#branch was so lonely for almost his entire childhood so I made him a little sister 😌💅

[smol-mighty0]

My little Trolls oc, (Rosie) Bush!

[fallenfurther]

Homecoming

This is a story I’ve been planning for over a year and finally feel readyish to post it. This first chapter has been reread about ten times so it’s about time to release it. It introduces the main OC for the story, which will spend the next fifteen chapters exploring Jeff’s return to earth before Josie comes back into play. 

Thank you @misssquidtracy for being my cheerleader, this would be no where near as far written if you hadn’t enjoyed it so. 

I hope you enjoy chapter one, which is set between Series 2 and 3. 

AO3 and FFN

First Impressions

Josie stood outside the hall and took a deep breath. You can do this, she thought, you already have the invite for the invite only event. They might be the big bosses, the people who matter, but you matter too. You just have to network. Don't sell yourself short. 

She steeled herself again and swallowed. She really didn't belong here. London was a long way from the compassionate community she grew up with in Scotland. But the idea of getting stuck there and never fulfilling her dreams made her determined, despite the imposter syndrome that plagued her. She looked down at herself and tried to feel comfortable. They were her smartest clothes: a black pencil skirt, blouse with frilly collar and a fitted, thanks to Nancy's excellent seamstress skills, suit jacket. They were all high street brands which wouldn't compare to the designer suits and dresses she'd be mingling with. The only saving grace was the simple diamond chain around her neck. Worth more to Josie than anyone would know, and it gave her the courage she needed. Brushing down her jacket and holding her head high she strode forwards.

She had been so fixated on herself that she almost bumped into a mature couple. Josie stumbled out an apology and let them in first. Flustered, and having lost any semblance of confidence, she entered the room. 

****

Another networking event, this time forced on him by Lady Penelope. Scott scouted out the room as he sipped his Scotch. Many eyes were on the two Tracy brothers, all wanting but not yet daring, to approach. The power of his presence in a room of businessmen never ceased to amaze him. 

"Found someone you like yet?" Gordon chimed cheerfully from beside him, though Scott knew him well enough to hear the bored undertone. Penelope had invited Gordon and of course he had said yes, his brother absolutely smitten with the lady. Scott shook his head. Events like this maintained Tracy Industries reputation, though they also gave Scott his player reputation. It was an easy place to pick up a girlfriend or let off some steam. Scott surveyed the room again. Within sight there were a few women who appealed to him. 

"I don't always leave with someone." 

Scott took a sip of his drink. 

"Oh, so you're not the ever-successful ladies’ man we thought you were?" Gordon teased. 

"Well, I didn't say that." Scott chuckled. "I just don't always want company."

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. I bet you've had many failed conquests. You just don't want to admit it."

Scott shook his head. "You believe what you want, Gordon."

"Bet you can't get a random woman to sleep with you," Gordon challenged. 

Scott bit his lip, trying not to rise to Gordon's bait. Yes, Scott had been planning to find some company for the evening, but a bet? He shouldn't sink to that. Thankfully, the CEO of a small engineering company that had worked with Tracy Industries a year ago strolled over. Scott slipped into CEO mode and exchanged the required pleasantries and confirmed that they were considering working with their company again, before one last handshake. 

"So, the Great Scott Tracy is backing down from a challenge?"

Scott rolled his eyes. Gordon was bored and just trying to find a way to entertain himself, but Scott did like a challenge. What's the worst that could happen? With a sigh, he gave in. 

"What are the stakes?"

"If you can't seduce the woman I pick, then you give the swimming pool its biannual clean."

"And if I win, you are on deck lounger duty for a month."

“Deal.”

Gordon held out his hand and Scott shook it. He knew this was a bad idea, but it 

would liven up the evening a little, and Scott was in the mood for a little fun. Something to help him relax after a tough week. His brother’s eyes scouted the room looking for the ideal candidate. The smirk that appeared on Gordon’s face worried him. 

“The next woman to walk through the door.”

Scott raised his eyebrow. It was a gamble, but Scott understood why Gordon had 

done it. He nodded and took a sip of his drink. Both men had their eyes on the door. A few people left, but no one entered. When the door finally opened, they both held their breath. An older couple entered, their outfits and demeanour radiating their importance. A quick sideward glance at Gordon confirmed he was holding back a laugh. Scott sighed before looking back toward the couple. Behind them the door opened again and in walked a lone woman. 

“That one, the nervous blond.” Gordon announced. 

A nod from Scott and he accepted the challenge. His eyes surveyed the woman. She was young, probably about Virgil’s age, and she definitely looked uncomfortable. Her clothing was smart and fitted her well, but he could tell they weren’t the high end fashion that many were wearing that evening. Her hair was loose, brushing down past her shoulders, and there was nothing wrong with her features. She had the kind of appearance most people would look over, including himself, for someone more striking. Scott started to formulate a strike plan. He knew he had to avoid overwhelming her, she probably wouldn’t be expecting to get the attention he was going to give her. He turned back to his brother; whose attention had turned to something else. Scott followed Gordon’s gaze to see Lady Penelope with a tall man, laughing away. The man was obviously flirting with the aristocrat. The clenched jaw and stiffened stance of the aquanaut gave in to jealousy he was feeling. Without a second thought, Gordon strolled over to the gathering and joined in, a fake smile plastered his face. Scott shook his head, before turning back to his target. 

****

The glass was chilled in her hand, and Josie took a sip of the non-alcoholic mojito with the hopes it would help steady her nerves. Practicing her breathing techniques briefly, she turned around only to come face to chest with someone. She was flustered again and felt heat rise in her cheeks. Her eyes fell on the man in front of her and her heart jumped. 

She froze. Her instincts put her on high alert. This man looked like trouble, and she had just made contact with his deep blue eyes. He smiled at her, dimples deepening in his cheeks when he did so. Mind over body, mind over body, she repeated in her head. It was the intensity he gave off, the way he held himself like he was in control. He hadn't been surprised by her almost bumping into him. He'd know she was there and hadn't moved. She'd seen this before at university, she'd learnt the signs from experience. But still, why did they always have to be attractive? Why did they always gravitate to her? Josie rolled her shoulders back and gave him a brief nod. 

“Excuse me.” Josie smiled politely, ducking as gracefully as she could past him. 

“I’ve not seen you here before.”

Josie paused. His deep voice demanded her attention. She was here to network, at least she could get him over and done with. She could keep her cool, watch out for his game. Josie was wiser now. She turned around and held out her hand.

“Josie McNelly, engineer for Taybrooke Aeronautics, Satellite division.”

He shook her hand firmly. The man looked familiar, though she couldn't place where from. 

“Scott Tracy, CEO of Tracy Industries.”

That explained the familiarity. She smile grew as she thought of her brother’s prized 

poster of Jeff Tracy which had hung above his bed. Josie could see the resemblance 

to the astronaut. Same eyes for certain. She'd been shocked at the sudden loss of the great Jeff Tracy. Not that her brother had ever met him, but the astronaut had been such a big part of their childhood. Especially the fights over who was greater, her admiration for Neil Armstrong was still just as strong. The memories threw her, and suddenly she had no idea what to say next. How do you network again? What do you talk about with the CEO of Tracy Industries, one of the best engineering companies in the world? Facts about the company filled Josie's head and thankfully one stood out.

"Tracy Industries doesn't have a UK branch, so may I ask what brings you to London?" 

Josie took a deep breath as the man paused; glad she could make an impression. She congratulated herself while remembering what she was here to do. She'd failed to get a job at Tracy Industries on multiple occasions, maybe this could be a way in. She almost laughed at herself. The CEO was unlikely to care for someone as low down the pecking order as she. Part of her wanted to try, just in case. If people less qualified could get experience and jobs over her by knowing the right people, maybe she could too. That was why she was here, to get the contacts so she could play their game. 

"You've done your research. Tracy Industries works with some UK based companies that are represented here tonight, and the event is being hosted by a good friend of mine. I've not heard of Taybrooke Aeronautics before, care to give me some insight?"

His strikingly blue eyes gazed down at her with sincerity. It threw Josie to see it in someone she suspected of having ulterior motives, however she'd tried to keep her cool. Staying wary, she engaged with him. 

"Taybrooke Aeronautics is a small Scottish company. It started with plane design and manufacturing then branched out into satellites and astronautical technology. It's well known for its niche and unique satellite designs. It's entirely based in Scotland and has various sites throughout the country."

"Have they done anything I might have heard of?"

"Have you heard of Global One?" 

"The GDF's space station."

"Yes, the thrusters that keep it in orbit are a product of Taybrooke Aeronautics. They are actually my design."

"Your design? Aren't they normally developed by a team of engineers."

The surprise on Mr Tracy's face was priceless. It wasn't the first time people were shocked by what Josie could do, and she was planning to make sure it wasn't the last. If she wanted to become a big name rocket designer, she was going to have to blow a few minds. 

"The initial design was mine, obviously other engineers had input over materials and the like, but the actual design hasn't changed much. Taybrooke owns the patent, but my name is on it, so you can check it if you don't believe me. They aren't the only thing I've designed that's currently on orbit. Two of my resistojet rockets were used in some private satellites that were launched late last year."

Josie refused to hide her pride. Her family was proud of her achievements even if they didn't understand them. It was why she was here, to continue making them proud of her. She and her brother had had a dream and she was going to fulfil it if she could. 

"That's impressive. Have you considered applying for a role in the Tracy Industries aeronautical department? I'm sure we are always in need of people with your kind of skills."

Josie took a deep breath. She wanted to believe Mr Tracy. Every engineer wanted a job at Tracy Industries, it was considered one of the industry leads and had fantastic employee benefits. The company was known worldwide for taking care of its workforce, but she had never made the cut. Neither did she believe this man would remember her beyond today. It was time to end this conversation and see if anyone here might actually be interested in hiring an engineer. Josie met his gaze and prepared to say her piece. 

