer. "Long story," Tim crisply replies.

Jason hums back while he heads back to the kitchen. Staring at his laptop, Tim cringes as he heard one, two, three crashes and Jason swearing coming from the kitchen.

"Motherfucker. Who the Hell put this kitchen together," There's another crash followed by a nasty crunching sound. "Goddamnit, Replacement! What moron taught ya how ta put a kitchen together? I'd like ta shoot them."

Tim doesn't remind Jason that he's the one who put the kitchen together.  

Tim glance up to see Jason in the doorway, holding a bag. "You know nothin' eatable should be this color, right?"

"I like cheese puffs."

Jason shakes the bag. "And why the fuck do ya have six different types of fake cheese but no actually cheese?"

"I like cheese puffs," Tim repeats.

Jason reads the bag he's holding. "Dis says it's with real cheese."

"See health food."

"I don't see cheese listed in the ingredients."

"I'm sure it's there."

"Ya shouldn't eat anything this color."

"Yeah, well, sue me."

"Okay, how much ya worth?"

"Less than it's worth to you to deal with the press."

"Good point."

"Jay?"

"Ya?"

"Get out of my kitchen. What the fuck were you looking for?"

"I was looking for food. Ya know, the stuff that's supposed ta be in a kitchen," Jason turned back into the kitchen. "Is there anything in here that isn't processed?"

"Coffee."

"Doesn't count."

"Oh. Probably not then." Tim glares at his report which is refusing to make any sense. The slight throbbing behind his eyes isn't helping. What was he writing up again? Right. The lead that has him following the—suddenly, his laptop is yanked off of his lap.

"Hey," Tim scowls at Jason, "I was working on that."

"Yer always working," Jason shoves a burrito into Tim's empty hands. "Take a break. Eat." As if on cue, Tim's stomach growls. Jason smirks at him before sinking onto the bed next to Tim. "Sound's like you're hungry."

Tim glowers at Jason for a second before taking a comically large bite, almost choking on it before getting the food down. Jason snickers at Tim.

"Shut up," Tim coughs.

"Ya can take down an international arms dealer without any coffee but can the great Red Robin take down a breakfast burrito? Wait until the Rogues find out," Tim flip Jason off while Jason laughed. "Oh, yeah, that' real intimating. You got a little egg right," Jason reaches out to smack Tim in the face while Tim laughs, ducking Jason's hand.

"Fuck off. I'm fine."

Jason snorts.

"What? I am," Tim adds, defensively.

Batman probably sent him here to check up on me because I beat the crap out of those mercenaries last night.

Expect, Jason wouldn't do that, right?

"Riiiiiiight. And I'm well adjusted."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Jason. I know the others have been worried about you. Personally, I don't see why.  Who isn't well adjusted after being beaten to death by the Joker and brought back to life by their adoptive father on again off again Baby Mama?"

Jason blinks at Tim before throwing a crumpled napkin at Tim's head that Tim easily avoids.

"Dick."

"Sorry, not sorry; he's not here. Check the Manner."

Jason snorts. "Speaking of Dick," Tim tense, not liking where this conversation is headed, "we had a family meeting."

"Really?"

See, no invite, not part of the family. And that's fine.

"Yeah. You came up."

Tim's suddenly fascinated by his burrito. He doesn't want to talk about this (whatever this is) over crappy half-frozen breakfast burritos.

Or to Jason.

Or at all.

Short of jumping out a window, Tim doesn't see a way out of this. It's a tempting thought, though. Then again, Jason would probably jump out after him and sit on Tim while they chat. That would be uncomfortable for both parties. Although for Jason it'd probably just be the whole, he's sitting on Tim thing rather than Tim who would be suffocating.

Instead, Tim waits. "And?"

Jason shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Great, they probably want me out of the city and Jason drew the short straw. Wonder if they'll give me enough time to move out all of my stuff before running me out of town?

"Dick said dat he took the Robin away from ya."

Ah. That's what this heart to heart was about.

I'd rather be run out of town than talk about this.

Tim drops his burrito before getting up and heading towards his closet. It houses some emergency Tim Wayne suites just in case.

"Old news, Jason. It's fine."

"Bullshit," the venom in Jason's voice make Tim pause. "That's bullshit, Repla—Tim. You might be able ta hoodwink the others but not me. I'm the only other person on this fucking planet who knows what the fuck that feels like."

"Jason, I don't know what—"

"Yeah, ya do."

Yeah, he does.

"You know it's okay ta be pissed at him."

"Jason. It's old news," Tim Wayne's voice is firm. Decisive. There isn't any grey area in his tone. "I'm fine," Tim ignores Jason's disbelieving eye roll. "I'm over it."

"Bullshit. There's no fucking way you're over it." Jason pauses before he muttering, "I'm not fucking over it, Tim. There's no way in fucking hell that you're over it."

Tim pauses because, shit, "Jason—"

"Nah, that's really old news, Tim," Jason gives Tim a wry smile, "I was dead, after all. Who'd known that I was gonna come back?"

"Batman. Or Talia."

Jason laughs before sobering. "You know, I'm here for you Timbit, if you ever need anything. Talk about your feelings, hid a body, whatever. I'll even make sure it doesn't get back to the Bat."

A smile brushes Tim's lips. "I know Jay. Thanks."

* * *

Thump.

Tim looks up from the mountain of forms to see that Tam had placed a full mug of coffee down in front of him. He nods his thanks before picking up the full mug inhaling deeply from the cup. It was Tim's favorite blend, an Arabica bean blend from Costa Rica, cost twenty dollars a pound, and only brought out for emergencies.

Which can only mean one thing.

"I have good news, bad news, and worst news."

Called it.

"How are you so giddy when you're about to give your boss bad news," Tim reclines in his CEO chair.

"Talent," Tam smiles, "hey look, bonus good new for you bossman! You have a talented, patience, wonderful assistant who is criminally underpaid."

"I already knew that, Tam," Tim chuckles, sipping his coffee. "You tell me that weekly."

"And I have yet to see a raise," Tam sighs dramatically.

"I'll put it on my to-do list," Tim studies Tam as he sips his coffee. She's subconsciously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. This isn't normal Tam behavior.

"Alright then, out with it."

Tam waits for Tim to put his mug down before launching into her speech, "Mr. Wayne is here to see you. As in, Bruce fucking Wayne is sitting in our waiting area refusing to leave until you see him."

A minuscule groan escapes from Tim before he could help himself. It's been three hours since Tim had seen anyone in the Batfamily.

Tam doesn't comment, "he also said to tell you that it's been a while since Brucie has done anything overly…eccentric."

An acute throbbing beginning to form in Tim's front temple. Tim sips his coffee.

Tim squeezes his eyes shut so the light couldn't enter his vision; praying that he could hold off the migrant that was threatening to take over his skull all morning. He exhales slowly through his nostrils trying (and failing) to control the pounding in his head.

"I don't suppose you told him that I had a full day," Tim's controlled voice asks.

Tam tuts, "what, I'm I new here? Of course I did."

"A full day that includes a meeting with the board and investors," Tim continues, ignoring Tam's sarcasm.

"Told him that too."

"And he doesn't care?"

"Not in the least."

"Great."

"Yep. You want me to show him in?"

No.

"Fine. Call me when the board meeting is about to start. The last thing I need today is to miss that meeting."

"Will do, Tim," she turns to leave.

"Hey, wait a minute," Tam pauses, looking back at Tim, "you said you had good news."

"Yeah," Tam smirks, "I brought you coffee."

Tim snorts making a mental note to an email to the payroll department later that day to give Tam a pay increase.

Tam give Tim a significant smile before cracking the entryway open, "Tim will see you now."

Tam moves aside as Brucie strolls in bearing a large paper bag. Tam's mouths behave to Tim before shutting the door. Bruce and Tim watch each other for a moment before Bruce crossing the room in three strides, settling in one of the two chairs in front of Tim's desk.

"Bruce, what can I do for you," Tim inquires, twirling around in his chair, sliding papers about, searching for his notes for the board meeting. It has nothing to do with the man settling himself in Tim's previously vacant seat.

Really. It didn't.

"I don't have very long; the board meeting is about to start, but, if you want to give me the deets real quick, or write them down, I'll get to it as soon as possible."

"Tim," Tim's body freezes for a split second, old Robin training kicking in because that tone never meant anything good, before remembering he's not that Robin anymore (remember?), "I'm not here for anything. Not a case, not to start a fight."

Tim's fight or flight response twitches as despite Bruce's calm tone. It makes Tim think of better times, back in the days when Tim had been Robin, and Bruce had comforted the then young Robin after a rough patrol. Tim shakes himself, remembering the time and place they're currently in.

"I have something to give you."

Tim searches his memories. Why on Earth would Bruce be giving Tim anything? Or anybody else in the Batfamily for that matter? Is there something he'd missed? Tim glances at the calendar fastening to the wall. There aren't any holidays coming up; Tim ceased celebrating his birthday years ago.

A swirl of painful memories well up whenever Tim thinks too hard about his birthday so he'd stop celebrating it. There isn't any reason for the Bats to be giving Tim the time of day, let alone anything else.

It takes Bruce clearing his throat for Tim to register that he'd frozen while looking through his papers. Tim seizes the notebook he'd been hunting for before turning back to face Bruce.

Tim lifts his eyebrows at Bruce; keeping his voice indifferent, he says, "oh, you already have the info for me? Great, I'll look at it when I get back from the board meeting. But I have to get going now, or I'm going to be late."

Tim makes to get up, but Bruce is faster.

Fucking Batman.

He flips the paper bag over, dumping the contents onto Tim's desk. Jumping back into his chair, he almost topples over (silver lining, he doesn't shriek). Recovering himself quickly (because, well, Bats) Tim inspects the bits of paper that littered the top of his desk.

It was regular, white, dull, printer paper. Tim studies several pieces of confetti with the WE letterhead on it. The print on the paper was minuscule. He picks up a bit with his loopy signature on it. There are at least three more pieces.

What the hell would Bruce have with my signature all over it?

Tim shoots Bruce a cynical expression before his CEO mask slips back on, "shredded paperwork? Is this some sort of bizarre protest? You want WE to go paperless or something? Or," Tim picks up a handful of the confetti, throwing it up in the air, "do you want us to host a party?"

Jerk move? Sure. Every so often though it was worth it.

Bruce furors his brow. "No."

Yep, he's getting a Bat induced migraine. Great, been a while since I got one of these. Tim waits for his former mentor to say something while Bruce stares unblinkingly at Tim.

Tim sighs, "look, Bruce, I have a board meeting," glancing at the clock on his computer and wincing, "liiiiiike now, so could you tell me what you need?"

Bruce gives Tim an unimpressed look. Not that Tim isn't entirely used to that look by now, typical though, it was a bit more subtle.

And from Damian.

Or Dick.

Although Batman had been known to give all of his Robins that look at one time or another.

Once, Jason and Dick argued over who'd gotten that look more often. After an hour of fighting, Alfred finally put the argument to rest with a raised eyebrow.

Tim hadn't said it at the time, but he knew he was the one who got the most Wayne unimpressed looks.

And not just from Damian.

With a buzz and flashing red light of the intercom, Tim broke off the staring contest (battle of wills) between himself and Bruce.

"Hey Tim, the board meeting is about to start," Tam's voice crackles through the speaker.

Tim presses the intercom button, "thanks, Tam. I'll be out in just a minute. Can you tell the board I'll be there shortly?"

"Will do bossman," with a chirp, the intercom's red light goes out.

This time, when Tim gets up, Bruce does not shower his desk with shredded paper so, yay for small victories, right?

Tim grabs his notes for the board meeting, praying his pounding skull won't turn into headache until after the board meeting. As Tim reaches for the door handle, those dreams are dashed.

"How's Ra's?"

It was a simple question.

It really is.

One that makes Tim stop dead in his tracks.

How the hell did Bruce find out about Tim's vacation (shut up Con, it was. I slept and everything, okay?!)? He vaguely remembers Bart or Con or someone telling him they talked to Jason when Tim was gone, but they'd kept Jay on a need to know. They only told Jason that Tim was missing and texted Jay when Tim back.

Mostly.

Tim knows his team wouldn't have said anything about his time with Ra's.

Mostly because they still didn't know anything about what happened with him and Ra's.

There's only so many times you can turn down a millennium-old megalomaniac before his feels start to get hurt.

Then again, this is Batman he's dealing with. Tim wouldn't put it past Bruce to put a tracker in the back of his neck like a dog one of the many times he'd been unconscious in the Batcave. It was just the sort of thing Batman would do.

This must be the real reason Bruce bothered to visit Tim today. It's probably why Batman followed Red for hours last night. Maybe it's just another fucking power game between Ra's and Bruce. It's been a while since I've been caught in the middle of one of those. Fantastic, those are always a fucking mess to clean up.

Keeping his CEO mask firmly in place, Tim turn. Bruce hasn't moved from his chair. He's gazing up at Tim with a calculating expression. Tim raises an eyebrow at him.

"What are you talking about, Bruce?"

A flicker of annoyance and something else (concern? Couldn't be. That feeling is revered for essential people) flashes across Bruce's face so quickly, if Tim had blinked he would've missed it. As is, Tim isn't sure what he saw it at all.

"I think," Bruce's voice is controlled like he's choosing each word with great care. Odd but okay, "you know exactly what I'm talking about Tim." Bruce pauses, clearly expecting Tim to say something, but when Tim remained silent, Bruce carries on, "Red has picked up some new…moves."

Oh.

OH.

OHHHHHH.

Tim has to physically stop himself from slumping in relief (a small sigh of relief does escape before he could stop it). Bruce's talking about Red.

Specifically, the training that he received from Ra's during Bruce's disappearance. Bruce doesn't know about Tim's vacation; otherwise, Tim would be wearing a Goddamn ankle monitor.

Bait's hard to find nowadays.

Especially good bait.

Carefully, Tim says, "you know I spent some time with…them when you were…gone. What did you think we were doing? Drinking tea?"