"I have applied for various aeronautical and astronautical roles at Tracy Industries since graduating. I've been called to interview twice, one at the European branch in Germany and another at the Japanese branch. Both times I was turned away for lack of experience. The Japanese branch didn't believe I would fit in with the company's culture and the European job was given to the son of one of the employees. It appears that I’m currently not what Tracy Industries is seeking. It’s been interesting talking with you Mr Tracy, but I have just spotted someone that I would really like to speak with, so if you’d kindly excuse me. Have a pleasant rest of the evening.” 

Josie turned and strode away from Mr Tracy. She headed into the crowd, not looking back, keeping her eyes open for the people she'd flagged on the short guest list she had managed to obtain. There were representatives here that might help get her into the industry. Not that she wouldn't stop applying to Tracy Industries jobs, a girl could dream, but she was realistic. Josie knew she had to work her way up and she needed to make the right contacts. 

****

Scott watched Josie walk away. She weaved into the crowd and disappeared from his sight. Gordon had lucked out and this bet was going to be harder than he thought. Miss McNelly may be nervous, but there was something beneath her words and her guard was up. He would have to change his approach, and unfortunately, he couldn't use Tracy Industries as bait. Josie wanted a job and she seemed to believe Tracy Industries didn't want her. Even if he could promise her a job, he was sure she wouldn't believe him. Scott was so used to women warming to him, swooning over his smile, and in many cases excited by the prospect of spending the evening with someone from International Rescue. Josie hadn't even mentioned it or made an indication that she knew he was part of the elusive organisation. Scott headed to the bar and ordered another scotch. He lent against the polished wood, swirling the drink in thought. He had to get her to lower her guard, to open up. His eyes hit the crowd and he sighed. Scott knew he was going to have to take the plunge. 

Almost an hour later and Scott hadn't been able to get close to Miss McNelly. He'd glimpsed her but being in the crowd meant he had to be polite to the other attendees, especially those who the company did business with. Duty called without the usual klaxon that echoed through the villa. Although Scott did want to be rescued from the current conversation; fisheries in the Atlantic were more Gordon's realm. He inspected the room, going from head to head in search of Miss McNelly. He easily spotted Gordon, standing next to Lady Penelope who was conversing with a young businessman. At least his brother wasn't having much luck either. Continuing, he spotted Mr Sandip with whom he'd had a pleasant conversation with at a previous gala. Excusing himself, Scott headed over to the man, but as he neared, Scott got a glimpse of whom he was talking to. Josie's hands were moving as she described something, and as he stepped up to the pair, he could hear the enthusiasm in her voice. There was a sparkle in her grey eyes that hadn't been there previously. 

"Mr Tracy! How good to see you again? How have you been?"

Mitchell Sandip had spotted him out of the corner of his eye and had turned to offer him a hand, which Scott took with a smile. 

"I'm very well, thank you, though I wasn't expecting to see you here." 

"Yes, well, the representative from the engineering department that was meant to attend became unwell. With so few people free to come, I drew the short straw. Though, seeing you has greatly improved my night."

Scott laughed at the accountant, his friendly demeanour had charmed Scott last time they had met. 

"Now, Mr Tracy, have you met Miss McNelly? She has quite the head for numbers. Unfortunately, she's not after an accounting job otherwise I'd snap her up before anyone else could!"

Scott turned to the woman in question, eyebrow raised. Head for numbers, well she was an engineer. He watched her straight up and nod politely at him. 

"I'm rather good with calculations.”

Mitchell's hand landed on Scott's arm, drawing his attention away from Miss McNelly. The shorter man's hazel eyes peered up at him full of excitement.

"She's being incredibly modest, Mr Tracy. I was certain someone was pilfering funds, and after a week I managed to work out who and how, but I hadn't mentioned it to anyone yet. I’ve just finished collecting all the evidence and sent it to HR. Well, I was just discussing yearly finances with Mr Yang over there, and I was just throwing a lot of numbers about, as you do, trying to show off, when Miss McNelly pipes up saying my calculations are wrong. I told her they weren't, and she said they had to be unless someone was swindling money. I was shocked that she could work it out like that, then she rattled off her calculations faster than anything. Like I said, I hadn’t told anyone and Miss McNelly here was able to work it out in minutes. Obviously, I had to confirm this wasn’t just a one off, so Mr Yang and I rattled a few numbers off, and Josie performed the calculations there and then. All in her head and fast as can be. It was incredible!"

Scott turned with Mitchell back to Miss McNelly. There was a proud smile on her face, even if he could see that she was still nervous. Her fingers were playing gently with the hem of her jacket. 

"I've always been fast with numbers."

"Are you certain you don't want to be an accountant?"

Miss McNelly laughed, a blush coming to her cheeks. 

"As I told the Professor during my interview at Cambridge, when he asked why I was pursuing a career in engineering over mathematics; for me mathematics is easy. I don't want to be bored. I want to be challenged." 

A cheeky grin graced Josie's lips, obviously warming to Mitchell's easy charm. It was hard not to smile around Mitchell, the man had a unique manner that just set people at ease. 

"How about a drink then?" 

“Fantastic idea, Mr Tracy. I’m sure Miss McNelly is in need of one too.”

Scott beckoned over a waiter, who swiftly moved around the other attendees to reach them. 

"I'll have a sherry, if you don't mind."

"I'll have a Scotch please. What would you like, Miss McNelly, another mojito?"

Josie hesitated a moment and seemed to become uneasy, her fingers returning to her hem. 

"Another mojito would be lovely, thank you." 

"Is that all?"

"Yes, thank you."

Scott dismissed the waiter, still intrigued by Miss McNelly. There was so much to uncover, and although he was starting to feel that he'd be cleaning the pool next week, he hadn't given up. Mitchell was just the person he needed to help break down those walls of hers.

"So, a Cambridge graduate then? I've a friend who did engineering at Cambridge university."

"Yes, it's a fantastic institution. It took me a year to find my feet, but I thrived once I did. Did you visit your friend while he was there?"

Scott chuckled slightly at the thought of visiting Brains at university. His father hadn't met the man yet and he would have been a kid himself. 

"No, I never got the chance."

"That's a shame. It's like a world of its own. All the best equipment within old buildings and traditions which go back centuries. Although it was fun at the start, with all the formal dinners and dressing up in your gown, it does get a little mundane after the umpteenth time. Sure, it's a three course meal with wine from some excellent chefs, but you can't eat that rich food every day and it's expensive. I could keep myself fed and watered for a week for the price of two evening meals!"

"I must admit, I didn't make the best decisions when it came to food during my first years in the Air Force."

Scott thought back to the instant noodles and takeaways he'd indulged in on the weekends. The freedom that came with not having to eat Grandma's home cooking had been liberating. Though he did eventually learn to cook a few simple dishes during his time in the Air Force. 

"Most of us make bad choices at university. It comes with being young and free." 

There was a sadness in her tone and her face dimmed slightly. What mistakes had this woman made that she regretted? Did it have something to do with the guard she hid behind? She put on a forced smile, and he knew he had to keep her engaged. Unfortunately, Lady Penelope and Gordon decided to make their entrance to the group. 

"Oh! Why hello Lady Penelope, and you are…."

Mitchell held out his hand to Gordon, who shook it with his usual amount of enthusiasm. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott caught the movement of Miss McNelly's hand. She was once again fiddling with her jacket. 

"Gordon Tracy."

"Ahhh, Mr Tracy's brother. I see the resemblance now."

Scott hid his laugh behind a grin, though he caught Miss McNelly’s eyes darting between him and Gordon. He wondered if she was picking up on the same resemblance. Scott watched as Lady Penelope, and then Gordon, introduced themselves. The drinks they had ordered arrived, and Scott noted the way Miss McNelly took a tentative sip of the drink. The small talk started, though Scott caught the small sips she took frequently, as a way to keep herself busy. She was definitely out of her element, which might explain why her guard was up. He listened in, gaining snippets of information about the woman. Gordon was keen to keep her chatting, probably as a way of distracting her from him, thus improving the chances Scott was going to lose the bet. After a while, Miss McNelly politely excused herself. Scott watched as she headed in the direction of the bathrooms, he hoped that meant she’d be back. 

“Miss McNelly is quite the interesting character, don’t you think Scott?”

Scott could see the small grin on his brother's face and the gleam in his eye that revealed to Scott the hidden meaning. Gordon thought the bet was his and he’d gotten out of his chore. Another business associate of Tracy Industries joined their group and stole Scott’s attention. Miss McNelly never returned. 

****

Finally getting away from yet another business proposal, Scott headed to the bar where Gordon was perched. He lent against it and turned to survey the room with his brother. 

"No success then?"

"As much as you've had with Lady Penelope."

Scott's eyes fell on Miss McNelly. She was chatting with Mitchell again. Maybe he still had a chance. Turning to the bartender he ordered a Scotch and mojito. Gordon raised his eyebrow at the order. 

"One last chance. I'm not going to give in that easily."

Scott grabbed the drinks and headed toward Miss McNelly. She'd just shaken hands with Mitchell and the man had turned to chase down someone on the other side of the room. He took a breath and turned on the charm. 

***

Josie watched Mr Sandip hurry after someone and smiled to herself. He'd promised to pass on her details to recruitment. She was feeling beat but was pretty pleased with her efforts. She'd sold her company and thrown out a few business cards. Hopefully she'd made her mark. The whole event hadn't been as bad as she'd expected, though that one alcoholic drink had eased her nerves a little. She was happy to have been able to keep it to one. Glancing at her watch, she confirmed it was late and she still had some travelling to do. It was time for her to leave. 

"Miss McNelly, care to have a drink with me?"

Dread filled her as the familiar voice spoke from behind. Turning she immediately noticed Mr Tracy was standing between her and the exit. She took a deep breath. In the man's hands were two drinks: an amber spirit and a mojito. Her breath caught in her throat, the situation bringing her back to a night she wanted to forget.

"You got me a drink?" 

She stared at the glass. She suspected it had alcohol in it, having ordered one in front of him, but what else did it contain? She couldn't confirm it wasn't spiked. Would he do that sort of thing? Save people one day, drug them the next? Rich people never made sense to her though. They defied logic. 

"I thought we could chat a little more." 

He held out the mojito, forcing Josie to make a choice. Did she trust the man? She looked up into his face. He had a warm smile that met his eyes and she wanted to trust him. She wanted so much to believe he was a good guy. But her fear was there, deep inside as it always was, and she couldn't. She smiled at him as she reached out her right hand and plucked the glass of what she hoped was scotch, from his grip. Josie kept her eyes locked on his as she raised the glass to her lips. The amber liquid was not one she'd tried before, probably a vintage out of her price range. She was thankful it wasn't peaty; she hates those. His mouth dropped in shock as he looked at the cocktail in his hand. Josie couldn’t help the smile as she fought not to laugh. She let the liquid roll over her tongue and down her throat. 

"I'm Scottish and it's the end of the night. You never asked me what I wanted." 

She locked eyes with him as the shock faded from his face. Mr Tracy glanced down at the cocktail briefly, indecision in his eyes. Josie was still on edge, ready to step back if she had to. She decided to test the water. 

"Take a sip. The mojitos here are the best."

Josie challenged him. If he refused to drink it then it must be spiked. If it wasn't, there was no reason not to take a sip. His hand stayed where it was. 

"I'd rather the scotch."

"This scotch is mine now, and you don't want to waste that drink now, do you?"

****

Miss McNelly's face was serious. Scott felt slightly uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. It was a challenge. For some reason, she wanted him to drink the mojito. He hadn’t expected her to take his drink and she had sipped it without grimacing. Never before had he met someone who acted as she did. Most people wanted to know more about him, most pestered about International Rescue, but not Miss McNelly. It felt like she had never warmed to him, even if she had seemed better and more relaxed during their conversation with Mitchell. Scott didn't want to drink the mojito; it was his most despised cocktail. What was this woman's game? 

"No, thank you."

"Fine." 

Scott was shocked again when Miss McNelly took the cocktail from him. What happened next, happened both at lightning speed and in slow motion. There was nothing Scott could do to stop it. 

"Thank you for the drink, but I don't appreciate the attention you've given me. I tried to make it clear I wasn't interested."

The cocktail glass was thrust in his direction, its contents flying out at him. Ice and mint hit his face as the sticky fluid started to soak into his shirt. As if that wasn't enough Miss McNelly stood on her toes, stretched up and poured the scotch into his hair. It trickled down his neck. 

“I’m not interested.”

Miss McNelly stalked past him. Scott didn't know how to react. One part of him wanted to storm after her and demand an explanation, though that would probably make things worse. This is what he gets for accepting a silly bet. He turned on his heel and headed towards the exit. Gordon was sitting at the bar and the smirk on his face became laugher as Scott approached. His brother was struggling to stay in his stool. 

"I'm calling it a night."

"Sure Scott….I look forward...to watching you...clean the pool." Gordon gasped between spasms of laughter. 

****

Josie bolted. She started running once she had heard the door shut. She didn't stop, not looking back and running as fast as she could to the nearest light rail station. Fear was a great motivator, and she didn't slow until she was on the platform where she gasped for breath. Josie had never been a runner. She hated it. Her eyes never left the entrance until she was on the train. Only then could she start to relax. Once in the carriage the tears started to fall. She’d overreacted. She'd made a scene. Her body shook. How stupid could she be? Slipping her phone out of her jacket she swiped up her call history and tapped the first person on the list. 

****

Josie lay back on the bench. It was around the corner from the hostel she’d booked for the night. The cheapest way to stay in London was to share a bunk bed with a stranger. There was no way she could have a private conversation in a room of sleeping people, and this random street bench was the easiest option. If there was ever someone she needed right now, it was her best friend Graham. His thick Scottish accent rang out from her phone. 

“Seriously Josie, ye need to stop seeing every man as a potential threat. Cannae a man just be polite?”

“I don’t suspect all men, just the ones that make me feel uncomfortable.”

“Ye said this guy was Scott Tracy, right?”

“Yes.”

“Scott Tracy, the Commander of International Rescue and pilot of Thunderbird One?”

“Maybe, I can’t remember which one flies which.”

“Hold on, ye can list every damned fact available about the Thunderbirds, but ye cannae tell me who pilots them?”

“You sound like my brother! Why should I care who flies the Thunderbird? I want to know how they fly!”

Graham rolled his eyes, and Josie couldn’t help but laugh at him. She twisted onto her front, her arm aching from holding her phone in the air. 

“Well, I’ve looked him up and I think ye would have been safe to drink that mojito. Although I’ll admit that he probably was hitting on ye. According to the gossip blogs he has picked up the odd girlfriend from events like that. Not that they last long, with him spending most of his time savin' people. If ye hadn’t been so aggressive ye could be heading back to Scotland with a great story! Imagine being able to say ye slept with the pilot of Thunderbird One!”

“A. I prefer Thunderbird Three. B. I’d rather spend the night with Thunderbird One herself. C. If I’d known, I would have given him your number.”

Josie stuck her tongue out, only to watch Graham contort his face in response. They both ended up in a fit of giggles. 

“At least ye still have a good story for the next campfire. Many girls have slept with Mr Thunderbird One, but I doubt many can claim they threw a drink in his face.”

A groan left Josie as she placed her forehead against the wood, breathing in its damp musk. She was never going to forget this and once it’d been passed round the town, it would definitely make its way to work. They would never let her go to another event again. 

“I’m an idiot. The whole night was pointless. No one is going to want to hire me now.”

“Definitely an idiot. They only let those into private schools.”

Josie scowled at her friend, though she was fighting a smile. It was an old joke, one that Graham used when she needed to see perspective. It reminded both of them how far they had come. Even if Josie was still stuck in Scotland. She yawned at the same time as the fifteen-minute warning was announced on Graham’s end. 

“Looks like we’re both in bunks tonight.” 

“Righty-ho. G'night Josie.”

"G’night Grey.”

Josie was just about to end the call when Graham decided to get the last word in. 

“And Jo, FYI Gordon Tracy pilots Thunderbird Four.”

Josie glared at him. The last thing she heard was Graham’s laughter as the screen went black. Cradling her phone in her hand, she stared at it, before turning her head to the sky. She couldn't see the stars that she knew were there. Josie may not have her dream job, yet, but Graham always reminded her of how lucky she was.

[xo-phile]

Tides (M!Mer x Fem!Reader) p1

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Excerpt: “Listen,” he started, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure there are plenty of people who have lived next to a body of water their entire lives and are still afraid of it.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of the water if it stopped producing such obnoxious mermen.”

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: thalassaphobia, emetophobia (just in case, no actual vomiting), situational anxiety, almost drowning

Author’s Note: Hope you all enjoy! If you did, please harass me to finish part 2!

Part 2

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Morning light filtered through your windows, casting shadows of tree branches onto the walls of your art studio. The room was quiet except for the soft scratching of your charcoal against the rough paper of your giant sketchbook and Teddy, your massive Newfoundland water dog, snoring by your feet. You stopped your sketching to rifle through a stack of photographs that you used for reference of the old church in the woods.

The photographs showed a lone brick building, church bell and all, that would have been unobtrusive in design if it weren’t for the fact that it was the only building in the middle of Saggitaria Woods for miles. The chapel’s warm brick exterior and defined architecture stood in stark contrast the surrounding lush greenery. You couldn’t forget the way the trees seem to slowly close in on the stone intruder, while the building stood stoically, seeming to welcome nature’s embrace.

When you looked back up at your sketch, the lines you scratched onto the page didn’t evoke the same balanced contrast. It just looked like trees and a building with a cross. You sighed exasperatedly and threw down your stack of photographs with a hard thump. Teddy awoke with a startle at the sound, and let out a disgruntled huff, looking up at you with disdain.

“Sorry, buddy,” you laughed crouching down to ruffle his massive brown head. The Newfie lolled his gigantic pink tongue in a doggy smile and leaned into your hands in forgiveness. Outside, the sound of a boat’s motor approached and cut off. Teddy jumped up to gallop out the door, with you snatching a cardigan off your chair to follow behind. From your porch, you saw Romero and Willow, old childhood friends, waving excitedly on the dock. Squealing in delight, you broke out into a run down the path from your home to the wooden lake-front dock.

“My two favorite gremlins!” you cried excitedly throwing yourself into Willow’s arms.

The sound of two girls screeching in delight made Teddy start to bark excitedly. Romero,  a six-foot-nine lycanthrope, picked the both of you up for a massive bear hug, swinging you two around like rag-dolls. Seeing your childhood best friends’ faces for the first time since their wedding made you realize how long you had been cooped up with just Teddy for company.

“What are you guys doing here?” you asked, “I thought you guys were gonna move into the new house after you got back from your honeymoon.”

“Well we were, but Dresden asked us to check on you,” Romero said, bent down giving Teddy what looked like the world’s best tummy rub. You looked at Willow in confusion and she rolled her eyes.

“He said he hadn’t seen you take the ferry in like a month,” she said accusingly, arms crossed over her chest, “We wanted to make sure that Teddy didn’t make a snack out of you.” At the mention of his name and the word “snack”, Teddy tilted his head comically. It was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Well you can tell Dresden that I’m up to eyeballs in projects right now and that he doesn’t need to worry.” Willow and Romero gave each other a look before turning back to you.

“How about you tell him yourself? We’re meeting him at the buoy, tomorrow. Think of it as a welcome back party for us,” Willow offered.

The thought of being out in the middle of the lake made your stomach dropped. Willow must have seen the look in your eyes and grabbed your hands to hold them comfortingly.

“It’ll be completely safe, I promise. We won’t go swimming or anything. We’ll just hang out like old times,” she assured. You gave an awkward smile.

You knew your friends were just looking out for you.  They constantly ribbed you for your workaholic nature. If you had a dime for all the times they joked about you painting nature more than being in it, you probably wouldn’t have to paint again for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know guys… The gallery opening is coming up soon and I’m nowhere near where I need to be in the collection to be goofing off,” you tried with a sheepish shrug. You were lucky enough that your online presence grabbed the attention of a curator willing to display a series of never before seen works. The idea of blowing this amazing opportunity, whispered menacingly in the back of your head.