Bruce presses his lips together so tightly, they're in danger of disappearing. Evidently, this isn't a good enough answer for him. Well, too fucking bad, that's all he's getting. Tim glances at his watch, willing his headache not to get any worse.

It does. Plus Tim's late.

Great.

"Look, Bruce, it was great seeing you and all, but I have to go. Gotta make sure your family company stays in the black."

Bruce grimaces.  "That reminds me, last night Dick--"

Tim walks out of his office before Bruce could finish his sentence.

*    *     *

Despite what the clock in board meeting said, Tim is sure he'd been in that room all day. Like really, how many times does Tim have to shoot down the idea of selling WE's stock to Queen Consolidate? Even if they offer double the asking price, it's the principle of the matter.

His pounding head hadn't helped matters. Tim managed to ignore it throughout the meetings, but now he's going to have to pay the price.

Reaching Tam's desk, Tim glancing around for any eavesdroppers. When he doesn't see anybody, he turns back to Tam. "Hey, Tam," she glances at him while typing on her computer.

"Hey, Tim," Tam smiles.

"Yeah, hey. Listen, tell me there isn't anything else on the books for today," at Tam's narrowing eyes (which clearly says, you want to skive off work don't you?), Tim is quick to continue, "it just, I'm getting the worst headache, and I don't want it to, you know, get any worse."

At the mention of Tim's headache, Tam's eyes soften. Being as she was the only person at WE who knows about his missing spleen, whenever Tam hears a sneeze she'd happily send her boss home. Typically, it's annoying; Tim ignores most things Tam call ‘debilitating disease'.

Who doesn't come into work with walking pneumonia? It's called walking for a reason.

This does give Tim a distance advantage at the moment. Whenever he askes to leave because of illness, Tam always obliges.

Tam opens his calendar on her computer, looking at his schedule, "well, there aren't any appointment for today. I knew you were going back out of town for work, so after the board meeting I didn't put anything else on the schedule."

Tim feels a real smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Great, thanks, Tam."

Tam hums in acknowledgment. Tim enters his office and sees the heap of shredded paper still on his desk. Tim sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Tam?"

"Yes, bossman," her voice comes from right behind Tim. If Tim hadn't once been a Bat, he would've jumped.

Periodically, Tam tries to do something to startle Tim. She has yet to succeed. Instead of discouraging her, she seems to have taken this as a personal challenge.

Instead, he turns to look at her, gesturing at his desk. "Why?"

Tam leans around Tim to look. She raises an eyebrow before walking around him and over to his desk. Tam picks up a shredded piece of paper.

"Wow. I wondered what Mr. Wayne did with those contracts."

Tim give Tam with a puzzled look, "contracts?"

Tam fixes Tim with an incredulous look. "He came in last week, asking for the contracts that would change ownership of the company from you to Dick, Damian, or himself," she shifts guiltily. "I, uh, might not have been the most polite about giving him the contracts."

Oh, Tim could imagine what Tam would have been like with Bruce. She'd made her displeasure over the documents existing known, stating quite clearly that if they were ever signed, she was quitting on the spot.

The memory of her glaring at Tim still warms his insides.

"Anyways, he asked to see the contracts yesterday and when I…inquired as to why Mr. Wayne would need these contracts…well, I think I have a decent idea what Gotham Criminals see nightly," Tam grimaces. Yeah, Tim has gotten a few of those looks in his lifetime. "So I pulled the contracts and gave them to him, but I got a call before I knew it, he was gone."

Yeah, that sounded like Bruce.

"What's that got to do with…all of this?"

Shooting Tim an annoyed look, Tam says, "what do you think?"

She holds up the piece in her hand for Tim's inspection. Sighing, Tim takes the bit Tam's holding out before she dumps handful onto his palm.

It could be…no. Bruce wouldn't be stupid enough to shred the paperwork giving him back the company. Although this arrangement does give him more time for Batman….

As Tim muses to himself, Tam takes his recycle bin from the side of Tim's desk and starting to sweep the shredded paper into it. At the very bottom of the pile of debris, there's an envelope with Tim's name written in elegant handwriting.

Bruce's handwriting.

Bruce must have slipped it under the confetti somehow.

Fucking Batman.

The last scrap of paper flutters into the bin Tam's holding as Tim picks up the letter. Flipping it over, he sees the Wayne family crest on the envelope.

He wrote this at the Manner. He wrote this in the Manner before bringing it here. It's something he planned. Not a spur of the moment thing.

Tam, eyeing Tim, says, "I'll be right outside if you need anything, Tim. Okay?"

"Yeah, thanks, Tam," Tim absentmindedly replies.

Tim waits until he hears the door click shut after Tam. He weighs his options.

He could one, open the letter now, two, wait until he got home to open it, or three (and the most logical course of action), tosses it.

Ignoring Bruce is never a good idea. He can be just as, if not more, persistence than Dick once he's noticed something.

This is going to be my life for the next year, isn't it? Various Bats harassing me until they get bored or there's another alien invasion? This is Hell, isn't it? I'm in Hell?

Before he can dive much deeper into that thought, Tim's head gave another powerful pulse. Tim, cursing his bad luck (like migraine, man? On top of everything else? Who fucking needs them?), drops the letter into his briefcase before departing.

Link to AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106355/chapters/48214189

[fordarkisthesuede]

Batman the TellTale Series: The Tolls of Justice - Prologue

Welcome back to Part 2 of my Perseverance Project!

The one solid truth about the world is that it is always changing.

But things were going according to plan, for once. Tiffany was training to become Bruce’s protégé. Iman was settling in as Wayne Enterprises’ CSO. Alfred was traveling the world. John was slowly moving back into the world outside of Arkham. Bruce’s life was climbing in a steady, uphill line.

That is, until fate throws Batman a wrench. With every new death he finds, the case grows more chaotic, and the bigger it gets, the more dangerous his lifestyle becomes.

Soon Bruce’s life is more uneven than ever, and the only real constant seems to be John.

But can he even hold onto him, when their worlds are changing so much?

{Next chapter}

Continue on Ao3 or read below...

[Prologue]

Gotham Harbor always had a peculiar smell. There was the scent of the river, rotting wood, and seagulls with the odor of diesel and bunker fuel from the variety of ships in the docks.

And of course, there was the stench of dead fish that carried on the wind. It was that sickening sweet odor of death that Bruce always picked up on first, and it always made him think of his first case working with then-Lieutenant Jim Gordon. He’d never forget the sight of the dead salesman buried under a pile of yellow perch.

Bruce always hoped he’d never see another body around there. He was usually proved wrong.

“Any sign of them yet?” Tiffany’s voice asked over the communication link in the cowl.

“No, not yet,” Bruce answered, adjusting the focus on his cowl’s lenses. He sat perched near top of the nearby cell tower, watching the harbor line for the sign of the cargo ship drifting in amongst the fog. “Any movement down below?”

Tiffany snorted. “I think ‘Dice’ is going to lose his round to ‘Muddy’ at the table, but other than that the only thing going on down there is the weird tension between the two lookouts and ‘Four-Ears’. I swear he’s not actually reading that book…”

“Their delivery is late. They’re bound to be tense.”

“I dunno… What kind of name is Four-Ears for a leader of a gang, anyway? It sounds more like an insult than anything.”

“He’s not the leader, he’s a leader. Black Mask is the leader. He gives all his major subordinates nicknames to distinguish them from the rest of the group, unless there’s two of each name within the lower ranks.”

“…are you telling me ‘Muddy’ is that guy’s real name?”

“Yes.” Bruce answered, looking back out at the harbor. The fog was fairly dense, rolling over the water in slow streams, covering everything like a delicate blanket. The warm air of late May caressed the exposed skin of Bruce’s face, reminding him of the last time he’d been so close to the harbor on a case…

It had been over a year since the travesty the Riddler and the Pact brought to Gotham. Thirteen months and nine days.

Bruce heard the message tone in his ear like a small sonar beep. It wasn’t often he got a text message that late at night. He knew who it was from before he even glanced down at his gauntlet to read it.

Still on night duty?

Yes, Bruce typed back. It’d be better if you were here, he added honestly. Tiffany was still at the base, keeping lookout via camera drone, but it wasn’t the same as having a physical presence there.

The feeling’s mutual! I keep hoping I’ll wake up next to you…

Then I’d be able to make EVERYTHING better ;D

Bruce felt the corner of his mouth curve upward, despite the roll of eyes. I gave you that phone for emergencies. Sweet-talking me doesn’t count.

My heart burns for you like a match thrown on a box of oily rags!!!!

Doesn’t THAT count??

He was tempted to ask if John couldn’t even wait three days since he’d last seen him, but truthfully the time between their visits had gotten shorter and shorter as weeks passed. Bruce didn’t like keeping away for long, either.

A box of oily rags, though? That was a bit far, even for him. Almost concerning.

But he wouldn’t be John if he didn’t go a little overboard.

Bruce was halfway into typing ‘I don’t think I have enough burn gel for that’ when another text stopped him.

Come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one short minute gives me in your sight, fair Bruce ♡ ♡ ♡

He stared down at his gauntlet. He was getting quoted Shakespeare.

No, that wasn’t quite right - he was being wooed with Shakespeare.

That was…definitely a first. It was bizarrely pleasant, leaving a warm feeling in its wake.

I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep, Romeo.

So soon?? :o

Stay safe for me, then, Brucie ♡

“Batman?”

Bruce blinked, closing the message system on his gauntlet so he could resume looking at the horizon. Sure enough, there was a shadow of a boat finally showing behind the fog.

“You got awfully quiet there for a moment. Who was the text from?”

“…how did you know I got a text?”

“I see the notifications for your gauntlet on this thing, remember?” Tiffany answered with a laugh. “Eight texts on duty, huh? Someone special you’re not telling me about?”

There was no way he was going to tell her he was texting John. “You said the heroin was coming in disguised as fan merchandise. What kind was it?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. This is the fifth time in two weeks you’ve gotten texts while I’m manning the cave. You have to tell me about them sometime.” Bruce winced, his good mood quickly disappearing. “Anyway, it’s all Sunset stuff. You know, that vampire thing from a couple years ago? I’m pretty sure they said it’s inside those weird plastic figures with the big heads. The heads are hollow, so they probably filled them with heroin and put them back in the collectible boxes.”

Bruce zoomed in on the ship in the distance. It didn’t seem to be in a hurry… It was a commercial fishing boat, not overly large, but it could certainly move faster than that. Bruce tried to watch the waves crash against the crest of the boat, but the water lapped at it as if there was no propelling force. “I think it’s stationary.”

“What, you think they’re going to take a lifeboat to the dock?”

“That’s possible.” If they did, it meant they would not be dropping off the heroin shipment right away. What would they come for? Payment first? That seemed like a poor decision…

Bruce scanned what he could see of the deck. Nothing out of the ordinary… But no sign of life. Even the dim light in the captain’s cabin showed only the silhouette of a man in the chair.

Warm wind hit his back, and Bruce heard the ends of his cape flap whip at his ankles.

Something was wrong. It was too lifeless. Too simple. There should be someone on deck when the boat was that close to the docks, keeping a look out for any signs they would be disturbed.

“I’m going out there,” Bruce said, gaging the distance between the tower and the boat. With the wind, he should get a good enough glide. Getting back would be harder – he might have to swim.

“Wait, what?”

“Something’s not right. The boat’s not running. I’m going to go check it out.”

“…normally, I’d ask if you were insane, but I already know the answer to that.” He could practically hear the light frown she was wearing; he narrowed his eyes at the light ableism. “You’d go even if I told you not to.”

Bruce frowned. “I wouldn’t go if you had a good reason for stopping me.”

Tiffany sighed over the communicator. “Do you want me to call Gordon?”

“Not yet. I’ll tell you the second I think we need backup.”

“So, what, two seconds after they start shooting you?”

Bruce ignored the comment and took a running leap off the tall warehouse, his cape outspread as the wind picked up, gliding him towards the small ship. He was almost weightless, flying freely through the foggy night.

It was simple and short, but the moment was always worth living in.

He landed on the edge of the boat, his boots hitting the metal of the front as he grabbed the railing with both hands and hoisted himself up as quietly as he could, his cape fanning out behind him.

Just as Bruce had thought, the motor wasn’t running. There were no footprints or signs of movement on deck. There wasn’t as much as a whispered conversation.

It was all quiet, and quiet on a boat like this meant something was seriously wrong.

He ran through scenarios in his mind. The motley crew of Black Mask’s lackeys back at the dock might have rigged it to explode. Or perhaps it could be an ambush job for him; they could be hiding, waiting for him to go below deck and then spray him with bullets.

It would be best to investigate the captain’s cabin – he could easily get there by hooking onto part of the roof-line and grappling up to the door. The lack of lights on deck would make it impossible for the captain to see him there now, so he should be safe…

The whir of the grappling line cut through the silent fog like a piano wire through butter. With still no noise out there, Bruce was getting that creeping feeling at the back of his neck.

The cabin creaked open in a rush as Bruce readied Batarangs in each hand, primed to throw at whoever was behind the door.

No one was there, aside from the captain, stiff in his seat, the dull yellow light of the control panel barely illuminating him.

It wasn’t the eerie stillness of the person in the chair that clued Bruce into what really happened, but it was the unpleasant smell of urine that lingered as Bruce stepped closer to examine the man.

A dark red line ran across the man’s pale neck. The crew-neck shirt was soaked with blood. Slight bruising on his forehead, suggesting he’d been held still. The man’s eyes were still blown wide in surprise. It was almost comical, with the small o-shape his mouth was set in.

His death been fairly recent. About an hour. A quick scan with his glove turned up no trace evidence.

“Oracle – the captain’s dead. His throat’s been cut.”

“Uh, there’s no chance it was mutiny, was it?”

“Doubt it. Call Gordon; I’m going to look below deck.”

“Got it.”

Bruce swept away, not seeing anything else of note in the cabin.

The lower deck was also suspiciously silent. Bruce made sure to walk slowly, wary of any trip wires or traps, and keeping his eyes and ears open for any hint of sound. It could still be an ambush.

The cargo hold had piles of cardboard boxes, all with the Sunset logo printed on top next to the word FIGS in a spiky word balloon. Bruce understood the collector’s value of such things – he still had pieces of Gray Ghost memorabilia stored in their original boxes in his media room’s display case. There must have been a few thousand dollars’ worth of figures alone, but with the price of heroin, it might have been a several hundred grand more.

A small fortune worth killing over. But the boxes seem untouched. Why?

Even simple revenge between a rival gang wouldn’t have justified leaving several grand worth of drugs behind. There were some gangs that didn’t like dealing with illegal substances - either for fear of getting their hands too dirty, or the fact that such things were so often stolen or seized that it wasn’t worth the investment. Surely a group like that would have shot up the place… And it wasn’t like those groups to go head-to-head with the likes of Black Mask. At least not alone.

Bruce heard the light patter of tiny feet on wood. Rats. The sound was coming from his left. Past the tower of boxes.

And tucked away behind a stack, another corpse, accompanied by a pair of rats trying to nibble away at his hands and face. They scampered away behind the boxes at the sight of Batman’s shadow.

This second man hadn’t died so cleanly. There were several puncture wounds, as if he’d been stabbed by someone playing five finger fillet on his torso. There was no instrument left behind, no broken blades or anything helpful. The size of the wounds and lack of torn flesh suggested something small and straight-edged, like a traditional switchblade or dagger.

Bruce ran his glove’s scanner over them, hoping to find any trace elements. Paint chips, hairs, fibers – anything.

“Another body, huh?” It wasn’t really a question. Just subtle disgust from Tiffany. “Randolf Barron, age 44, did time for smuggling, possession, and assault. Pretty sure the cotton-poly blend fibers sticking in the wounds are from his shirt.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nada. Where’d you find him?”

“Cargo hold. He’s been here about an hour.”

“God… I hope you find someone alive tonight.”

Bruce doubted it. “So do I,” he muttered, hoping he was wrong in thinking it would be a very long night.

He treaded carefully, hearing only a few squeaks and scampers of rodents. The kitchenette had two people, sitting in plastic chairs with very bloody eye sockets on the sides exposed to the door. If the blade was long enough, death would have been instantaneous

Bruce unclipped the miniature-drone from his belt and let it fly into the air to take an aerial shot. He didn’t want to risk contaminating the scene too much, and if there was someone hiding behind the counter…

There wasn’t. He frowned, zooming in on the wounds to the eyes – the blades were long, shoved or thrown in at an angle so they hit the brain. Near-instant death.

“Jack Whendleham and Kirby Noltz,” Tiffany repeated with a slight strain in her voice. “Both 39, Gothamites, tried for breaking-and-entering, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, cocaine possession… Ugh. What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, but there’s probably more. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine… Just… I have this thing about eyes getting poked.”

No knives were left behind...but there were partial bloody shoe-prints moving from the doorway to the table. He’d need a closer look, but at least it was something. He might be able to piece together a full size, analyze the wear on the treads…

The killer could still be on board.

Bruce swept away, letting the drone fly in front of him as he kept a vigilant watch. There was no other sound aside from his muffled steps and the low hum of the drone.

There was a storage room, packed with more boxes…

And four more bodies, laid out in the middle of the floor with their heads all pushed together.

“Oracle, send your drone out here to check-”

There was a slight noise coming in over the ear-piece, like a firework had gone off in the distance.

“I can’t, Black Mask’s gang is on the move!”

“What?”

“Their van exploded, they’re leaving the warehouse! I can follow them but-FUCK!” Tiffany shouted, and Bruce heard the tell-tale sound of her fist hitting the desktop. “My feed cut out! It’s...UGH! Fuck them! They took it out! I’m not getting a power signal!”

“Oracle, send Unit Three out to try and track them. I need to finish searching the ship; the killer could still be on board.”

“I can’t, Three’s too far away, it’ll be too late,” Tiffany explained frantically, “What do we do?”

Bruce cast a look at the bodies. “The shipment will be in custody shortly. We’ll get other chances at the Black Masks; this takes priority.” He took a breath, trying to clear his head. “Alert the G.C.P.D. about the warehouse. Get Three out here and try to scan the area.”

“...I need bring it in for repair; the bio-scanner is malfunctioning.” There was a split-second pause. “I could throw on my gear and be -”

“No. Surveillance photos will do. We’ll look over the C.S.I. findings later,” Bruce emphasized, his voice-modifier grumbling over the line.

He let the drone fly up and get an aerial shot of the four dead men, hearing the whir of the machine and the light ‘click’ of the camera, and sighed to himself as he looked at the image on his gauntlet.

“It’s going to be a long night.”

Edits:  added Ao3 link; re-formatted John’s texts to blockquotes (tumblr undid that formatting before I guess)

Notes:  Welcome back, my friends, to the middle of a new series I call “The Perseverance Project” - as At the Brink of Midnight was my Season 3, consider The Tolls of Justice my Season 4; and an unnamed Season 5 will be released sometime after 4 wraps up. I have such sights to show you… A new “game mechanic” that will be introduced next time, old characters returning that I won’t spoil yet, new relationships to grow, fresh villains to introduce - we’re going to have so. much. fun! (ʃƪ¬‿¬)

If you’re ever in doubt of my new bi-monthly update progress, please visit my profile page on Ao3, or check my “bttts s4” or “ttoj” tag here on tumblr. Please keep in mind that I have much less time to write now that I’m fully employed - but the drive I have to finish what TellTale could not is currently shifted into the steady high speed of fifth gear. But I can’t stay at that leisurely cruise forever, so it’s bound to shift now and then to slower gears, and I know there will be days where it’s stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. So I hope you’ll bear with me, and give me some encouragement on the way. 

And since the next chapter is already written, and I love you guys so much that I don’t want to keep you in suspense for too long, it will come out early - so I’ll see you same time next week! (๑˘̤ ॢᵌ ू˘̤)*౨˚ൗ

*PS - Please reblog/like, or give kudos/comment/subscribe on Ao3! Your feedback feeds me!!

[jasonsscar]

Always Have and Always Will - Dark!Annabeth

I wrote this back at the beginning of December and then promptly forgot all about it. Oof. So! Here you guys go. Have some Dark!Annabeth in an AU where Percy decided to become a god. It still makes me cry? I hope you guys don’t cry.

Enjoy!

Word Count: 2643

Annabeth had been watching from the sidelines, she was positive that things would go well if they went according to her plan. Percy wouldn’t have to get hurt and Annabeth had no intention of him to get hurt. The whole point of this was that nobody had to get hurt, the only beings who would get hurt were the gods because they deserved it. Annabeth blinked a couple times and she sighed a bit. The logical part of her mind was part of her brain was still telling her that she didn't have to do this. Twenty years have past, she should just let it go but she wasn’t going to let something this simple go.

Maybe it was just being petty, but Annabeth wasn’t about to go unremembered by her former lover. Annabeth refused to let that happen. He chose immortality over her when Annabeth chose him over Luke. She had embraced his death and allowed it to happen even when she knew it would break her. It did, and yet he still had the audacity to choose something so sinister to happen to her life. Now Annabeth could no longer look at the ocean and feel love, instead when she looked at the ocean she felt hatred and anger.

Annabeth still remembered how he had looked at her and told her that he would still love her no matter what. They had tried to stay together, no doubt about it, but they had to separate at one point or another. Annabeth couldn’t stand seeing herself getting older and not being able to see Percy grow older with her. She hated that as time went by he still looked like a sixteen year old boy. He still had that smile, that troublemaker smile that Annabeth had grown to love over years and years but after some time it just meant nothing. She wanted the gods dead for ripping all of that away from her. She wanted them gone and shunned to Tartarus for taking away that one piece of her soul that she loved and made her happy and making her hate him with all of her heart.

She wanted to see the world burn with that hatred that she had fueled inside of her.

Annabeth stared down at the lake water where Percy was. Annabeth has not came back to Camp Half-Blood in years. This is where he usually was, he ran the camp while he was the god of natural spring waters. She remembered how much he had talked about the way he liked being able to be in the water more often. She remembered those days before they had ended their relationship how carefree he had looked and how he always smiled and splashed the campers with water. Annabeth remembered smiling and enjoying those carefree days but unable to do so anymore because it brought her pain.

Why did it hurt so much to watch it?

Annabeth’s hand tightened around a vile in her hand and she shut her gray eyes closed, feeling tears sting her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t hurt him but this was the only way she could think of making him feel the pain that she felt.

Annabeth hadn’t heard the footsteps that had came up from behind her and when she felt the hand that rested on her shoulder the vile nearly fell out of her hands but she kept a firm hold on it when she whipped her head back and saw Percy standing there, his hair soaking wet but the rest of his body completely dry and it was clear that he hadn’t even been in the lake. Annabeth had the urge to just facepalm herself - how idiotic was she? She hadn't even bothered to check if Percy was even home.

“Annabeth?” Percy asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. “What’s wrong?” His sear green eyes seemed to search over her face and he seemed to wince inwardly not seeing what he clearly wanted to see. Annabeth couldn’t imagine what she looked like, those sleepless nights really did take a toll on her and he must’ve seen how truly exhausted she was. Maybe Annabeth could get some sleep if she could actually go through with this.

There was that other chance that she would probably just kill herself before she got any sleep.

“Nothing,” she said harshly, shrugging his hand off of her shoulder. “I was just… coming to look around.”

Percy obviously didn’t believe her and he frowned a bit as his hand fell to his side. Despite all of the shit that Annabeth had given him when they were younger about how obtuse he was about not noticing the details of things or making up the most ridiculous plans to get out of a situation, Annabeth had to give him props now for noticing certain details. Maybe being a god had changed him for the better, that was the only thing Annabeth could guess had helped out his cause into being the kind of person that he was today.

“What’s in your hand?” Percy asked reaching down to grab the vile that Annabeth had been holding in her right hand.

Annabeth flinched and she pulled her hand back quickly and took a step back, her heel slipping a little bit on the edge of the dock on the lake. Annabeth’s eye widened, feeling her body lose balance and starting to fall back and Annabeth knew that if she made contact with the water that she was going to be killed by the greek fire in her hand. The logical side of Annabeth suddenly was very aware of what she was doing and realizing how insane that she was going. She was a sociopath, there was no denying it now and she had gone over the edge farther then she should have ever allowed herself to go.

Percy had caught her arm though, the one that wasn’t holding the greek fire, and he pulled her back and Annabeth fell forward and she tripped a bit, the two of them falling forward and landing on each other. Annabeth was quick to think and she tossed the vile to the side and it landed atop of the lake. Annabeth felt Percy’s arms wrap around her defensively  and he rolls into the lake. Annabeth barely had time to catch her breath as they sunk down to the bottom of the lake.

Annabeth couldn’t hold her breath for much longer than a minute as they landed on the bottom of the lake and she felt herself take a gasp of air and realized that Percy had created around him and Annabeth. The blonde daughter of Athena jumped a bit when she realized how close her and Percy were and she dropped her arms from around him and moved away from him, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Percy wasn’t really paying attention to Annabeth, his eyes fixated on the lake’s surface where fire seemed to be burning, some of it even managing to sneak it’s way below to the lake. When Annabeth looked up she felt her breath stop short. She had caused that. What had she been thinking? There was no way that greek fire could be put out, she had caused massive destruction because she had been blinded by anger.

Annabeth sneaked a glance at Percy and had a sudden fear of being smittened by him but Percy didn’t say anything as he forced his way out of the bubble and swam upward - most likely going off to try and put out the fire even though there has been no way to put it out. It was water resistant and that was the reason Annabeth had been wanting to send it down to kill Percy…

Even though you couldn’t really kill a god.

Percy had left Annabeth down at the bottom of the lake and she was forced to just sit there and watch as she saw him struggling and as other campers that were back at camp scream in fear for their lives. Annabet pulled up her knees to her chest feeling her throat tighten up and a light sob escape her lips. The guilt and realization finally hit her and she understood how much she absolutely hated herself for how she had been acting over these last few years. She did love Percy Jackson, she couldn’t deny the facts, but she had forced herself to hate him because she simply just felt so much petty anger towards him for choosing a path that just felt right for him.

Percy was an amazing example of what a god should be and Annabeth should have been respecting that. She shouldn’t have left Percy for choosing the path of being a god. Annabeth could have still been with him, he had chosen to be at Camp Half-Blood and keep running the camp after Mr. D left. He wanted to stay alive to help those heroes in the way that no other god had been able to do for him.

That was why he chose that route and yet Annabeth despised him for that. Yet, she still loved him under all that hate and she realized she could never forgive herself for wanting to kill the one thing that made her hate so much yet made her realize what love truly meant.

If only he could forgive her.

Percy didn’t come back until hours later. Annabeth had curled up at the bottom of the lake and had fallen asleep after crying for an hour. She felt herself be pulled up into someone’s arms and her eyes fluttered open in surprise by the sudden contact. When she looked up to see who was holding her - though, she knew from the hold exactly who it was - she saw Percy looking exhausted and withdrawn from reality. He ran his fingers through Annabeth’s hair silently, staring down at her.

Annabeth has to resist the urge to reach up and touches his cheek. A part of her wanted to remember what it was like to be able to touch him again but she knew she didn’t deserve to do so. She had tried to kill him and yes, the guilt was absolutely destroying her but for some reason when she was in Percy’s arms it was like all this problems went away.

He smelled faintly of the ocean, the way she always remembered he did. Percy lived in the lake now but Annabeth knew that he still visited his father’s realm often because even though he ruled over the spring water he was still his father's son. He couldn’t let go of his roots.

Annabeth pushed herself away from him and stumbled back in the bubble, falling on her back with a light groan of discomfort.