Romero looked at you for a moment and then smirked.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Micah was gonna show us his new boat…” he mentioned casually.

At the mention of Micah, you felt your ears warm at the tips. Willow side-eyed your reaction and added,“He’s been asking about you, you know…”

“Micah?“ you asked skeptically, "What does his girlfriend have to say about that?”

Willow rolled her eyes in response.

“Who cares about her? Micah said she’s not coming. Homies only outing,” she responded waggling her eyebrows.

These little shits, you thought. She knew that was the final nail in the coffin so with a groan, you acquiesced and smiled in defeat. Willow and Romero cheered in victory while Teddy ran around in circles excitedly.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

With your eyes closed, all you could hear was the sound of Romero’s boat, Lobo del Lago, cutting through the waters of Lake Obsidian. The wind whipped past your face and through your hair as the Lobo navigated through rogue waves. When you finally opened your eyes, the sierra mountains that surrounded Lake Obsidian were in clear view. Surrounding redwood forests made the scenery look like something right out of an old postcard you’d find at a gift shop.

Lake Obsidian stretched out for miles around the boat, the water glittering in the afternoon sun. For most people, being out on a boat with friends in gorgeous weather would have made for a perfect day. Unfortunately for you, being this far out on the lake and not knowing how deep below Lake Obsidian reached, made your stomach flutter. Instead, you focused on the horizon of the lake and the surrounding forests passing by in the distance to distract yourself. Next to you was Teddy, who, unlike yourself, stuck his head over the side of the boat, mouth open wide, his tongue and ears flapping in the wind.

At least one of us is enjoying themselves.

"You doing okay, sweets?” Willow asked, sitting down next to you. Her hazel-blonde hair was wind-swept perfection and she looked like an old movie star in her giant sunglasses and strapless one-piece. You, on the other hand, opted for jean shorts and comfortable flannel, not exactly fit for swimming or water sports. You saw in the reflection of Willow’s sunglasses your hair was sticking up in all different directions from the wind and your complexion was looking green. She handed you a bottle of ginger ale and you took it gratefully.

“So far, so good. As long as I don’t think about the bottomless infinity of this godforsaken lake, I think I’ll make it,” you replied, trying to suppress a grimace.

“Well, you’ll have a pretty good distraction soon enough,” she chuckled, giving you a knowing look.

When you felt Lobo start to slow, you looked up to see a cruiser, Siren, approaching. Its pilot, Micah, a sandy blonde Minotaur, was at the helm, waving excitedly. The Siren circled some laps around Lobo causing the breaking waves to rock the boat. The motion caused you to clutch at the railing, knuckles turning white. Teddy was barking madly next you at motion of the boat, excited to see a familiar face.

“Hey Micah, stop showing off!” Romero yelled from the helm as the Siren finally slowed to a stop.

“Sorry, Rome,” the hulking Minotaur laughed from a distance, “Just made some upgrades and she drives like a dream!”

When both boats finally anchored, you willed your face to not look completely sea-sick. Micah hopped over to Lobo as gracefully as a 285-lb Minotaur could and went to give hugs to Willow and Romero. When he came to you, he lifted your whole body effortlessly, into a warm embrace.

“Hey stranger,” Micah smiled infectiously. You couldn’t help but grin back despite the anxiety in your stomach rising even further. You weren’t sure if it was seeing your childhood crush or the fact the you were five feet in the air, rocking in a boat. When he put you down, you took several sips of ginger ale. Teddy started hopping on his hind legs, pawing at Micah, wanting to be carried like you were. Micah just laughed and lifted the 145-lb dog into a hug like he weighed nothing at all.

“I was starting to get worried!” Micah said as he smiled down at you. His large figure was so broad and tall, he blocked the bright light of the afternoon sun from your eyes. He set Teddy down for him to run off somewhere to get his toy.

“You know how it is,” you tried sheepishly, “the work gets away from me…”

“Well it’s good to take a break once and a while,” he said with a big furry palm warm on your shoulder, “It’s nice to have the whole gang together again.”

“Not the whole gang. Looks like somebody wants to show up fashionably late,” Romero said working on unloading paddle boards.

“No worries, let’s just get out on the water while we wait.” Micah started to take off his shirt to reveal a thick, sturdy torso and giant, muscular shoulders. You pretended to look for Teddy instead of openly staring.

“You gonna come out with us? My board can probably hold both of us…” Micah offered with a smile.

“Uuuuh…” you started to say before Willow cut you off.

“Sorry Mic! She’s gotta help me take some pictures for Instagram first,” Willow lied, hooking her arm through yours. Micah’s face fell for a moment.

“Maybe later then?”

“I actually forgot my bathing suit today,” you tried without looking at his eyes. Micah gave you a consoling smile and a shrug.

“No worries. Maybe another time, soon. Gotta make sure you still remember those lessons,” he said with a wink.

Micah had given you paddle boarding lessons in shallower waters before so there was no reason for him to think you couldn’t be out on the water. The words warmed something in your chest, but you felt bad for lying to your friend.

“Thanks, Willow, seriously,” you confessed gratefully to your friend after the boys were out on their paddle boards. You watched Micah’s powerful back flex as he pulled himself through the rocking waves on his board. You wondered what it would feel like under your hands.

“No worries, sweet-cheeks. I was serious about those Insta pics though,” she laughed. The two of you took turns taking pictures in the brilliant, sunny day. The scenery was no doubt, gorgeous, perfect for would-be social media influencers and artists, like yourself. Today, however, you promised your friends you wouldn’t bring work with you, so you ended up lounging on the platform on the back of Lobo, throwing a tennis ball out into the water so Teddy could swim after it. You were on something solid and the waters were somewhat calm, so you were actually able to enjoy yourself.

You were about the throw the ball again, when Teddy started barking at a form in the water. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a long fishtail shimmer as it swam by. It raced over to where the boys were paddle boarding and you saw Romero’s board shake and flip with him on it. When Romero finally surfaced with his hair plastered to his face, Dresden’s head popped up out of the water howling with laughter.

“Dres, you little shit, I was about to win,” Romero deadpanned.

Micah ended up laughing so hard, he fell off his own board with a gigantic splash. The merman and the Minotaur high-fived, still howling with laughter.

“It’s okay, Dresden,” Willow yelled from the boat, “He desperately needed a bath!”

“Sorry Rome, I’ll make it up to you I promise,” Dresden sniggered. He ducked his head underwater and resurfaced again right in front of you.

“There’s our little recluse! I was beginning to think that monster you kept as a pet ate you,” he said pulling his body halfway out of the water to reveal lean, muscular shoulders and strong arms, toned by years of deep-water swimming. He shook the water out of his dark curly hair like a dog, and sprayed it all over you.

“As always, it’s such a pleasure to see you, too, Dresden,” you greeted sarcastically.

“Oh, you wound me. Be nice, or I might change my mind about your present,” he countered, hazel eyes glittering.

“Presents? Oh, well now you’re a man after my own heart,” you smiled, reaching out your palm with a gimme motion. He pulled a satchel bag that was hung across his broad shoulders and threw them onto the platform next to you. You reached in the to pull out a a flat rock the size of a dinner plate. When you flipped it over, you found a perfectly preserved ammonite, embedded into the stone. The white shell shifted hues in the light as you moved it, turning blue, green, and then orange, opalised by time.

“Dres, this is beautiful…” you gasped, as you ran your fingers over the ridges of the fossil.

“Eh, it’s not big deal,” he shrugged nonchalantly, though his complexion and fins framing his face seemed to warm at your praise.

“What!? I want something pretty too!” Willow came out from behind you to start rifling through the bag herself. She pulled out a giant abalone shell, the mother-of-pearl iridescence shining rainbows across its surface.

“Dibs!” Willow declared before running to hide her newly acquired treasure. You and Dresden looked at each other for a moment, and broke out into chuckles. You looked up to admire how the scales framing his eyes shimmered copper and green as he laughed.

“Guess, Willow likes hers,” you snickered, “Must have taken some effort to find this stuff.”

Dresden watched your hands as you traced the ridges of the ancient fossil.

“Like I said, it’s not a big deal,” he said and looked up at you through long, dark lashes, “Consider it a reward for coming out today. Figured if you got some positive reinforcement, you’d want to come out with us more often.”

You sighed and looked up at your friend with annoyance. Dresden put his hands up in apologetically, knowing he touched a nerve.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you already know how it is for me,” you retorted trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. You looked over to where Romero and Micah doing backflips off the Siren, Micah’s laughter ringing through the air. As you sat curled on the edge of the platform, you felt a pull in your chest for not being able to fully enjoy the day with him. Dresden saw your look and made a face you couldn’t quite interpret.

“Listen,” he started, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure there are plenty of people who have lived next to a body of water their entire lives and are still afraid of it.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of the water if it stopped producing such obnoxious mermen.”

“You say obnoxious, others might use the word ‘charming’.”

“Charming, huh? Doesn’t sound like anybody I know…”

“Give me a chance, and maybe I’ll show you what they mean,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Ew, who even are you?” you laughed, “Keep talking to me like that and I’m gonna have to bop you one.”

“Oooh, those are fighting words. Why don’t you come down here and say that to my face? Oh… wait…”

You must have given him your meanest glare because when he saw your face he started laughing uncontrollably. He started to float on his back still shaking with laughter, when you got an idea. You took the tennis ball from out of Teddy’s mouth.

“Hey Dres! Heads up!” you called and tossed the neon yellow tennis ball to the merman who caught it swiftly with one hand. He looked down at the ball confused and looked up to see a gigantic mass of brown fur about to land on his face. Dresden’s girlish shriek and the gigantic splash of water made you double over in laughter. You were starting to catch your breath again when a huge form stepped up onto the platform next to you.

“What’s so funny?” Micah asked, watching Dresden tease Teddy into doggy-paddling in circles to chase his precious tennis ball. You stood up quickly and tried to straighten yourself out.