Percy looked at her worriedly. “Annabeth?” he asked reluctantly, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. He didn’t understand but he knew she didn’t a wrong. But why wasn’t he angry at her… why did he hold her like that? He should hate her… he has to hate her. “I- You-“ he seemed to stutter on his words, trying to figure out how to phrase his next question. “Why did you do it?” his voice fell into a hushed whisper. “Were you trying to kill me?”

Annabeth felt her heart twist at those words because… it was the truth. Annabeth couldn’t answer him though, instead she looked away, shutting her eyes tight. “I…” Annabeth’s voice failed her. “I’m sorry,” she croaked out. “I didn’t mean it, Percy. Please… I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t-“

“But you still did it,” Percy said, his voice seeming to harden making Annabeth flinch in surprise by the poison his words seemed to produce. “You tried to kill me.” He looked angry… so angry but it didn’t stay that way and his face just slowly softened a bit. “You…” Percy shook his head, almost helplessly. “Annabeth, I thought we were over this. I thought you weren’t angry anymore.”

Annabeth was shaking a bit and she felt tears well up in her eyes. “I… I’m not angry,” Annabeth mumbles and she took a shaky breath in. “I’m not angry,” she repeated, trying to sound more confident as if she was trying to make herself believe her own words. “I still care about you so much-“

Percy cut Annabeth off and he looked away from her, his eyes trailing upward to the lake’s surface. “If you did you wouldn’t have done that. It… scares me you are still this angry Annabeth. I thought we were over this. We ended things because you wanted to, we didn’t have to.”

“We did and you know it.”

“No, we didn’t.” He didn’t snap but Annabeth could feel the water rush past their bubble he was getting aggravated by the conversation and Annabeth knew that she shouldn’t be pushing it. She had to let it go. “We didn’t have to and I don’t know why it’s in your mind that you think we had to. Me being a god didn’t suddenly change my feelings for you.” Percy paused s moment and Annabeth could see a string of emotions pass over him. “And I know they didntbchsnge yours.” and Annabeth just promptly felt herself turn quiet. Percy has never gotten angry with her before but there was no telling when the first time it will happen might be. Annabeth may have still had feelings for him but there were times when she couldn’t help but be fearful of him. After all… he is a god. “You felt like you did because you hated the idea that once you go I was going to forget about you.” Percy sighed softly, still refusing to look over at Annabeth. “No one can forget you that easily Annabeth, contrary to what you think. You are one of the most unforgettable people I have ever met in my life time and if I ever do forget you then… well I’m not Percy anymore.”

The tears that Annabeth had been holding back finally rolled down her cheeks and she just stared at Percy because she knew what he was saying. He did love her despite everything and Annabeth had ruined it out of her own pitiful fears. The truth was though: Annabeth still loved him. That’s why she was doing this, to make sure he never did forget her but it was such a stupid way to get his attention and she knew it.

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth mumbled again stupidly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-“ Annabeth didn’t get to finish her sentence when a pair of sturdy arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace. She felt her breathing turn short and her eyes well with more tears.

Percy was quiet and he sighed softly. He said, “I still love you, Annabeth. I always have and I always will.”

Annabeth’s arms tightened around him. She made mistakes in the past and Annabeth knew he did deserve to be a god. He was a good god and he ran this camp well. She shouldn’t have blamed him for anything. She still loved him, he was still the same Percy. He has always been the same Percy.

“I love you too,” Annabeth mumbled and buried her head in his neck. “I always have and I always will.”

Annabeth didn’t know what the world had in store for her, she had given up trying to look a long time ago, but maybe now she could figure it out. As long as Percy was by her side she could figure out anything. They were both better together, they were more than best friends, more than a couple. They were Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson… they were soulmates. They went through hell and back… they could get past this too.

They always have and they always will.

[the-gay-trashmouth]

Rating: teen

Warnings: Internalized homphobia

Ship(s): Sprace

Era: Canon

Notes: Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this hurt my soul just a little bit

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spot Conlon was many things.

He was a leader. He was a fighter. He was a Cuban-American sixteen-year-old boy with more Brooklyn pride than should be able to fit inside his five-foot-three body.

What Spot Conlon is not is a liar. So when is second in command asked him where the fuck he was going at midnight it was all the more believable when he shrugged noncommittally and said he had left his hat at the docks.

Well, believable for everyone else in the room other than Spades herself. She had played enough poker with the boy to know his tell. 

Spot Conlon bit the inside if his cheek when he lied, and he was biting the inside of his cheek hard. She gave him a pointed look at what to her was a blatant lie

He just glanced between her and the girl who's head was currently in her lap, raising an eyebrow in a challenge for her to say something. She rolled her eyes "fine then, keep your secrets, asshole"

He slipped out the door without further remark. Puffing up against the cold night air he headed toward the docks. At least he was truthful about one thing.

And when you really think about it, he was truthful about the reason he was going too. He really was going to get his hat, it's just that he was going to get it from Racetrack.

Spot scowled to himself, Racetrack Higgins was another thing altogether. He had this way of getting Spot to do things that Spot Conlon doesn't do.

He had him visiting the races just to see him, he had him blushing and losing sleep, he had him leaning in closer than he should.

He had him sneaking out at midnight to go get his stupid cap after Race had plucked it straight from his head, pulled him into an alley and whispered to "meet me at th'

docks" so close to Spot's ear that it made him shudder.

He shuddered again thinking about why Race might have asked him here. His mind wandered to places it shouldn't have. He started thinking maybe Race wanted to tell him something that no one else could hear, maybe he would be the one leaning in this time-

No. No no no. Spot Conlon is not a queer. So what if he's never had an interest in girls? He runs Brooklyn! He doesn't have time for feelings! And yeah, maybe he stares at Race's lips a little too much and maybe it is a little weird he let a Manhattan boy sell on his turf but that doesn't mean he's a queer!

Spot Conlon isn't a liar, but Race sure makes him lie to himself

He shook the thought from his head and hardened his expression as he approached the docks. He couldn't see Race anywhere so he assumed that he was just later then Spot was.

The Brooklyn boy leaned on a piling, staring out at the waves as his thoughts rolled in his mind.  He was so stuck in his mind he didn't notice the figure creeping up behind him until it was too late.

Arms draped across his shoulders and, without so much as a gasp, he ducked out of them, whipped around to face whoever the fuck thought it was a good idea to touch the king of Brooklyn, and swung his fist.

"Ah! Jeez Spotty!" The dumbass jumped back just in time for Spot' s fist to hit empty air and Spot realized that this wasn't just any dumbass, this was his dumbass! Ahem, the one he was going to see of course. That's what he meant. Shut up.

"Jesus Racer, the fuck were ya thinkin'? I woulda soaked ya" Spot leaned back against the piling whilst he masked his racing heart with a confident smirk.

Race scoffed and impishly punched Spot in the shoulder. "Please, I could take ya!"

Spot raised an eyebrow but didn't retaliate. "Zat so?"

The taller boy grinned and did it a few more times. "Yea, it sure is" flipped a coin from his pockets "wanna bet on it?"

Spot snorted, "ya know, I could use some easy cash" he snatched the coin out of the air before Race could catch it again and used his other hand to half-heartedly smack Race in the face.

Race laughed and punched him back then they were horsing around. It must have been quite a sight, two boys running around the docks at one in the morning with red cheeks and loud laughter, both trying to the pin the other or just get a few playful hits in.

Somehow Race got Spot pinned against a crate, holding his wrists above his head and using almost all of his body weight to keep him there whilst the shorter boy struggled half-heartedly.

They were both flushed and panting, grinning like the idiots who just chased each other around a dock at one in the morning they are.

"See, I told ya I could beat ya," Race said in between shallow breaths.

Spot just smirked "ya know, ya say that but," he kicked Race's feet out from under him and, when he stumbled, flipped them around to where Spot had Race's back pressed against the wood of the crate, "that wouldn't really be right, now would it?"

Race groaned "Oh fuck you, I almost had ya"

He just laughed "and yet ya didn't," he said, pressing Race to the crate just a little harder to prove his point.

Through all the excitement, Spot hadn't realized how close he and Race were, but the blush the painted Race's cheeks reminded him of his earlier dilemma. Namely, the whole 'I'm not queer but maybe a little bit' dilemma.

"Ya have a lot of freckles" Race breathed, bring a hand up to softly brush against the spots that gave the leader of Brooklyn his name. Spot forced down a shudder at the touch, he wasn't going to let Race know how much he affected him.

"They's called sunspots, 's how I got me name" he whispered, voice a little raspy.

"Huh," he paused, brushing his thumb across a few on his cheeks bones, and Spot let him.

He didn't move back, he didn't smack his hand away, he didn't laugh and say he was being a little queer. He just stood still, hands still fisted loosely in Race's overshirt.

"They's suits you" Spot flushed as Race smiled, hand still resting on the shorter boys cheek.

They were silent for a beat before something passed through Race's eyes and suddenly he was leaning in.  Going against every voice in his head screaming at him to run, to push Race away, soak him, anything! Spot met him in the middle, letting his eyes flutter closed as their lips brushed softly.

It wasn't much, just the soft press of his lips against Race's, but it left Spot breathless. When they pulled back after only a second his breathing was labored, just a bit.

Race didn't open his eyes, he scrunched them up as if when he opened them the world would end. His hand had moved down to Spot's shoulders, and his slight shaking was giving Spot anxiety.

He moved his hands from where they were still fisted in Race's shirt and moved them up to cup Race's face in his hands, brushing his thumb across his cheekbone with more gentleness then anyone would have thought possible coming from Spot Conlon, feared leader of Brooklyn.

Spot Conlon isn't gentle with anyone who's not Brooklyn, and yet here he was, holding another boy as if he was made if glass.

His eyes finally snapped open and searched Spot's for something. For what, you may ask? Spot doesn't know, but he didn't seem to find it as he just looked confused.

"You'se ain't gonna soak me?" He asked quietly, and the legitimate fear in his voice stirred something painful in Spot's chest. He brushed his thumb softly against his cheekbone again, rubbing slow, careful circles into the side of his cheek.

"Course I ain't, why would I do that?" He didn't dare raise his voice above a breath but he knew Race caught every word.

"Well, I'se a queer, an' I just kissed you, an' you'se like the most powerful newsie in New York-" Spot cut of his anxious rambles with another quick kiss.

"Do I not seem queer to you, Racer?" He said after he pulled back barely an inch.

"Youse serious?" He sounded as breathless as Spot felt and it made him braver, even if was just a little bit.

He smiled. Full out, teeth showing, squinty-eyed smiled and pressed his forehead to Race's. "Yeah, I 'se serious Racer"

Race laughed, breathless. "God I'm so glad I asked ya to meet me"

"Me too, Racer," he pressed a kiss to his lips again "me too"

So Spot Conlon may not lie, be gentle to anyone other than his newsies, let Hattan boys sell on his turf, meet boys on the docks just to get his cap back, or let boys kiss him breathless under the stars-

But Race was and always will be the exception.

[lady-divine-writes]

Coldflash - “Not All Endings Are Happy, but We'll Give it a Shot” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Len is going through some changes - big changes. But instead of facing them in Central City, he's running away - from his life, and from Barry. Barry doesn't mind Len running ... as long as he can go with him.

Written for the @coldflashweeks Valentine’s Day Exchange, and @sparroet prompt 'A merfolk au. It can be either or both of them. Something with a happy ending preferred'. I actually wrote both prompts given, but the other story is turning into a monster, and it isn't ready yet. It'll go up when it's done :)

Read on AO3

“You runnin’ again?”

Len, shirtless at the end of this weathered grey and abandoned dock, stops undressing at the sound of Barry’s voice. Len hadn’t heard him approach, too focused on making plans to pay attention to what might be sneaking up behind him. But he also couldn’t care less. Because if it wasn’t Barry - if it was another meta out on the take, or some rival back from the dead looking for revenge - that might solve his problems for him.

But no. It would have to be Barry.

It’s always Barry.

Len shakes his head and rolls his eyes at Barry quoting his least favorite movie of all time – X-Men. That was the movie they saw together the first time Len ever hid out at Barry’s place. Barry thought Len would like it. He figured since Len talked like a comic book villain, he might be into it. But Len hated it. He hated the story, the plot, the reformulation of the characters and the weakening of their origin stories. Basically, the franchise sucks in Len’s opinion, but that’s besides the fact.

Barry chose a quote from that movie to irk Len.

And to prove a point.

Barry knows Len hates that movie because Barry knows Len, inside and out. Not just the big ticket items – the things that any Tom, Dick, and Harry can find on a rap sheet, during a Google search, or splattered on the front page of newspapers across the country, but the tiny, arguably insignificant things as well.

Barry knows that Len’s favorite color was blue long before he ever got his cold gun.

He knows that Len’s favorite cake flavor is German chocolate, even though he eats red velvet now.

He knows that Len’s routine is like a religion to him, that diverting from it tends to set him back a few days.

He knows that Len’s a bit on the obsessive side when it comes to how he keeps his things and where.

He knows how Len takes his coffee – black with a heaping dash of whiskey.

He knows that Len became a pescetarian a few months or so ago (which should have been a huge clue that something was up), even though his diet mostly consists of French fries and beer.

He knows why Len wakes up at night drenched with sweat and panting as if he’d been drowning in his sleep, his head forced under water until his chest is about to explode, then yanked out in the nick of time, long enough to get a single taste of fresh air, just to be plunged again.

Barry knows whom in those nightmares is playing Russian Roulette with Len’s air supply, whose sinister laugh Len hears ringing in his ears before Barry’s voice seeps in and rouses him from his sleep.

Barry knows these things because they’re the things a lover would know.

But the biggest secret Len has been carrying - a secret he’d kept from his sister, his partner, his team on the Waverider - Barry didn’t discover until recently. Which is one of the reasons Len has yet to turn around and face him. Because Len knows that the eyes staring through the back of his neck are filled to their lightening depths with hurt over him keeping it for so long.

Len could use it to get what he wants, to make Barry go away, but he cares too much about him to exploit that.