“Ha… it’s nothing, just Dresden being stupid,” you said with a small smile. Micah took a moment to observe your face and your ears warmed under the attention.

“You know… It’s good to see you out with all of us. I get worried about you sometimes,” he remarked, watching Dresden continue to tease Teddy in the water. Your thoughts paused for a moment as a warm feeling bloomed in your chest, heart fluttering like a bird. You liked knowing that he thought about you, even if it was just out of friendly concern.

Shouldn’t you be thinking about someone who was actually your girlfriend?

“I’m used to it,” you replied, “Not all of us can have a doting partner to keep an eye on them.”

Micah seemed to cringe at the reference to his girlfriend.

“Actually, me and Becca broke up…” he confided. You turned your head to look at him in shock. There was a sort of  dejected look in his big brown eyes. The two of you sat in silence and you thought about his bright, beautiful girlfriend…

No… ex-girlfriend…

Becca was a vibrant personality, energetic and friendly. When you were all younger, Micah and every other teenage boy in town couldn’t help but be infatuated with her. The summer you left for university, Micah had finally built up the courage to ask her out. Four years and one art degree later, when you finally returned to your hometown, it seemed like this gorgeous couple were well on their way to getting married. You nursed this crush for years, never entertaining the idea of actually being with Micah because he always seemed just out of reach…

Until now, I guess…

You reached out to grasp his big furry hands with your smaller ones when you saw the sad look on his face.

“Micah, I’m sorry,” you apologized. He gripped your hand in response and smiled a small smile at you.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. Things don’t work out sometimes,” he sighed. You both looked at each other for a moment in a silence that stretched out a little longer than was comfortable. You looked down and you were still holding his hand and your palm was starting to sweat. With how hard your heart was starting to beat, your were afraid that he was going to notice your pulse quickening. Your mind raced to fill up the awkward silence with something… anything.

“Hey, you wanna race?” you blurted out before you even thought about the words coming out of your mouth. Before you could register the situation you put yourself in, Micah’s face lit up with a big smile.

“You’re on. Winner has to buy loser a case of beer!” he exclaimed as he went to unload the spare paddle board.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Willow’s gentle voice called your name, snapping you out of your panicked fog. She must have overheard your conversation because she looked just was panicked as you did.

“Hey, um, what’s this about you paddling with Micah?” Willow asked, alarmed. You saw Micah approaching with the boards and paddles.

“I don’t know, Willow, I just blurted it out,” you whispered. Willow looked at you and then at Micah, who was already setting up the boards.

“Okay look, you already know what to do. Micah already taught you. Just don’t look down and you’ll be fine, okay?” Willow coached you before you felt a warm hand pull gently at your wrist.

You barely registered where you were, until a paddle was pushed into your hands and you were standing on the board out in open water. Your eyes were parallel to the horizon the entire time you waited for Micah to push himself out as well, but you couldn’t help but notice how dark the water was below you, stretching down so far, light couldn’t even penetrate it. You’re heart was pounding in your ears.

Somehow, you managed to paddle yourself out and follow Micah on his board, even though you gripped the paddle so tight, your knuckles turned white. Micah turned around to give you a big grin and call your name.

“Better catch up! I can already taste that beer!” He called over his shoulder. You did your best to smile back despite the nausea rising up in your stomach and your heart thumping heavily in your chest.

I will buy you fifty cases of beer if it means I’ll never have to do this ever again, you thought as you moved the paddle mechanically.

You focused on keeping your eyes forward and paddling the way Micah had taught you. It seemed like you were doing okay, too, following Micah’s form toward the designated finish line until a random current caught you and pulled you away from the boats.

Stay calm. Don’t panic. Stay calm. Don’t panic.

Looking up to see the boats getting smaller as you drifted away, you heard a loud buzzing in your ears as you felt panic rise up through your spine. Suddenly, a random wake surged upwards in front of you, causing the nose of your board to tip up and backwards. The last thing you heard was Willow screaming your name and the ringing in your ears reaching a fever pitch before your back hit the water.

You gasped as you sunk and started choking on the water filling your lungs. The sudden chill of the water paralyzed you, even though you did everything you could to will your numb arms and legs to move. The world around you was just about to dim until you felt a pair of arms wrap around you and swiftly pull you to the surface.

When you reached the open air, you started coughing up all the water that you had swallowed. Your hair was pressed flat and wet against your face, blocking your vision, not that you could see, anyway, with the way your head was spinning. You clutched at broad shoulders and felt an arm hook your legs around a waist. A familiar voice- Dresden’s voice was repeating your name.

“I need you breath in and out really slow, okay? We can’t have you hyperventilating. Big breath in. Big breath out.” You breathed slowly like he instructed, your body clinging to his like a blind koala. You felt one arm hold you tightly against a firm torso and a big hand gently brush wet hair, plastered to your face, out of your eyes. He then cradled your cheek, keeping your head still, looking into your eyes with his striking hazel ones. Dresden’s defined jaw was clenched and his eyes were devoid of its usual mischief.

Why so serious?

You giggled a little bit, panic turning into hysterics.

“There she is. Hey, you’re okay. I got you,” he spoke softly, relief in his voice. His vibrant eyes were still flicking back in forth between your own searching for something. For what, you weren’t sure but the funny way his face looked made more giggles bubble up through your chest.

“I don’t think giggling is a symptom of a concussion, so we’re probably good,” the merman observed, “Hold on to my back and I’m gonna swim you back, okay?”

You nodded wordlessly in response and unhooked your legs from around his waist. He twisted around in your arms and started swimming towards Lobo.  Dresden’s powerful arms sliced through the water propelling the two of you forward, but he was careful enough to make sure to keep your head above water. When you approached Lobo, Romero pulled you out of the water and Willow wrapped you up in a thick beach towel. Your fully drenched clothes didn’t help the shiver that wracked your body despite the warm weather. Micah ran up from behind your two friends.

“What happened out there?! Are you okay?” He asked, rubbing your arms furiously over the towel, trying to warm your shaking body. Before you could say anything you heard Dresden’s voice interrupt you from the water.

“She got swept out by a current. When she fell, the undertow caught her. Maybe instead of dicking around, you should have kept an eye on her,” he ground out, angrily. Micah’s eyes flashed to Dresden, anger and confusion bleeding into his face.

“What the fuck, Dres? How is that fair?” Micah retorted, volume of his voice rising.

“Enough!” you yelled before your two friends could start hurling more insults at each other.

Dresden let out a curse and dove under the water, swimming away. Your shoulders drooped and you started to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. At the awkward silence around you, you closed your eyes, not being able to stop the tears from welling up. Willow wrapped her arms around you as you cried silently on the way home.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Through your high windows you could see the light of the waxing moon shining dimly through the redwood trees surrounding your house. You were on your father’s old corduroy couch, wrapped in your thickest cardigan, with Teddy’s big head resting in your lap, softly snoring away.

Willow and Romero insisted on staying the night with you to make sure you were okay after your fall, but you told them you didn’t want to ruin their day more than you already did. When you finally promised that you would go to the neighbors if you felt strange, they took their leave. Hours later, you felt nothing but exhaustion and embarrassment at what happened.

You leaned your head against the cushion, closing your eyes to listen to the lo-fi music playing softly from your laptop. Distantly, if you focused, you could also hear the gentle push and pull of the tides breaking in front of your home.

Your mind drifted to the confusion on Micah’s face when he saw you pulled from the water and grabbed one of the cushions to shove in your face to muffle a groan.

Seriously? What the hell was I thinking?

You then thought about Dresden and the way his voice sounded when he yelled at Micah. Dresden almost always had a confident smile on his face, making crass jokes and pulling pranks. To see him so upset formed a knot in your stomach.

Gently lifting Teddy’s head, you got up from the couch to walk to the art studio. You knew it was too soon to try to start working again, but you needed to feel the charcoal in between your fingertips- to feel like there was at least something  you could control. You found the photograph of the old church and set it up next to your easel, making sure there was enough light on both the blank sketchbook and the reference.

Using the general shape of the building and the mass of foliage surrounding it you started sketching out general locations of where everything was. Then, you started adding in rough detail shaped as a guideline for how to paint. When you looked back at the photograph, though, something felt off. The trees in you sketch didn’t carry the same presence as it did in the photograph.

Is it the proportions? The shading?

You flipped a page to start over, determined to capture the ambience that you felt when you found the hidden church. Again, you sketched the general outline, but started with detailing the church. By the time you managed to sketch out most of the building, something in the proportion was off. You rubbed your charcoal dusted fingers on your forehead, willing away the frustration you felt growing behind your brows.

Before you could throw down your charcoal and call it a night, you heard Teddy whining from the other room. When you rounded the corner, your dog was pawing at the door, eager to get outside. Before you could even fully open the door, his massive form pushed his way out and made a break for the dock, barking ceaselessly into the night. You sighed in exasperation before running after your giant dog to stop him from waking the neighbors.

When you caught up to Teddy, you found him laying on the edge of the dock, nose sniffing at something swimming in the dark depths of the water, tail wagging wildly. Teddy gave another loud bark at a splash and you shushed him.

“Teddy, you’re gonna get us in trouble,” you chided, tuffing at his collar to bring him back inside.

“Gotta say, he’s got a pretty good nose,” came a voice from below the dock that made you yelp in surprise. Dresden swam out into the moonlight and you let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Jesus, Dres! Can we keep my near-death experiences to once a day? Thanks,” you breathed, unclenching your fist from your rumpled cardigan.

“Heh, sorry,” he let out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

You went to sit at the end of the dock next to Teddy, legs hanging off the edge, toes dipping into the water. Neither of you said a word until you both looked at each other to smile awkwardly. Dresden almost always had something to say, so his silence unnerved you.

“What are doing here so late, Dres?” you asked, breaking the long silence. Dresden floated for a moment worrying his lip between his teeth and then finally spoke.

“I came to check on you…,” he stated, “and to apologize.”

Your brows furrowed and you wrapped your cardigan tighter around your body. You watched him for a moment, observing his face without saying anything.

“So,“ he started, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "Are you doing okay?”

You thought for a moment, stroking the downy fur of Teddy’s ear.

“Yeah, I’m doing okay…” you said, picking your words carefully, “Are you?”

Dresden looked at you in confusion.

“Yeah…? I’m not the one that almost drowned today,” he chuckled, albeit nervously. You let out another deep sigh, this time in exasperation.

“How am I supposed to know? You yell at Micah, who didn’t do anything mind you, and then you just left all mad! I’m not the one that needs an apology, Dresden,” you argued. This time you held his gaze, almost daring him to look away. Dresden did his best to match your stare, but then ran his hands across his face and his hair in frustration.

Before he could get a word in edgewise, you interrupted, “You guys are literally best friends and I already feel bad enough for ruining everybody’s day. I don’t want to be the reason why you two stop talking to each other.” You shifted your weight to lay on your stomach and rest your chin on your crossed arms, not unlike how Teddy looked, next to you. Dresden disappeared beneath the surface of the water and popped up again at the edge of the dock, pulling himself up out of the water enough to be at your to eye level. You pointedly held his hazel gaze until he rolled his and sighed in defeat.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow and apologize. For you. Satisfied?”

Both of you stared at each other for a long moment before sharing a big grin. When you two started snickering like little kids with a secret, a weight lifted from your conscience.

“I never got a chance to thank you for saving me out there,” you said after the soft chuckles you shared subsided, “Thank you. And I appreciate you not telling Micah what really happened.”

Dresden made another incomprehensible face, but you could almost anticipate his next question.

“Why don’t you just tell him you’re afraid of deep water? I doubt he’d care,” he asked, his turn to look you straight in the eye. You looked away as you tried to figure out how to best articulate your response.

“The thing is, is that I care,” you tried, but he just cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“You said it yourself, I’ve lived at Lake Obsidian my entire life, it’s completely irrational!” You buried your face in your arms, thumping your head against the wood deck. “He’ll think I’m a freak for hiding something like that for so long.”

You kept hiding your face in embarrassment and heard a soft curse. Dresden muttered under his breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

You lifted your head, “Sorry, what?”

“I’ll help you get over your…” he waved a hand in your general direction and said, “issue.”

You were mildly offended and confused.

“And why would you want to do that?” you asked.

“I’ll be sleep better knowing that the next time you try to impress Micah, you won’t end up at the bottom of the lake. Gods know that Micah’s big ass can’t swim as well as I can,” he concluded.

You flushed bright red at Dresden’s blatant remark.

Was I being that obvious?

“Okay then, let’s do it,” you promised before you could talk yourself out of it. Dresden gave you his signature cocky grin.

“Micah’s really lucky. I’ll see you tomorrow before sunset by Driftwood Beach. Bring a paddle board,” he instructed before disappearing beneath the dark water.

“Good night to you, too…” you muttered as stood up, watching the waxing moon’s reflection ripple in the water.

As you and Teddy walked back up to your house, you replayed the conversation over again in your head. That night you dreamed of a warm hand cradling your cheek and voice distorted by water whispering Micah’s really lucky.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

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[heyyyharry]

Chapter 7: Shadow And Moonlight

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which the woods try to tell Y/N something.

Word count: 3.6k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

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“Don’t move.”

Harry hissed into his palm as he peeked through the gap between his fingers to watch Y/N tending to his wound. His hand had been burned slightly, but nothing too severe.

Y/N had managed to find some healing herbs in the forest. She chewed them in her mouth and spat onto the burn, amused by the way Harry’s face contorted with disgust.

“Yuck.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said mockingly. “Would you like it to be infected?”

A corner of his mouth raised as he watched her bandage his hand with a piece of fabric she’d torn from her coat. “How did you know how to do this?”

“I read,” she said with a grin. “It’s great. You should try it sometimes.”

Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the cold or he was shy, but she’d just seen a bit of colour in his cheeks. Harry averted his eyes immediately, looking at his bandaged hand. And there it was again – that sinking feeling in her stomach.

When they’d managed to escape from the burning house, Y/N had regretted her decision to continue the journey. But as she was looking at Harry now and thinking about how she could lose him any moment, she was more determined to find the lake.

They didn’t talk about what had happened. Y/N wanted to talk about it, but she hated to acknowledge it. She hated that she didn’t have an explanation for the things that she’d seen. For all she could tell, it’d been magic. And magic didn’t always have answers.

Harry probably felt the same way for he’d been quiet this whole time. They were both thinking of the same thing and keeping their guards up. And maybe that was enough to keep them alive for now.

The sun was setting. They’d gone far from the house, killed two rabbits and cooked them for lunch and dinner. They and the horses were too exhausted so they’d decided to camp in the woods for the night, hoping there wouldn’t be another storm, otherwise they’d have no shelter and get buried in the snow.

“Impressive,” Harry said as he watched Y/N make a fire. “It’s like you grew up outside the castle.”

She didn’t say anything about that compliment, didn’t even remind him that he’d been the one who’d taught her that. The more he said things like this, the more she felt like she didn’t know him anymore. He was slowly turning into somebody else. And she must admit that there had been moments when she’d thought she was gradually falling out of love with him. But then, she’d think about that kiss in the burning house. That had felt similar, hadn’t it?

“You kissed me.”

Y/N started as she dropped the stick she was holding and gaped at Harry. He was looking straight at her, his eyes round and full of wonder as he said, “In the house. You kissed me, right? Or was it just an illusion?”

“Yes, I kissed you,” she admitted, not looking at him as she added more wood to the fire. She could still feel his eyes burning holes on the side of her face.

“Why?” he asked.

“I needed to shock you,” she replied coolly. “I pricked my finger and it pulled me back to reality. So I thought–I just...didn’t want to hurt you.”

Harry chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” she asked him. “I saved your life, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did, Your Majesty,” he said with a polite smile. “I’m just imagining His Majesty’s face when he hears about all the things we’ve done to survive.”

Y/N mustered a smile at him, ignoring the jab in her stomach. “Well, let’s hope you’ll survive until my husband kills you.”

Harry didn’t say anything about that, but the smirk never faltered on his face. It made Y/N all flustered so she had no choice but to pretend that he wasn’t there and mind her own business.

They ate the rest of the rabbit, and it was night again. The stars and the moon were visible tonight. They could be seen through the branches overhead, so there might not be a storm and Harry and Y/N would be safe. At least if they were careful enough to not fall into another trap.

“We should take turns keeping watch during the night,” Harry said.

“Good idea. I’ll take the first watch.”

“No–”

“I insist,” said Y/N as she secured the fur coat around herself and sat down by a large rock. “I can’t sleep now anyway so…”

“All right,” Harry sighed, stretching his limbs and yawning. “Wake me up when you’re tired.”

“Sure.”

And so he lay down on the ground beside her, all wrapped up in his coat with his back facing her. She couldn’t help but stare, wanting to run her fingers down his spine or through his hair and kiss him goodnight. But all she could do was watch in silence and repeat those three words in her head so she wouldn’t forget what they sounded like.

“You were very brave.”

Y/N was taken aback. She blinked, for a moment thinking she’d misheard it. But then he went on, not turning to face her, “Thank you for not abandoning me there.”

She felt a smile growing on her face. “Can’t even look at me as you say thank you?” she asked, laughing so he knew it was a joke.

Harry laughed too, quietly. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to see you blush. Wouldn’t be able to sleep if I kept thinking about it.”

Y/N was left speechless. She worked her jaw for a response that never came. But Harry didn't seem to expect anything from her; he drifted right off, his shoulder rising and falling as he snored softly.

Y/N put both arms around herself, feeling goosebumps pimple her skin as a cool breeze blew right through her clothes. This was the first time she’d spent the night in these woods. She’d heard tales about them when she’d been little. The kinds of tales that were used to scare naughty children. And after what had happened in that house, Y/N was very convinced that those tales were all real.

Once you had stepped into the darkness of these woods and felt the cold pass through you, the trees would swallow all memory of light and they would know all your secrets, the stories you’d kept hidden inside the cage of your chest. The trees whispered, too. They could be taunting Y/N right now, making her think she was safe and getting her when she least expected.

She pinched her eyes closed and took a deep breath before observing the lines of tall soldier trees standing guard around them. It was all so quiet, but why did she feel like something was out there.

She imagined a beast or shadow with hooked claws and grim eyes. A thing the forest kept, waiting for the right moment to release.

Her fingers twitched as fear rose at the base of her throat. She hated this feeling building inside her. She was her mother’s daughter. She should not be afraid of invisible things. But then again, when it came to things she did not understand and could not explain, she should be afraid.

“Come.”

Y/N jumped when she heard the voice. It wasn’t Harry’s. He was still sleeping. She whipped her head around, trying to locate where it’d come from but she could not.

“Come.”

There it was again. The voice of a woman. Somebody was here. Somebody was hiding in the dark, camouflaged by the trees, silently watching them.

Heart pounding out of rhythm, Y/N tapped Harry on the shoulder. “Harry, I heard something.”

There was no response.

“Harry, wake up. Harry!” She shook his shoulder harder. He still did not budge. If he weren’t still breathing, she would assume he was dead. It was almost like he could not feel or hear her.

She took a second to calm herself down and study her surroundings. Moonlight peeked through the trees, pale and lonely, bathing her skin. Bare branches above looked like skeleton fingers waiting patiently to grab her when she slept. She held her breath, straining her ear to listen to the voice. But she heard nothing. Moments had passed, and still, nothing.

It was not real. The mountain had a way of getting inside your head—playing tricks on those who dared to walk among the pines long after the sun had set. These woods were wild and rugged and unkind. They could not be trusted.

Feeling anxious, she added some more sticks to the fire and sat there hugging her knees to her chest, staring at the flame. She thought about her mother, trying to hold onto those few precious fading memories of her childhood to put herself at ease.

Suddenly, a branch cracked.

Y/N’s head snapped up like a hunter expecting her prey.