Barry is right, of course. Len is running. And since he recognizes it’s a dick move, especially after sticking around this long and allowing Barry to make assumptions that he hadn’t reconciled with, he’d hoped he could slip out of Central City without Barry noticing.

No such luck, but at least he gave it a shot.

“Sorry, Red,” Len says, back turned to the man he never wanted to say goodbye to. But that’s why he has to. Barry has become more than a lover. He’s become an anchor, someone Len has begun to rely too heavily upon. That makes Len weak. And Len can’t afford weaknesses. “Time’s up. You know the motto. One and done.”

Barry scoffs. “Yeah, well, one and done was about six years ago, so don’t give me that crap.”

“I know. That’s why I have to go. Gotta stop throwin’ plans out the window until I end up behind bars … permanently.”

“But why would you end up behind bars?” Barry moves forward, stepping carefully along the worn wood of a dock so old it shouldn’t be able to support their combined weight. “You gave up robbing ATMs.” He glances at Len’s cold gun, sitting at Len’s feet, wrapped tightly in some sort of plastic cocoon and ready to go … like its owner. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes, Red. I gave it up,” Len groans, sliding his pants down his legs, taking his underwear with it, mildly concerned about what Barry thinks when he looks at him now. You can’t tell what he is when his skin is dry, can’t see the scales that erupt up his legs like gooseflesh if he even so much as thinks of water, nor the excruciatingly painful fusing together of his bones when they become a single fin. Isn’t that how the fairytale goes? The mermaid gets to have legs as long as she stays on dry land, but the second she touches water, she turns into a fish.

As it turns out, those fairytales may have been documentaries.

Only then does he realize he’s thinking of the movie Splash and groans again.

He’s getting too old for this crap.

“So, why are you leaving?” Barry asks, using his voice to conceal two more creaky steps.

“To save you the trouble.”

Barry takes another step, but Len does, too, dropping over the side of the dock and into the water. Barry rushes to the edge, determined to have his say before his boyfriend swims off and leaves him. He scans the calm, dark water, counting the seconds until his boyfriend emerges. There’s no guarantee that he’s going to. Even with his cold gun and his duffel waiting for him at the end of the dock, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that Len said, “Eff this,” and took off without them. That thought makes Barry’s heart hurt. He knows for a fact that STAR Labs can whip up something that will help Barry track Len under water, but the fact remains …

… if Len left Barry behind, he doesn’t want him to follow.

Caught between racing back to the lab and jumping in after him, the subtle sound of splashing grabs Barry’s attention and he sees Len’s head bob to the surface a few feet away, the bulk of his body shrouded by the water. Barry smiles, relieved that he has a chance to change Len’s mind. His voice trembles with it, but he can blame that on the chill air.

“J-jeez! If you’d told me this was a pity party, I’d have brought a cake. Maybe some streamers.”

“Nice one.” Len wipes a hand over his shaved head and down his face – a hand covered in silvery-blue scales. They catch what sunlight diffuses through the clouds and wink at Barry, and Barry can’t help thinking how beautiful they look, how delicate, how ornate – such a stark contrast to his stern, rough-around-the-edges Leonard Snart.

“You know, there isn’t a place in the world better equipped to deal with metas than STAR Labs.”

“Thanks but no thanks. I’m not interested in becoming a part of your little aquarium.”

Barry chuckles. “Interesting choice of words.”

“I’d rather deal with this on my own.”

“And what exactly qualifies you to do that?”

Len sighs, this witty banter that has become the heart of their relationship, suddenly exhausting to him. This confrontation wasn’t part of his plan. But then, when it comes to Barry, most of Len’s plans fizzle into obscurity anyway. “I don’t think your friends down at STAR Labs would be too happy about accepting me into the fold, do you?”

“Well, you have been an ass to most of them …” Barry stops and looks thoughtfully up at the sky “… all of them, but I think, considering your turn around, they might be willing to overlook it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Au contraire. See for yourself.” Barry reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a crimson tube, plain except for the familiar yellow lightning bolt that’s stamped on every piece of Flash tech. Len, against his own better judgement, swims closer, pulled by his curiosity … and his reluctance to leave. Barry pinches an edge of the cylinder between his thumb and index finger and gives it a hard shake. It pops open, immediately quadrupling, continuing to expand in size.

“What … is that?” Len asks, brows cinched together as the object transforms.

“This is a prosthetic tail,” Barry says proudly, holding it up higher so Len can get the full effect. “Otherwise known as a Flash Fin.”

“A … Flash Fin?” Len props himself up on the lip of the dock to examine the material, which looks like a cross between the same fabric Barry’s suit is made of and actual fish skin. And while he does, Barry examines Len. Scales, like the ones on his hands, dot his flesh in odd places like freckles, but they also travel in distinct paths up his arms to his elbows, down his spine from the nape of his neck to the curve of his tailbone, and cap his shoulders. They bring a new and exciting definition to Len’s body, putting emphasis on bones and joints instead of muscle, protecting him like armor.

Streamlining him for speed.

There’s something about that in particular that makes Barry’s skin sizzle straight to his blood.

“A-ha,” Barry says. “Cisco made it.”

“Named it, too, I bet.”

Barry shrugs. “It was kind of a group effort.”

“It’s grotesque,” Len declares, pushing off the dock and dropping back into the water.

“Harsh.”

“And what, pray tell, is it for?”

“I think you know what.”

Len locks eyes with Barry. Yeah, he knew, but he wanted to give Barry the opportunity to back out of it. “The answer’s no, Red.”

“I’m not asking.”

“You can’t come with me. We’ve talked about this before.”

“Not enough, if you ask me.”

“I told you everything I know! We went to this freaky version of Earth that was all water, I fell in, and got bit by a … a something. After that, this happened.” Len lifts his arms out of the water for emphasis. “I didn’t find out until we were home. And the time signature of that Earth? Lost for some reason. Possibly even destroyed. No way back. What else is there to talk about?”

Barry hears the bitterness in Len’s voice and he understands. Without access to that other Earth, there’s almost no chance of them finding out what happened to Len, or how to reverse it. Not unless he gives himself over to STAR Labs for testing. But coming up with a cure? That could take months, possibly even years, if ever. If the ‘fish fry process’ (as Cisco calls it) has mutated Len’s DNA for good, there may be no going back for him. And then all that time spent in the lab would have been for nothing.

But there’s another wrinkle to this whole situation. The crew of the Waverider didn’t encounter the inhabitants of ‘water Earth’ aside from Len’s attacker, and Len never saw the creature that bit him. The only evidence they had was the bite mark - jagged and made from pointed teeth, like a shark’s. There’s a chance that the inhabitants of water Earth aren’t like the half-human/half-fish incarnations of their Earth’s folklore, but completely scaled aquatic monsters, void of a discernible language, society ...

… or sentience.

They won’t know for sure until Len becomes one.

“When you met me, I was already the Flash,” Barry says. “I was known – my strengths, my weaknesses, how I became that way. And yet, we’re still learning about my abilities, my limitations. We know nothing about what’s happening to you. I don’t even know how you feel about it.”

“You belong here,” Len says, swiftly avoiding that subject. “Central City needs their superhero.”

Barry frowns at Len’s dodge. “Maybe. But I deserve a little vacation time. I think the team has things pretty well handled here. And if anything big comes up, I can be back …”

Len smirks. “… in a flash?”

“I was going to say a couple of minutes, but, whatevs. Where are you headed anyway?” Barry asks with another glance at Len’s gun, the weapon an even more sinister presence the more Barry considers its possible purpose.

“You’re always on my case about doing good deeds here on this Earth, so I thought I’d pull an Arthur Curry – become an environmental activist. Take the old cold gun up to Antarctica and fill in that Manhattan-sized hole in the glacier.”

Barry raises an eyebrow, not entirely sure Len’s not kidding. “That does sound noble. It also sounds like a big job. Maybe a little too big for one man. You might need some backup.”

“Backup?”

“Leopard seals, man. I hear they’re … vicious.”

Len blows out a sarcastic laugh. That’s his Barry, beating dead horses and never knowing when to take a hint. “Why are you doing this, Red? Why do you always have to make things harder than they need to be?”

“I want to help you through this.” Barry kneels on the dock, trying to get as close as he can to Len without pushing him away. He curls his fingers into the wood, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him, to grab him back before the swells pull him out of reach. “I want to help you the way my friends helped me. I want to help you find a solution to whatever’s going on with you. I don’t … I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Don’t want me to be alone, huh?” Len rolls his head on his neck in annoyance, his smug grin becoming a grimace. “I don’t need your pity!”

“I’m not pitying you!” Barry snaps, knowing he’s lying a little, knowing he’s bad at it.

Len meets Barry’s gaze, stares him down. “Then try again.”

Barry hears the wood beneath his hands complain, the tips of his fingers sinking in like it’s made of sand. “Okay, how about this: at heart, I’m a selfish, terrible excuse for a superhero, who’s tired of being at everyone’s beck and call, but who can’t seem to save the people in my life that I care about! The people who really matter to me! And if this … this … whatever it is …” Barry gestures in Len’s direction “… is going to take you away from me, and you’re too pig-headed and stupid to get help, then I’d rather spend as much time with you as I can, because, to be honest, I don’t know what my life is going to look like without you in it, so I don’t want to find out what that’s going to look like today!”

That final word echoes off into the distance, leaving a tense silence behind. Len doesn’t say anything, floating in quiet observation of Barry Allen, leaning so far over the edge of the dock, one stiff wind would push him in. Threads of electricity circle his fingertips, bouncing arcs off the surface of the water. But Len’s not afraid of being electrocuted.

He’s afraid he’s about to make the worst decision of his life.

“If I told you to go home, would you go?” he asks.

“No,” Barry answers quickly.

“What if I told you I was hoping you’d keep an eye on Lisa for me while I’m gone?”

“Cisco’s got that one handled. She’ll be fine.”

“I’ll bet,” Len mutters, dipping under the water – a new habit he’s developed when he needs a second to think. “What if I told you I didn’t want you?” Len swallows hard. “If I told you I didn’t love you? Would you leave?”

“No,” Barry says, the reality of those words burning his eyes. He doesn’t think Len is talking about now, but about some point in the future, when he might turn into something undefinable, something so far from human, it isn’t even Len anymore.

Something that doesn’t recognize Barry as the man he loves.

But that’s a chance Barry is willing to take, as long as they take it together.

Len nods. Then he grins. “So, you’re a selfish asshole, huh?”

“I never used those words exactly,” Barry says, prying his fingers out of the now splintered wood, “but that’s the gist of it. Yeah.”

“I guess I can live with that. Toss me my stuff, will you?”

“How about I toss you the duffel, and I take the gun?” Barry shoves Len’s abandoned clothes into the neoprene duffel, then adds his own shoes, socks, and jeans after he undresses. Len watches in amusement, slightly annoyed that Barry didn’t have the decency to go commando if he was going to crash this escapade.

At least he’s wearing a Speedo.

“Not a chance.” Len leaves the bag to Barry and snags the gun off the dock before his boyfriend can confiscate it. “What do you say, Red. Do you think you can keep up with me?”

“I’m offended you’d even ask that question.”

“Oh, and another thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That creepy tail? It stays here.”

Barry looks at the fake fin he was preparing to slip on over his legs, disappointed that he doesn’t get to take it for a spin, especially after all the tricks Cisco said he’d included. But in terms of compromises, this is a small one, so he can’t turn it down.

“Alright,” he concedes, rolling the fin back up, sliding it into the bag when Len isn’t paying attention. He jumps into the water, shocked by how cold it is when it touches his skin, marveling over how at ease Len seems hanging out in this frozen bath from go. The Speed Force inside him, at odds with the icy cold encompassing his body, kicks in like a generator to keep him warm. Moments later, the cold is not an obstacle. “Len?”

“Yeah, Barry?” Len asks, busy securing his gun to his torso with thick straps.

“Can you talk to fish?

“Barry …”

“Ooo, what about whales? Can you talk to whales?”

“Barry …”

“Because it would be awesome if you could talk to whales.”

Len grabs Barry by the shoulder. He drags his body close and kisses him hard, kisses him to feel his lips on his again, the warmth of his mouth – a warmth he no longer has, that’s foreign to him.

But mostly to shut him up.

“Don’t make me regret this, Red. Don’t you dare.”

[ofmorninglory]

Space Pirates (idk like Treasure Planet maybe?) + Stony or Clintasha

An expansion piece!!! To this post right here --> that’s Halbarry Space Pirates AU and honestly one of the Best AUs, no questions asked, that the lovely @magicalzatanna​ and I came up with when Crossover AU hell first started. Am I also adding that Barry and Clint are twin brothers? Why yes, I certainly am, and there is absolutely nothing anyone can do to stop me! This is basically Star Trek meets Something Like Treasure Planet: 

(I wanted desperately to put this under read more but it won’t LET ME so I’ll tag this as “long post” and hope you guys don’t hate me too much)

Clintasha 

Does Clint absolutely hate his brother for getting him into this? He does, he most certainly would love to suffocate Barry while he was sleeping. Unlike his twin brother, Clint Allen would very much love to have his feet down on Earth. Space was unpredictable, unknown, and it gave Clint the heebie jeebies to actually think about all the things that were out there, floating in space, waiting to pounce on human idiocy. Nevertheless, he was Barry’s twin brother and they had never been more than a couple of days apart. Clint loved Barry more than anything (and how could he not? How could he not adore his twin brother, who was kind and solid ground, who taught everyone around them ASL so they could talk to Clint when he wasn’t feeling like wearing his hearing aids) and the thought of letting him go off-world without him? It was unconceiveable. Sure, he hates space, but he hates the thought of his brother out there all alone even more. (Their mother is gone, their father is in jail--Clint only has Barry and he doesn’t even want to let go) 

It’s a miracle that he gets into the Academy, given his hearing issues, but he figures it has something to do with being buddies with Tony Stark (who also designed all of his hearing aids, no charge or favors owned; “only the best of the best for one of my best” Stark had said back then) and how many recommendation letters administration got from other students (all of Barry’s friends, of course) commending him on his skills (near-perfect aim, spoke 3 languages fluently, skills in combat, great strategist and tactitian, also good with tech when it came down to it). He’s afraid that they might separate him and Barry, but Bruce Wayne is Captain, and chooses him and Barry in their respective departments (he’s Safety & Security while Barry’s Reasearch & Development) for the USS Justicia. Clint actually gets along pretty well with everyone in the ship, specially with the people in Barry’s Lab who all learned basic ASL language for him. He absolutely hates space with a burning passion (and he’ll continue to hate it no matter how many fucking times Barry and Tony get excited over aliens and other equally distressful scenarios), but at least he’s with his brother and that’s about enough for him.

But then there’s a fucking pirate space ship and Clint’s life goes to hell. He thought he had something going on, he really did, but space really is unpredictable. He tried telling this to Barry and Iris about five-hundred-and-forty-six times in the past, but no one ever listens to him. 

Cue in Natasha Romanoff (Natalia Romanova, Natalie Rushman, she doesn’t really know anymore) who was given a second chance at life by the Captain and the Commandos (”It’s my ship!” Hal screams everytime “We are not the Commandos!” “I’m the Captain,” Steve says back, calmly, “And we are.”) Before being found by the Highball, a hideous name if she ever heard one (she’s told Hal as much), Natasha was an asset for a well-known Space Trafficking Ring. She had been picked up as a child, and then whipped into shape by Madame B, under Thaal Sinestro’s orders. Since then, she’d been doing their bidding, hollow and more than a little lost. When Sinestro came back as a Yellow Lantern after being kicked out of the Green Lantern Corps, she was sent to eliminate Hal, of course, but the power of the ring stopped her from doing it. Hal extended her an olive branch, and asked her if this really was what she wanted to be doing. Natasha fled, at first, but the more she hid from Sinestro and Madame B, the more she thought maybe Hal had a point. She finds him, his ship and his crew, and asks to join them. She had to learn to adjust to being part of a team, and she still sometimes feels odd and out of place, but Steve and Sam help her through it. Bucky tries, sure, because he understands, but he’s never been really good. The Highball is as good as any home, she thinks, and she’s warming up to the people around her little by little. 

When the Highball crashes into the USS Justicia (and Tony and Hal bond over rumoured Treasure Planet that they may have been looking for since the ship was space-borne), Clint and Natasha are forced to co-exist, just like everyone else in the ship. Reparations for the USS Justicia are slow with little to no materials to actually do it, and if Clint hated space before he outright despises it now. He takes an instant interest in Natasha, because there’s something there that Clint can’t explain himself but he wants to know. Natasha is elusive and will go to great lengths to avoid him, but he’s sneaky and very good at finding her on every single hide-out in the ship. She hates him a little bit for it, but actually respects him. She starts warming up to the idea of him little by little (and it has nothing to do with how blue his eyes are, shut up, Sam) and they become kind-of-sort-of friends. They talk about combat, martial arts, his great marksmanship, the 800 languages she knows (“They’re 10, Clint.” “I CAN BARELY SAY MY NAME IN ENGLISH, TASHA”), and how their lives turned out like this. Clint probably finds Nat mid nightmare, mid panic attack, mid-I’m-still-in-the-Red-Room spiral down that seems never ending, and he’s the only one who’ll hold her and whisper sweet words into her hair, until she’s fallen back asleep in his arms. Natasha jumps in front of danger every single time Clint is in any bad situation that’s about to get worse. They suddenly start merging into a couple and no one really knows what the fuck is going on, those are facts. Barry’s just happy his brother’s got this out of space, which he seems to hate so much. 

Stony

Tony Stark is head of the R&D department and second in command in the USS Justicia. He and Bruce W had never gotten along much (not like he and Bruce B, who’s a sweetheart and owns Tony’s entire heart) but they’re effective enough together that the Federation thought it was a good idea to give them their own goddamn ship. Tony doesn’t complain. Much. There’s not much waiting for him on Earth (his father disowned him, Stark Industries fell to Obadiah Stane after his parent’s untimely death) and Bruce W is a good Captain that keeps their crew in top-shape. He’s not leading any of them into battle, like so many other Captains did nowadays, and Tony revels in the quiet existance that is flying through space in a glorified saucer. He likes his team (picked Barry himself, deeply interested in his thesis) and they discover heart-stopping, amazingly cool stuff every. Single. Day. Tony couldn’t be happier, he really couldn’t. (Some days Bruce W will go to a Federation Post somewhere for meetings and Tony will get to be Captain, that’s the only instance of all of this that made it better.)

Captain Steve Rogers, or former Captain at least, used to be the captain to an important Federation vessel, the USS Valkyrie, that doesn’t exist anymore (unless you count the heap of scrap that was left of it after it was decomissioned). He was never one to follow rules, and while the Federation had given him his dream to see the stars (something he never would have dreamed of in a million years as a sickly kid, who could never even get out of bed some days), there were still some rules and regulations he simply couldn’t agree on. After getting his rank revoked and his crew relocated (except Bucky, of course, who was with him to the end of the line; he couldn’t blame the others, either, they had families to feed) Steve and Bucky are back on Earth, feeling miserable and forlorn. That is, until the Highball docks in San Francisco (illegally, might I add) and Hal Jordan, in all his glory, offers them a spot in his crew of misfits, and the rest is pretty much history. They travel space, they help people the way they always wanted, they kick-ass, take names--Steve would have never thought, at the beginning of his career, that this is where years of training at the Academy would take him. He finds he doesn’t care very much. 

Until the day the Highball hits the fucking USS Justicia. Steve wants to pull out all of his hair because of course it had to be a fucking Federation vessel. Harold steps up as the calm, collected, reasonable adult that he never is, and get everyone on board. Steve thinks “hey, it can’t get much worse!” and then Tony-fucking-Stark walks through the door and he wants to die. 

Steve’s been crushing on Tony since the younger man stepped into the Academy, all those years ago, except he was never really good at expressing his feelings, and no matter how much Bucky tried to get him to ask Stark on a date, all Steve managed, every single time, was get Tony angrier at him and their relationship becoming even rockier. Tony immediately recognizes him and it’s like they’re younger now, back at the Academy, and being enemies (even when Steve wanted anything but that). Tensions are high at the Highball (hah!) and Steve, bless his heart, just wants to fix the USS Justicia as fast as is possible.

Except, you know, Clint and Natasha find a goddamn map to Treasure Planet (Steve never believed it to be a thing) and Hal and Tony can’t stop vibrating in their places, shooting off at the mouth, overexcitedly, about how many things could be in this planet!! Somehow, they all get roped into searching for this planet, and Steve really, really just wants to rest. Somewhere along the way, Tony stops being all fire and brimstone, and in turn, Steve tries to be less of an awkward idiot around him (Barry helps a lot, he really does) and the two form an unlikely friendship. Since Steve is still Captain of the Highball (Hal appointed him; there was a SIGNED CONTRACT in between; Hal could own the ship all he wanted, but he still was Captain) he feels responsible for everyone inside his ship, and the adventure they’re about to undertake is, perhaps, one of the most dangerous. Steve just hopes they’ll make it through it. 

[teaandcrowns]

chapter one

chapter two

It seemed that just as soon as Zuko had wormed his way into their group, he declaring that he’d lost his bending. It struck her as the most amusing sort of irony, and she scathingly told him as much.

And yet—she found herself wondering, if he did have some sort of ulterior motive to joining their group… why admit so readily that he’d lost his bending? Aang needed a firebending teacher, and they tolerated Zuko because he could fill that role. When he stopped being able to bend, why tell them at all? He could have easily staved off any of them knowing with some excuse. Late at night, alone and feeling the restlessness the moon awoke in her, Katara frowned. If she thought she could have understood him once, she had been proven sorely wrong. It was no different now. Breathing out curious thoughts of Zuko, Katara closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Who knows why he did what he did?

After he went off alone with Aang, they both came back having discovered—and rediscovered—firebending. Now he could finally get around to teaching it. Katara grudgingly had to admit that it was impressive to spectate them practicing. Being able to actually watch Zuko bend as he demonstrated katas, rather than in relation to how she could avoid and counterattack, gave her an odd new appreciation for how he moved. It made her uncomfortable when she catch herself enjoying watching. Whatever he told them all about being changed and on their side now, Katara couldn’t so easily dismiss all his past actions. She remembered Ba Sing Se with painful clarity, and promised herself she would not be so easily fooled by him again.

It wasn’t long after that when he disappeared again, this time with Sokka.

The flimsy excuse of going on a trip to bring back some meat didn’t fool her, but for the life of her, Katara couldn’t figure out what they—what Zuko was up to. That didn’t stop her from trying to make sense of the real reason behind their disappearance as she make breakfast in the large clay pot the morning after they vanished. She worried that he’d tricked them all and betrayed them all again, and abducted her brother, and was well on his way back to the Fire Nation with his prisoner by now.

But, of course, that didn’t make any sense. Why come all the way here, gain their trust, announce so openly that he’d lost his bending, start training Aang—only to then vanish with Sokka on some weak fabrication? If he was abducting her brother and going back to the Fire Nation, why didn’t Zuko just make off with Aang in the first place? As much as she loved her brother, Katara knew that Sokka was worthless to the Fire Nation; he was unknown, and a non-bender. What benefit could Zuko possibly have to kidnap her brother? Smoke filled her nose, and she scowled, angry that even when he wasn’t here she was still so aware of the scents that lingered around him from his bending and—

“Katara!” Haru’s exclamation snapped her out of her reverie. “The juk!”

“What?” Even as the words formed and tumbled from her mouth, she looked down to see dusky smoke rising from the pot, the breakfast forgotten under the tirade of her thoughts. “Oh no!”

She rotated her hands quickly in counter-circular directions—one to thoroughly stir the liquid of the juk itself, and one to coax some water from the nearby fountain onto the flames beneath the pot to settle the cooking fire into steam. Only the porridge at the very bottom had been truly burned enough to be inedible, but she was embarrassed at herself, nonetheless. To think that she’d gotten so consumed in thought over him that she completely lost track of herself—especially when he wasn’t even here. Katara told herself it was because she was worried about her brother, and where they could have gone.

Absently, she worried the pad of her thumb.

After nightfall four days later, Katara felt a slow drawing within her, the way it felt beneath her skin when the tide rolled in at its highest and tugging, tugging her to go along out to sea with it. Something was coming.

It was only a few moments later when the familiar, gut-twisting sound of whirring echoed against the cliff walls and through the sodden fog. Aang, Toph, and Haru all scrambled to their feet and joined Katara to stare out into the mist to see what came for them. Every one of them was tense; Katara could feel the erratic thudding of their heartbeats as they all anticipated the worst. They all knew the only thing that sounded like that: Fire Nation airship propellers.

Maybe she had been right, Katara thought hysterically. Maybe that traitor had absconded with her brother back to the Fire Nation and now he’d come back with an airship to take down the rest of them. Or, worse yet, he’d come with his sister.

She shifted her weight into a fighting stance and popped open the cork of her waterskin, hand hovering and wrist taut, ready to whip and lash and freeze.

The dark metal hull of a Fire Nation airship sank down from the opposite side of the gorge into their view. It was headed directly toward them.

“Aang,” Katara said, the warning biting like ice in her voice. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to hear the soft sound of his closed glider cutting through the air; in her peripheral, Toph and Haru sank back into their respective stances, firm as granite and waiting.

No attack came as the airship slowed. It turned and eventually banked against the edge of the Air Temple, scraping to a halt. To her right, Aang visibly winced at the noise, but Katara did not budge. It was difficult, through the adrenaline threaded through her veins and through the strangeness of the metal hull, to tell just how many people were there. All the steam pressure built up in the pipes confused her newly formed senses.

Fully docked as best it could against a foundation that never anticipated such a machine, the entry hatch opened and a ramp lowered down onto the stone. All at once she felt throbbing pulses in her ring finger and her thumb, so sudden and so forceful she took an involuntary step back, her defense dispersing like water droplets in the sun.

Before anyone could comment on her abrupt change in demeanor, Zuko walked down out of the ramp, followed closely by Sokka. Everyone else flanking her relaxed together, and she stepped forward, finding her balance again.

“What are you doing in this thing?” she demanded, confused and angry and relieved more than she would ever admit to anyone. “What happened to the war balloon?”

Zuko had the audacity to look a bit sheepish as he rolled a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “It kind of got destroyed.”

Aang leaned on his glider like a staff, instantly relaxed in the way only he could be now that he knew they weren’t being attacked. “Sounds like a crazy fishing trip.” He sounded jealous that he hadn’t been included in whatever adventure the two older boys had gotten themselves into.

“Did you at least get some good meat?” Toph stacked her hands akimbo on her hips expectantly.

“I did,” Sokka spoke up, his voice taking on a superlative hitch. “The best meat of all. The meat of friendship and fatherhood.”

The fact that he hadn’t been abducted by Zuko explained the ‘friendship’ part of that, but the fatherhood—

Before she could start questioning about this dubious statement he so carelessly flung out, three more figures peeled away from the darkness inside the airship. Breath snagged in her throat, the greater meaning behind Sokka’s ridiculous proclamation sinking in the same way that her feet sank into a sandy shore beneath a receding tide.

Suki, the Kyoshi warrior that both she and Sokka had an instant affinity toward made her way down the ramp. Two men followed her out—one she didn’t recognize who was saying something she didn’t hear at all, because the last figure to emerge from the shadows, dressed in dull prison reds, was her father.

All in an instant, Katara felt full to the brim—her breath welled up in her throat, tears stung at her eyes, and her face ached strangely for a moment before she realized she was grinning. A hoarse, “Dad?” croaked out of her throat before her feet surged into motion without conscious thought on her part, and she propelled herself into her father’s arms.