Or maybe she was the prey all along.

“Come.”

It was the voice again.

Soft like silk.

Longing like a distant memory.

Y/N covered her ears as the voice kept repeating the same word over and over again. It only grew clearer as she tried to block it out. The voice was coming from inside her head.

Her skin pricked with gooseflesh.

And when she opened her eyes again, she saw it.

A white deer glowing in the blackness of night. It stood between the trees, watching her silently with its eyes gleaming like the brightest stars. She stared back at the animal, holding her breath, wondering if it was just a figment of her imagination or such creature did exist in these magical woods. Everything could seem and feel real until it wasn’t. Like the house. Like this entire journey. She could be dreaming.

Wide eyes stayed fixed on the deer, she reached for Harry, but he was not there. She snapped her head to the side and found him gone. So were the horses and their weapons and supplies. She was all alone. She pressed her fists to her heart, feeling its violent beats as she prayed that this wasn’t real. Then, the fire went out. Y/N recoiled, shaking all over. What was happening?

She could still feel the creature watching her. So she slowly opened her eyes and saw that the deer was glowing even brighter than before. It was the only source of light now. The moon had been obscured by the clouds. As the light from the creature’s skin touched her own, it was warm and put her at east. So when the creature nodded its head to ask her to follow, she hurriedly pushed herself off the ground and went after it.

This is a dream. This is a dream. This. Is. A. Dream, she kept telling herself as she made her way around the trees. The air was cold and damp. Y/N breathed slowly as she moved forward, stepping carefully, deliberately, over fallen logs and frozen flowers. She didn’t know how far she’d followed the deer. She didn’t remember walking. Her steps felt so light it was like she was being carried.

The next thing she knew, she was heading towards a cliff. The moon was so big it looked like a giant eye or a face in the sky. Y/N was so taken by the moon that she did not see the deer transforming into a woman. The woman was dressed in a white gown. She stood on the edge of the cliff, her white hair flying like a silvery stream.

Just like the deer, she was glowing, too.

“W-Who are you?” Y/N asked, but the woman didn’t answer nor turn around. And when Y/N opened her mouth to ask again, the woman whipped her head to her left, revealing her face for the first time. She was a young girl, about Y/N’s age or even younger.

Curious, Y/N looked to where the girl was staring at and saw a dark figure. A man. He didn’t pay a single glance at Y/N, so Y/N knew he could not see her either. He and the moonlight lady rushed toward each other for a strong tight embrace. They were both young and beautiful. But Y/N had never seen them before.

The man was dressed in all black. The girl in all white.

Shadow and moonlight.

This wasn’t just an ordinary dream. It was trying to tell Y/N something.

But what?

“Your Majesty!”

Y/N’s eyes popped open when she heard it. Harry’s face rushed into view, and she flinched at the touch of his fingers on the side of her face. He immediately jumped back, raising both hands in the air.

“What—” She looked around, baffled. They were now standing at the same spot by the fire. The horses were still here. Moonlight still cast eerie shadows on the snow. But there was no deer. No girl. No mystery man.

“Were you sleepwalking?” Harry asked, looking concerned. “I woke up and saw you just standing here staring into nothing…”

“No,” she said, tearing her eyes from his. “I thought I heard something. That’s all.”

Harry’s forehead puckered slightly. He didn’t believe her. “Your Majesty, if something’s wrong, you must tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry,” she murmured, forcing a smile.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “So you weren’t sleepwalking?”

“No.”

His eyes locked with hers for a second as if he was trying to detect a lie. To her relief, he exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. “All right. Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Y/N didn’t say another word to Harry as she came to lie down by the fire. For some reason, she could feel someone watching them. It was the woods. They were always watching. And when she fell asleep, she saw the face of the white-haired girl inside the giant moon.

.

.

.

“Your Majesty!”

“Get out.”

Jo’s mouth fell open as she smacked her palm onto her chest, acting shocked, frozen in the doorway. Lance probably expected her to leave immediately, and when she didn’t, he tore his eyes from the book he’d been reading and glanced up at her. He cocked an eyebrow, looking annoyed. “I said–”

“A maid told me you'd called for me,” she said.

Lance opened his mouth, probably about to tell her off when he seemed to have remembered calling for her, so his mouth snapped shut at once. The smug grin she was giving him must have got him all bashful as he cleared his throat and combed his fingers through his raven hair. “Well, I was going to ask you a few things but I figured it out on my own.”

“All right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I guess I should go now?”

“Yes.”

She picked up her skirt and gave a curtsy. “Good night, Your Majesty.”

“Wait. Actually–” Lance heaved a sigh as he rose from his chair. “I think I’ve discovered something.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Close the door,” he said.

Jo did as she was told then padded over to the desk where Lance had laid out two tall piles of books. This was what he’d been doing for the last few days. Research. Y/N had almost died twice. And at this point, Jo guessed Lance was done just sitting at one place and doing nothing.

Isolde had been at peace since their Queen had left, but it could be the calm before a huge storm. Jo didn’t know much about politics, but she knew Lance had been losing sleep over what Calanthe might have up her sleeve, and also for Y/N’s safety.

As Jo watched him flip through the pages of the huge dusty old book, she could not help but watch the ring on his finger glowing red.

Y/N, she thought, when are you coming home?

“From what we’ve learned from Mary,” Lance said, snapping her back to reality. “This group of people called The Monks believe in one ruler. They want to believe it’s Calanthe so they’re on her side, giving her advice and will fight for her in the battle.”

“If you’re asking me for more information, I haven’t got any,” Jo sighed. “I barely talk to the witch.”

It was true. She now shared the room with the witch who’d erased Harry’s memory of Y/N. Jo didn’t care that the witch no longer had magic. It was best to keep her distance and be guarded at all times.

“No, not that.” Lance shook his head. “I just found something fascinating.” And pointed to the page. “King Lokesh. The first High King in the North was thought to be the one ruler, too. The Monks were on his side during the war with his brothers.”

“It was a useless war. There was no winner. That was how one hundred kingdoms were divided into four high courts.”

“True.” Lance raised a finger. “But Lokesh didn’t rule for long. He died after only two months on the throne and the crown was passed onto his eldest son. It was said that he’d died of a mysterious illness.”

Jo grimaced as she tapped her fingers on the table. “What does that have to do with us?”

Lance clenched his jaw, his thick brows knitted. “Do you think The Monks have something to do with his death?”

“You mean they killed him?”

Lance nodded. “Because he was not the chosen one.”

Jo took a moment to think then shook her head. “I don’t know why you’re worried. I’m actually hoping they’ll kill Calanthe when they realize she’s useless.”

Lance pursed his lips before letting out a sharp breath. He closed the book and crossed his arms as he leaned against the table. “Do you think I’m being paranoid?”

“A little,” Jo scoffed. “But I get it. It’s been stressful for us both.”

Lance was quiet for a moment, his gaze glued to his feet. “I really hope she’ll make it home. With or without finding the lake.”

“So do I,” Jo said. But the voice inside her head was quick to add, With or without Harry.

She felt bad about it, of course. Harry had been unbearable at times yet he didn’t deserve what he was getting. After all, he’d lived and died for Y/N. And Jo’s ultimate mission in life was only to make Y/N happy and keep Y/N safe.

She returned to her room with those heavy thoughts clinging onto her and almost forgot that she wasn’t alone. Her heart jumped as she stepped in and saw the girl with a damaged face sitting on the bed beside hers, dressed in a white nightgown like a ghost.

“Where were you?” Mary asked, giving a smile that crinkled her good eye.

Jo tried not to show how disgusted she was as she walked straight to the fireplace to add some wood to it.

Mary was quiet for a moment, either waiting for Jo to speak or thinking of what to say next. Eventually, she broke the silence, “You cannot not speak to me forever.”

Jo could. In fact, she was doing it now.

“How’s the Queen?” Mary persisted.

Jo didn’t want her to be doing this all night, so she decided to answer this one. “Alive.”

“Good, good,” Mary said, laughing nervously. There was a three-second pause. “Hey, I was wondering...um...since you were the last person to see my sister...h-how was she when she left?”

“She was happy,” Jo said without any emotion in her voice. Then she suddenly felt bad about it and added, “I didn’t really know her, but she seemed like a nice person.”

“You’re a nice person, too,” Mary said. This time, Jo cast a glance at her and saw her grinning. “Maggie wouldn’t just save anyone.”

Jo would tell Mary that Maggie had done it for Y/N, not for her, but she didn’t want this to turn into a conversation. She stayed quiet and walked back to her bed, but Mary had already got up and got in her way. She stopped, second-guessing what Mary would do next when the witch took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Mary said.

Jo was too shocked to pull back so she just stood there like a statue. “About?”

“The Queen. I know you–” Mary stopped herself at once, yet Jo already knew what she was going to say. It wasn’t hard to tell how she felt about Y/N. “Also,” Mary went on, her hands turning warm as they held Jo’s. “I’m sorry about your baby.”

It’d been so long since someone had last mentioned it. Jo felt like her wound which had recently healed was sliced open again. She stared at Mary unblinkingly. And somehow Mary thought it was a great idea to continue adding salt to her injury. “We’re more alike than you think, Josephine,” Mary said, lacing her fingers with Jo’s.

Jo immediately shoved herself away from the witch. Mary opened her mouth to speak but Jo didn’t give her a chance. “No.” She held up a finger and took a step back. “We’re nothing alike. You’re a witch. Look at you. You’re...you’re–”

Ugly. Evil. Heartless. Manipulative. Pretentious.

“Just...do not touch me ever again,” Jo said under her breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Mary said to her but she didn’t bother to hear it. She turned abruptly and stormed out of the room. This was all too much for her to take. She would have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight.

[imnotgoinganywhereok]

Yeah, I’m back on my Sims 4 bullshit! („ಡωಡ„) After an entire month I started to miss my Sim children. So, I decided to visit them once again and have some memorable screenshots, especially since I only started sharing my Sims experience from 5th and 6th generation. I’d be grateful if you checked it out one day, I think it can be somewhat investing! And there will be more content to come...