“Hi, Katara,” she heard him breathe somewhere above her head. She couldn’t tell exactly where because her face was burrowed into his chest. It felt so much like home that it opened up the hollow in her chest she’d so carefully closed off and made it ache.

It took a great amount of effort to force herself away from the strong, familiar beat of her father’s heart. She looked up into his face, cheeks wet and uncaring that they were so. “How are you here?” Through happiest tears she’d had in a long while, she looked over at Sokka and Zuko. “What is going on? Where did you go?”

“We kind of went to a Fire Nation prison.” Her brother cocked his head with an arch look on his face. Over his shoulder, Zuko had an uncharacteristic smile that widened to a grin when Hakoda reached for his son’s arm and drew him in with Katara against his chest again. It didn’t matter where they’d gone or what they did—her father was alive and safe again. That’s all Katara needed to know.

Her family. Here. Together. A hiccuping breath caught somewhere in the middle of her throat, and her heart fluttered like a catbird exulting in a newly built nest.

They stayed up far too late that night, listening to four different people regale the nigh-impossible escape from the Boiling Rock prison—Sokka’s excited storytelling, their father’s calm additions, Suki’s correcting interjections and acceptance of Sokka’s flattery when describing her capture of the prison’s own warden, and even the former prisoner they brought with them through happenstance, Chit Sang, had a few humorous addendums to the getaway.

It wasn’t until after they’d all exhausted their voices and were lying all in a circle with one another in the starlit dark that Katara realized Zuko hadn’t spoken up—he’d merely sat and listened with a ghost of a curve to his mouth. She didn’t know what that meant, but she was too tired to ruminate on it. Surrounded by the lullaby of so many heartbeats, Katara sank into dreamless sleep.

_____________

Everyone fell into a sort of strange normalcy for a while.

What surprised Katara most, of all the things that could have, was having Chit Sang help her with cooking duties. Both he and Zuko were the first up in the morning, rising with the sun every day, but while the younger man went to meditate, soaking in the new rays of daylight, Chit Sang would set up the big clay pot for juk. By the time Katara herself got up, he’d have wood stacked beneath the pot, waiting for her to come over before he lit it, and then helped serve and even clean up after everyone had eaten. It was nice, having help, even if her helper was a surprising one.

By the time they’d have everything cleaned and stacked, nearly everyone was scattered, tending to their own things. Sokka trained with their father and Suki both, building on the knowledge that Master Piandao had begun; Teo and the Duke continued their exploration of the ancient temple; Haru honed his earthbending with Toph somewhere deep in the temple, the stoneworks vibrating gently every so often from their efforts; and Aang was finally able to start making true progress in his firebending training with Zuko. Katara itched to be practicing herself, but the only person left was Chit Sang. As willing as he was to help with the group chores, she didn’t particularly relish the thought of sparring with him. He didn’t seem to be jumping to suggest they face one another, either.

Instead, she found herself seeking out Aang and Zuko to watch them train. Aang fluctuated between acting glad she was there and showing off—something that got him reprimanded by Zuko more than once—and abashed that there was someone watching him at all. He never acted that way while learning earthbending. She wondered if he still felt so much remorse about accidentally burning her all those months ago.

Even if he did, he didn’t say anything, and Zuko didn’t give him any chance to protest. The native firebender pushed Aang hard, Katara noted, while balancing it out with intermittent but welcomed encouragement. It was strange, noting how his training style differed. She knew she was a gentle teacher—especially when it came to Aang, her last hope, the world’s last hope—and that Toph was unrelenting as with all things, but Zuko fell somewhere between them. The majority of the time, he was firebending right alongside Aang, demonstrating a technique or mirroring so his student could follow along. After watching them a few times, Katara had to concede that Zuko’s method was… rather effective.

Absorbed in training, neither boy paid much mind to her. Cautiously, almost timidly, Katara closed her eyes and breathed in, singling her focus onto the pulses in her thumb and middle fingers. She exhaled, allowed her perception to flow out of her like a tide rolling toward some distant shore, out to the two benders those pulses belonged to.

She felt Aang’s instantly, that powerful roll in her longest finger, but there was a difference this time. It felt… warm. It felt just like Zuko’s had when he first came to them. Her brow furrowed a little, head tilting just so in concentration. Perhaps she was also sensing Zuko, and thus was confusing the two.

No, a few more moments of focusing on that simultaneously weighty and cavernous pulse convinced her that it was indeed only Aang she was focusing on. What was it, then? What was causing this difference she now felt with him?

“You’ve got to steady your breathing,” Zuko reprimanded him, his rough voice cutting through her thoughts. “Firebending comes from the breath. If you don’t learn to control it, you’re going to hyperventilate and pass out. Not to mention you might set everything around you on fire.”

Katara’s eyes snapped open. She smiled, a small curve of her mouth. That was it, she realized, the rest of whatever Zuko was explaining diminishing to background noise to her—the firebending was the difference. Aang had never truly done any firebending before, even was actively trying not to for a long time, and she’d heard that firebending comes from the movement of internal qi itself, rather than just the manipulation of an external element.

Light and movement at the edge of her line of sight caught her eye and she lifted her gaze to see Zuko in the midst of demonstrating. Katara found her gaze locked to him as he stood, eyes closed and feet at shoulder width, arms solid and hands held palm-up before his solar plexus. He very visibly drew breath in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth several times. Within his chest, she sensed his heartbeat slow, but strengthen, and she felt the drag from it within her chest, insistent and tugging at the spaces between her ribs, and she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from reaching for him.

It was almost like being drunk, or like being caught in the heavy fog between sleep and wakefulness, like her limbs were leaden and she wouldn’t be able to move them if she tried, but she didn’t feel compelled to do so; the rhythm of his heartbeat and the rush of his blood filled her ears like some foreign siren song she knew would lead her against a cluster of rocks and drown her, but she very suddenly just couldn’t stop herself from sinking further into it anyway.

Then she felt a shift, a controlled change and channel within him, and was flung back to her full senses just in time to witness Zuko take a concise step back and exhale a bright tongue of flame.

It didn’t last very long, but the light and heat from it were intense, and when it dissipated into curling wisps of smoke, Aang’s wide-eyed admiration came into full view. His undivided attention was now firmly on Zuko, who shifted through a surprisingly fluid set of katas, controlled flames forming from along his knuckles with every strike, and from the soles of his feet with every kick. He moved deliberately slow to demonstrate to Aang; some of the moves Katara recognized were at fraction of the speed at which he had performed them at other times. And just before every release of his fire, she felt the same shift of current within him, through the trawling in her thumbs and clavicle and hips, through the insistent flow of his blood and qi that sang its strange and hypnotic deluge, its intoxicating promise of submersion.

And then he relaxed his stance, lowering his hands, palm-down now, and released his breath and all the tension he held through his body. His heart returned to normal, and the rush of headiness that had gripped her finally and fully relented its hold on her, though the echo and reverberations of his pulse lingered in the hollow of her throat and in the thickest tendons of her wrists.

“That was amazing!” Aang exclaimed, bright voice disrupting the lull within her. Katara refocused her gaze on the two benders she had intended to watch. “When can you teach me to do that, Sifu Hotman?”

Zuko scowled at him. “Maybe I’ll consider it once you stop calling me that.”

She rubbed her thumb and longest finger together, feeling the pulsing warmth in each of them, noting how much warmer the former was, how much more prominent the heartbeat in it was. Katara frowned.

This was a bad idea, she decided for the second time.

She didn’t want to get to know the ebb and flow of Zuko’s heartbeat better, didn’t want to know what would happen if she spent more time focusing on what she felt inside his veins; a growing, desperate pit in her stomach feared that she just might lose herself and not mind.

She had to stop.

All at once, Katara rose to her feet in a single, fluid movement. She was too warm, with heat spreading out from the bottom joint of her thumb and creeping down her wrist to the rest of her, felt too heady and drifting in her own head. In the space of a hitched breath, she walked away, leaving a perturbed Aang and firm-mouthed Zuko watching after and wondering at her sudden departure.

In the darkness of the deep of night, Katara lay awake, unable to sleep. Her heart ricocheted in her throat and even with the comfort of having both Sokka and her father nearby for the first time in years could not drown out the cadence persisting in the pad of her thumb, a thin but tense thread connecting to Zuko’s sleeping form across from her in the circle they all made. She felt like a fish caught by a line and hated herself for being ensnared so easily, again.

No. Not again.

She wouldn’t let herself get swept up by him again, not after the catacombs. Not after how quickly she’d allowed herself to fall so fully into the rush of his veins earlier.

Katara clenched her hands into fists until her nails dug into the skin of her palms to drown out the warm, steady pulse she felt in her thumbs until she finally found sleep.

“How long will it last?”

Her voice sounds too small to her ears, too frightened. She wants to be strong—don’t crumble, don’t cry, don’t curl in on yourself. So she sits up tall, legs tucked beneath her, and tries not to squirm.

“It’s different for everyone, kuluk,” her mother replies, hands sifting through an old woven basket. “But the first time shouldn’t be more than a few days.”

When she straightens, she has a braid of dark hair in her hands—and then it is in Katara’s, and her mother is behind her, brushing out her long hair, hair past her waist now, thick and curling and so very far from the downy baby curls she holds in between her fingers.

“We have to hang on to that,” her mother tells her, tugging new braids into her hair. Three now, tied each themselves then bound around one another, marking the third step of her life. She would once day add braids herself—one for each of her children, and the last for when she no longer would bear them. “You’ll need it later.”

Days pass in an instant—surrounded by women, only women, only anntullik, the ones beside her. Her mother, her grandmothers, her aunt, women she knew from the village. They laugh and share stories and worries with her, share a bowl of specially made caribou-seal milk, fermented in a small clay pot for just this purpose. The first few sips make Katara gag, and the next she takes make her suddenly clench over and heave up the contents of her stomach. But the anntullik are ready for that, too. Someone rubs her back while she clutches the baby down to in her fingers. Words in the Tribe’s tongue drift like smoke around her and she feels her heartbeat between her hips.

A fire is before her as she kneels on the floor and her hands are shaking. What will it show? Her mother’s form presses gently into the curve of her back, her long hair falling over Katara’s shoulder just like her own would were it not braided back. She murmurs words into her ear, and Katara can’t understand them clearly, but she knows the meaning anyway. She reaches out, shoving her hand into the flames to release the baby down braid into it. The braid starts smoking immediately, thick and dark and rank, and the strands of hair curl twisting in on themselves several times over.

“There will be pain, your labor will be long,” a voice much like her mother’s says next to her ear. Katara frowns. She feels the pulse in her wrists press forward and back. Waves wound behind her bones.

Then she is lying on her back, her parka and layers of shirt hiked up to her ribs and her pants and smalls tugged down to bare her hips—there is no sensation of indecency, for they are all of a kind together in the hut, they’ve all bared their hips just like this when they were her age. Strong hands, calloused hands, warm hands hold her sides, her shoulders, they touch her face, soothe her hair back and along the pillow. A white-haired woman she doesn’t recognize from here is hunched over her hips with caribou-seal gut thread and a bone needle, sewing a pattern of thick dots into the ruddy brown of her skin.

She feels every pulse of her heart now, like she felt undercurrents beneath the ice, feels the heartbeats of all the women around her. She knows where they are, how they are standing, which ones were recently sick, which one will soon feel a quickening in her own womb. The place between Katara’s hips houses her heart instead of her chest now, and she feels blood run down the inside of her thigh, back toward the furs she lays upon.

Blood—like water, moving like waves, tides within each person. Reach out to them like you would a stream of water beneath the ground, pull it up up up until you command its form—yes, good, Katara. You certainly are worthy of learning the greatest lesson of the last Southern Waterbender.

Katara gasps audibly and tries to buck her hips, but the white-haired old woman’s hands are too strong as she holds them down, Katara’s own blood from the sewn tattoos beading around bony fingers, and Hama’s face looks up at her from above those hands, grinning. Now you are truly initiated, her voice crackles like wood or bone snapping in two. A living hum tingled along the bloodways of her entire body and made her bones shake and ache and she knew all she had to do to stop it was just reach out and seize control of Hama’s blood just like before and command its movement to her will—

The hut she was in suddenly shattered into consciousness from the deep dhoum of an explosion, and Katara rolled her feet on instinct, all while realizing the thrum she felt beneath her bones wasn’t the sense of blood, but the vibrations of a Fire Nation airship outside the temple. In an instant, she was on her feet and prepared to launch herself into a fight, already reaching out to the water in the fountain on the terrace. Another shudder ran through her—no, it ran through the entire building, upending any thoughts or worries she might have spared for the dream. Then everything happened at once.

Slabs of rock tumbling down toward her as the ceiling crumbled—saved from crushing by a tumble of body against her own across the stone floor—their group separated and tunneling escapes out of the temple and into the fray, grasping a pair of warm hands in her own and dragging the Exiled Prince into Appa’s saddle to save him from a sure death (repaying the debt just incurred for him saving her own), then a flight through the clouds faster than any airship—or war balloon—could hope to follow.

The dream already was fading from her mind, pushed out by more immediate worries, threats that were real. When her first blood had come upon her three years ago, Katara had been only with her grandmother, and they’d braided her hair together. Her baby down was long gone, lost in the Fire Nation raid that killed her mother, and she’d known next to nothing of waterbending—let alone bloodbending—then. It was just a dream, and it sank away from her waking mind as they flew through the cover of clouds.

[lupizora]

Castaways On A Foreign Planet (2/5)

I have officially beat my fear of posting the second chapter! It sounds so irrational when I say it aloud but I was always worried if the next chapter will leave up to the first, especially if it had been well received. >.> That means I can slowly start working on the rest of my multi-chaps and whatever comes. Interest is so fickle on the internet. It shouldn't weight down my creativity and productivity.

This chapter is for the @kacchakobittersweetweek 's theme of Confrontation. I have one more chapter planned for the week and by the looks of it, this story will end around chapter five (maybe six, if chapter four gets too long). XD

Genre: Sci-Fi/Romance

Pairing: Bakugou x Uraraka

Rating: T

Summary: Ochako thought she had settled into her job as a mercenary. Katsuki thought there was only one reason to fly. Together they thought they knew their place in this war. But all it took to question everything was find each other again.

The ledge broke under Ochako's boots as she jumped from one rock formation to another.

"Arrogant," she hissed.

The wind whipped at her face and rustled her bangs. "Selfish."

Her boots hummed as they activated and pushed her off the ground. Conflicting emotions had tied themselves into a knot inside her chest. She couldn’t grasp how someone could be so ungrateful and rude to the person who had saved his hide from certain death.

"Jerk!" Ochako reached the plateau with one last jump.

As if she had wanted to drag his unconscious body—which had been heavier due to the higher gravity of this planet—out of that burning cockpit. She should have left him in there and spared herself from this grief. But she didn't because her consciousness wouldn't leave her alone if someone died on her watch. It baffled her though, how she hadn't recognized Bakugou when she took off his helmet. Maybe because he hadn’t had the otherwise permanently carved scowl on his face. He had appeared almost peaceful… until he woke up.

Pain shot through her chest as if her lungs stopped functioning. She hiccupped. No one besides her teachers knew why Ochako had left the Academy. Her grades had been decent, especially in their flying lessons. The incident with the Sparrow happened because of engine malfunction—forcing her to perform an impromptu landing. Thanks to her accurate calculations no one got hurt except Bakugou's pride. He started antagonizing her in all of their training sessions from that day forward. It had been surprising since he had ignored Ochako's existence during the whole semester. But as the challenges came and went, she found herself focusing harder than before, and giving her all wholeheartedly. After a while, Bakugou started lingering a bit longer after sessions. His eyes followed her whenever they were occupying the same space, although he seemed to think she wasn't looking. Ochako had even dared to hope there was something more to this than merely their growing rivalry. But she hadn't had the chance to find out for sure because she left.

I'm not gonna cry over this, she thought, wiping the tears from her eyes. It’s not worth it.

Up ahead, secluded between two rock pillars and illuminated by the light of the moon, stood her escape pod. Ochako climbed inside and sealed it shut. After returning the first aid kit back to its niche, she laid down on her seat. The bulletproof glass did little to protect her from the cold nesting inside her chest. Hugging her knees and with a clouded mind, she drifted to sleep.

For the next couple days, Ochako would crawl to the edge of the plateau and observe Bakugou’s camp. Some of the controls still worked because the Peregrine had returned into a horizontal position. Under her jacket’s protection from the scorching heat, she saw him working on different parts of the ship but not making any significant progress. Back then, she had been too preoccupied with his wounds to notice the true state of the spacecraft. But considering the windscreen was in shambles, the ship couldn’t fly out of here even with a functional engine.

When Ochako returned to the escape pod that night, she let her gaze wander on its surface. The rough landing had left minor dents here and there but she couldn’t use it to get out of there anyway. Being considered a last resort, the pod didn’t have any controls to drive. One only hoped for others to find them if they used it. Bad luck had it for the planet to pull in the pod instead of letting it float amongst the asteroid field.

Ochako snuggled in the seat, stretching her legs on top of the console. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the black surface of a screen. It was a digital frame previously adorning the Peregrine’s control panel. Ochako had grabbed it without much thought. However, after a closer examination, she was surprised to find it contained a video of familiar faces from the Academy. Kirishima—another pilot trainee, his personality vibrant as his wild red hair—and Kaminari—a radio operator spending more time in the spacecraft docks than the communications room—where seen dragging Bakugou inside the camera’s scope. Bakugou managed to shake them off but Sero—the mechanic that always got roped into the other two’s shenanigans—grabbed him by the collar of his uniform. Whatever he said made Bakugou stop resisting and he reluctantly stood in the middle. The video ended with all of them posing for the camera, the body of a spaceship and part of the docks visible in the background.

Bakugou had never struck Ochako as the sentimental type. Considering what she remembered from back then, it had probably been Kirishima’s idea. But the video brought a smile to her face nonetheless; reminding her of peaceful and simpler times, when all she had to worry about was not fail her classes.

Ochako didn’t ponder often about her decision to become a mercenary. She had done it with a clear mind and a set heart. But with nothing to distract her, she had mulled over it a lot in the past few days. Everything happened so her parents can have a more comfortable life. They had insisted she followed her dream to be a pilot, but their already dire situation became worse because of the war. Graduation stopped being Ochako’s goal soon after.

Pulling at the chain around her neck, she let the disk-shaped locket fall on her palm. Purple lines glowed in an elaborate pattern on its surface and a recorded holo-message of her parents materialized.

“Whatever path ya chose, remember that Papa and Mama won’t stop loving ya,” her dad said, hugging his wife close. “Yer a strong girl, Ochako. All we want is ya to be happy.”

“Always follow your heart, dear. It’ll never lead you astray,” her mother added.

The hologram flickered for a moment longer before disappearing back inside the locket. Ochako returned it beneath her turtleneck. It was hard to follow her heart because it told her Bakugou had people waiting for him to return home too. But it also told her she ought to wait until he realized his own hopelessness. Then, hopefully, he would ask for her help.

His scornful tone from their last conversation replayed in her head. Ochako covered her face, letting an angry whine. It was beyond the realm of wishful thinking for Bakugou to even remember she was still around, more so ask for her help. They had been stuck together on this planet for a week now, and he hadn’t shown any signs of recognizing her presence. Ochako could wait. This pod wasn’t as confined as the other places she had stayed. But she was tired of this suffocating gravity already. If he didn’t want to make the first move, she would.  

When the twin suns passed their highest point the following day, Ochako climbed on the boulder she had been using to overlook Bakugou's camp. It rose six meters high above the ground. She had calibrated her boots accordingly, but the prospect of this jump sent her heart into a pounding frenzy.

This is your only chance, she repeated like a mantra.

With a deep breath, Ochako hugged the digital frame and walked over the edge. Gravity pulled at her legs like invisible vines right away. The system activated after a meter of free falling. She continued her descend as if she was walking down a staircase in midair. Her knees throbbed from the pressure, but she endured it until she landed. The ventilators on her soles raised a small dust cloud around her ankles.

Up ahead, Bakugou was hammering the surface of the right wing again. The clanging sounds became louder as Ochako approached, but his back remained turned even when she reached the left wing.

"So… how's it going?" she asked.

Bakugou stopped mid-blow, and a shiver ran its course on his shoulders. After a couple of heartbeats in silence, he resumed his work.

Ochako sighed and circled around the ship. Holding the digital frame behind her back, she inspected the exhaust. The metal constituting it had bent slightly upwards, looking like the frown face of a tragedy mask.

"Your thrusters are busted. Hard to fix but not impossible." Ochako peeked from behind the tail. "With the right parts," she chimed.  

Bakugou finally turned with the familiar scowl on his face. Grease and machine oil were covering almost every inch of visible skin. He had unzipped the upper part of his spacesuit, revealing the black tank top he wore underneath. Ochako pretended not to notice as she approached the damaged wing. Her fingers traced over the initials G-0 on the hull which scorched a bit under her fingertips. She crouched down to take a look under the wing. Cables were tangling from the missing plates of the underside, and a large crack spread along what would be considered the wrist of a real bird's wing.

"What the fuck do you want?" Bakugou asked. His voice was a lot coarser than last time, as if unused.

Ochako ignored the shudders on her spine and with a tap of her shoes, jumped in front of him. Before he could protest, she presented him the digital frame.

"I came to return this."

He blinked confused and took it from her hands. His expression didn't change when the video started playing.

"It'd be a shame if it got lost in the fire. So… I salvaged it," Ochako said. "It seemed like something precious."

Bakugou put the frame aside on his toolbox and crossed his toned arms. "Don't waste my fucking time," he said. "What's the real reason?"

"This was one of them," Ochako insisted and waved a hand at the ship. "You can't fix this on your own. Even if you somehow manage to get it flying, you'll never get off this planet without functioning wings. They'll shatter before you cross the stratosphere."

"Are you blind, Round Face? This is what—"

"What about your windscreen? If not the cold, you'll die from the pressure. Face it. You have neither the team nor the parts to do this right." She offered her hand. "Let's make a deal. My pod is in good condition. I can give you the parts you need."

Bakugou narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "All right…"

"But!" Ochako lifted her pinky finger. "You have to promise that you'll take me along when you leave."

"What? Are you five or something?"

"It's either that or you won't see even a glint of those parts. Your choice."

His chest expanded as Bakugou took an angry breath, his nostrils flaring. The lion had been cornered but Ochako wouldn’t back down no matter how much he decided to growl. Their stare off was interrupted by a different kind of sound though.

The loud rumble of an empty stomach.

Bakugou looked away. Red bloomed on his cheeks, brighter than the sunburns already in place. "Can't make clear decisions right now," he said after the awkward pause. "Wait until I get something to eat."

There was barely anything left of his provisions, and he wouldn’t accept if Ochako offered hers. He'd have to hunt. But marching hungry in an unknown territory was too dangerous. She knew that all too well, having to spend several days without eating between missions.

"I could get you something," she said and added quickly because of his murderous glare. "Blab all you want about your endurance training, but you've been working non-stop.” She pointed at the forest line behind her back. “You'll just draw unwanted attention if you march in there like this. I'm better rested so I'll be done in no time."

"How do I know you won't poison me, take my ship and leave?"

"You never listen, do you? I can't fix the ship on my own either. And…" Ochako clenched her fists, her nails digging painfully into the flesh of her palms. "Someone has to pilot it.”

Understanding crossed over Bakugou’s features. He clenched his jaw, staring at the space between them like it burned. “Go,” he said through his teeth. “We’ll continue over dinner or whatever.”

Ochako nodded with a forced small smile and jumped back to the ground. Before she could take another step though, she heard shuffling above.

“Hey!” Bakugou stood at the edge of the wing. But the frown was softer, his eyebrows just a smudge less angled.  “Don’t get killed,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir!” Ochako replied with a mock salute.

Her smile grew larger when he couldn’t see her face anymore. Maybe the spark back in the Academy hadn’t been only her imagination.

Beyond the forest’s brow, the scorched earth turned into ochre-colored grass. Mahogany brown trunks climbed high enough to obscure the suns with their wide foliage. They resembled lily pads sprouting from the bottom of a red lake. Her surroundings carried the faint aroma of strawberries too. It reminded Ochako of her mother. She used to cultivate some on the porch, right outside their door. But the golden glow her mother’s lean figure basked under was always cold inside her memories.

Birds with rich plumage passed overhead, startling Ochako out of her daydreaming. Their long tails left colorful trails behind like they were light-painting. Armadillo-like critters rustled the blades of grass on her right. They scurried away as fast as their tiny feet could carry them; wobbling like drunk elderly. Seeing other living creatures was a blessing after the past week’s desolation. But she had come here to hunt. The critters’ rough grey armor appeared tough like a crab’s but it wouldn’t hold a candle against her carbon-enhanced knife.

Ochako followed them deeper into the forest. Droplets were forming on her clothes like dew drops as the temperature got cooler. Without her realizing, the grass had reached her waist when the critters disappeared.

She stopped.

Chills crawled along her spine like slithering snakes. It was too quiet. She pulled out her knife and closed both hands around the handle. Listening patiently to the familiar—and maybe not so familiar—sounds of the forest, Ochako took calculated steps forward. She couldn’t pinpoint what was amiss. This sensation strained her nerves to their breaking point until stalks of grass broke with a loud crunch from her left. Something leaped out of there and Ochako dived forward. After a barrel roll, she jumped back to her feet and turned around. There was only an empty spot in the vegetation before her. She scanned the perimeter without turning her back to it when something blue shot out of the void. It swooshed above her shoulder as she dodged. The scenery trembled like the waters of a pond, painting the silhouette of a four-legged creature. While returning to the creature’s wedge-shaped snout, the blue forked tongue left behind a trail of translucent saliva.

Ochako bolted.

Her heart thumped hard against her chest. She slalomed between the trees. The heavy steps of the beast chasing her pounded on the ground like sledgehammers. Her breathing was labored. She felt like she was running through a swamp. Yet, she couldn’t stop. The creature was too big to deal with just a knife. She needed time to think; somewhere to take a breather and regroup her thoughts.

The trees around her opened up into a glade. On its other side, there was a tree with a bigger trunk than the rest but without lower branches like them too. Ochako turned left and made a wide arc inside the clearing. The beast—with its big awkward body—stumbled and rolled over. It gave her enough time to re-activate her boots. Pocketing the knife, Ochako dashed full speed ahead. Just as the beast recovered and growled, showing its pointy teeth, she jumped. The ventilators hummed on her first step midair. She didn’t drop the pace, hopping from one imaginary solid spot in the air to the next like an experienced dancer. The beast tried to reach her, its tongue missing her right foot for centimeters. Ochako’s stomach leaped to her throat and she forced her next jump to be higher. Her hands got ahold of the nearest tree branch when gravity returned with full force. She dangled from it, her shoulders screaming in protest. Hitting her ankles together ignited the boosters on her heels, and she made a 360° turn around the branch before leaping onto the next one. With the combined effort of her boosters and a couple of acrobatics, Ochako managed to perch closer to the main foliage. Below her, the beast trashed its tail and jumped, but she was too high to reach. As if disappointed, the beast continued pacing back and forth at the root of the tree.

Ochako went over her options. She could try passing above the creature but the next tree was at least two meters away. Her boots weren’t made for long-distance running and they were already pushed at their limits. The beast was so fast too. There was no way to outrun it once she reached the ground. For a moment she wondered if Bakugou would come looking for her if she didn’t return soon. It was highly unlikely. He wouldn’t put himself in danger by going so deep into the forest. There were other ways to find food and he would eventually locate the pod, without or without her help. All she had tried to do with this venture was win his trust.

With nothing else to do, Ochako decided to wait for the beast to leave on its own. Certainly, it wouldn’t take long and she had all the time in the world.