Recently I noted down in my little notebook all basic information and cool trivia about each of my Sim children, and I decided to share some of it here. There is a limit of only 10 pictures in one post, and I was afraid the post would be long but, to be fair, this is my blog and I’m doing what I want now! And, I will merely touch upon what is already established up to Delphini (gen 7). Again, there will be more in the future. Apologies in advance (ง ื▿ ื)ว

Generation one: Valentina Owl. I created her back in December 2019 when I got Discover University for Christmas! She’s a “human” Sim and I created her through a story option in CAS, and immediately started having a blast. I was not a huge fan of such USAmericanised concept of university but the game was fun. She was the only one who lived up to be an elder (and then die) because back then I thought I’m gonna have a game where my Sims age and stuff. That quickly didn’t work out for me because I missed her already and decided that I’m gonna fill my entire save with just Owl family. Valentina studied Communications and worked as a policewoman at the same time. A lonely workaholic with only her lavish garden, she finally settled for a relationship with Lilith Vatore. As I noticed in this post, there was no marriage so my entire bloodline comes from a bastard. Lovely! She died from receiving a flower arragement with Death Flower scent. Now she’s on the Gallery.

Generation two: Herbert Owl. He was the one who directly killed Valentina. He mastered Gardening like Valentina, and then Flower Arranging - unfortunate for her. Because of Lilith, he was a vampire - and to be fair, the consequences are haunting me to this day! So, a few trivia, maybe. He is super smart, lives in Glimmerbrook like the next two generations, and has a small garden in his house where he grows crops for husband’s, Morgyn Ember’s, potions. He prefers black and purple clothes, both in his human and vampire form. He wrote only one book in his life, translating to The Real Story of Valentina Owl - whether it’s to cover the murder or not remains a mystery. He makes flower arrangements to this day. Ah, he’s also immune to Sun thanks to one of his vampire perks! That sort of helped him take a better care of his son whom he loves very much.

Generation three: Harry Owl. There is not that much I can say about him. A perfectionist like his father (Herbert), he’s blond and wears both masculine and feminine clothes like his other father (Morgyn), but this is where the comparisons end. See, in my mind he wasn’t a good person, despite having a Compassionate trait. He cared for his grandmother’s (Valentina’s) garden only because of his father’s (Herbert’s) feelings; later he shun away gardening. As a teenager, he often used to drink plasma without permission even if he wasn’t thirsty. Of course, he was also a really bad father, often berating his son for not being “good enough” or not paying attention to him at all. All Harry cared about were his paintings that he was creating in his private office. He married Miverva Charm, started living with her family, and still decided to only socialise with her. No one really knows what made him choose her.

Generation four: Nereus Owl. Born a vampire, he cured himself out of vampirism as soon as he could and later became a spellcaster. All he ever did in life was seemed like a rebellion against his father - clothes, flacking off during studies, loving gardening and shuning away painting. Well, it seemed to his father that Nereus is doing this to spite him. Despite this borderline abuse (because how abusive can Sims really be?), Nereus claims his childhood was relatively happy. Of course, he has no clue where his Erratic trait came from! Or why he grew to be a Perfectionist as well. All he knows is that having over 11 different plants in his garden is what makes him happy and that he doesn’t care if his father approves of him anymore! You could see him for the first time here. What is more, as he grew older, he found that he loves playing the violin and his wife, L. Faba, supports him in any way she can. His natural hair colour is red; thanks, grey-haired Minerva - that one bit me in the ass for next three generations.

Generation five: Elijah Tane Owl. Vegetarian like his father, he was the first one to attend Foxbury instead of Britechester. His father Nereus claimed it should be Elijah’s choice what he wants to do in life, giving Elijah freedom Nereus never really had. Elijah studied Computer Science but was a man of many talents. He was a fan of Handiness, Cooking (especially grilling), and Fitness. He often played (and sang) serenades on a keyboard for his wife, Alessandra Robles, almost maxing out his Piano skill. What made him date Alessandra was a shared Vegetarian trait. His favourite colour accent in clothing is green. He grew six strawberry plants because he wished to have a daughter (yeah, only in Sims 4 lol). There are more info about him in my previous posts as it was this generation when I started publishing my game progress, starting with this one (although my main focus was on Salem).

Generation six: Salem Owl (previously Lavender Owl). There is tons and tons of posts about her, her wife Luna Villareal (both are adults, calm down FBI), and their five daughers: Amaryllis, Wisteria, Delphini (remember this one), Hemlock, and Poppy. All you need to know about her is that she is a hard-working mother who climbed her way to the top and even higher to secure the future of her daughers. She hoped for three children and played with On the Dark Ley-Line lot trait to perhaps have some vampire offspring. Instead, she had twins (Ama and Wis) first, and then triplets (Del, Hem, and Poppy) later! She taught her daughers instruments/skills like Piano, Pipe Organ, and Violin. Once she realised Wis and Hem were vampires, she started growing three Plasma fruit trees, with time maxing out her Gardening skill. She’s on very bad terms with her grandma, L. Faba, but tries to keep in touch with her grandpa, Nereus. She has a bad reputation because of her Insensitive trait and a handful of enemies. She’s sorry for what happened between Lilith and Valentina in the past but the Vatore twins don’t mind. She’s ginger, workaholic, has spiky ears, and a lot of freckles. She’s still very good friends with Vladislaus.

Generation seven (A): Amaryllis Owl. She’s colour-coded (pink) and her clothes and room reflect that. She wrote at least 10 books, has spiky ears after her mother (Salem), and is the older daugher in the house. Eventually, she married Candy Behr. Ama’s twin sister is Wisteria and they share the same eyeliner type. Despite having a twin, her skin tone is lighter than Wis’ but the same as Hem and Poppy’s. She inherited a feminine walk from her mother (Luna). Doesn’t know much about Vampire Lore despite having vampire sisters. She loved doing everything with her twin sister. Amaryllis used to be a naturally-born/spawned hybrid of a vampire and a spellcaster but settled for the latter.

Generation seven (B): Wisteria Owl. She’s colour-coded (purple) and her room reflects that. As a vampire, she aims for a gothic look, often wearing hats and gloves to hide from the sun (with time, she turned into a heliphobe). She’s an actress and a B-Lister. She has a pet frog in her room. To reach her room, one has to walk through Ama’s room first - and they’re both okay with that. Wis is the only one to have the same skin tone as her mother (Salem) and the same nose as her other mother (Luna). Her vampiric form changes her eye colour to glowing purple. She loved goign to karaoke bars with her older twin sister Ama, which led Wis to maxing out Singing skill. As a fully fledged vampire, she decided to reach out to Herbert - they’re good friends.

Generation seven (C): Delphini Owl. Same as Amaryllis - naturally-born/spawned hybrid of a vampire and a spellcaster but settled for the latter. She’s colour-coded (dark blue) and her clothes and room reflect that. She always knew she’s going to leave the house and eventually create more Owls. She pursued the rich life and moved out to Del Sol Valley, eventually becoming a Global Superstar. She used to work in a Musician Branch but quit after time - blame the Freegan trait. She has three cats and lives with her daugher Morgan, and her [Morgan’s] husband Kaito Kaneko, and their adopted son Leven Owl (all of which I’ll talk about another time). She received a lot of awards (meeting with fans, Perfect Llama to name the few) and is very happy that her daugher lives with her. She used to romance with Flower Bunny, and then Octavia Moon - althought the initial plan was to go after Octavia’s husband, Thorne. Del often drinks but since there’s no alcoholism in Sims 4, let’s pretent she likes to stay hydrated! She owes half of her success (or namely, money for and expensive house) to her mother Salem. Loves to sunbathe!

Generation seven (D): Hemlock Owl. She’s colour-coded (white) and her clothes and room reflect that. She’s a make-up enthusiast and a little spoiled by the rich life. Also, she’s very Squeamish and Noncommittal. Despite being a vampire, she’s not interested in improving Vampire Lore skill at all. In her vampire form, her eyes change to glowing white. Her face as as many freckles as her mother’s (Salem). She’s the middle child in the triplets business and her best friend is Poppy. She used to wear glasses as a child... What more can I say? She’s living the dream!

Generation seven (E): Poppy Owl. She’s colour-coded (red) and her clothes and room (and a neon light) reflect that. The youngest daughter in the house. Wild and a Bro, she’s the perfect candidate to hang out with. She’s the only child to be born a human - which most likely makes Luna very happy. She’s a robots enthusiast - not Robotics skill but only figurines of robots. She’s a Geek so what else should we expect? She has her own TV and a stereo in her room (as well as a bubble machine). Poppy often wears her PJs around the house because they’re the comfiest. Despite being a Bro, she doesn’t really have friends beside her family. She’s the one to walk the family dog, Milk.

[erudite-rebel]

Title: Forced Offerings Summary: The recounts of Bartholomew Oobleck regarding an incident which took the lives of his parents when he was a child.  Characters: Bartholomew Oobleck, Qrow Branwen, OC’s Notes: I’m posting a bit of writing I did. A few people who follow will be familiar with my Magnus Archives AU, or at the very least have seen me spam about it and draw art for the (3) other people who I know that listen to the podcast. I’m actually very proud of this little bit of writing, though I understand not everyone would want to read it. I’m trying to get myself back into properly writing, and though this is fanfic I think getting it out there and maybe receiving feedback could help?

It’s a horror story. One I kind of want to adapt, honestly, to a Creepypasta to submit to NoSleep, but for now it can remain like this.

Warnings for body horror, gore, and guts.

“There has to be some sort of rational explanation for-”

“For someone wearing someone else’s skin like a meat suit?” Qrow’s words were calm. Somehow he was always calm. Even after all of this. 

Barty leaned against the chair, hands gripping the back of it until it was twisted and pressed against the table. He had dark bags under his eyes and was unsure of the last time he’d had a proper sleep. Every piece of him felt tired, from toes to fingertips, and he knew if he laid down there would be nothing to gain for it. Just wakefulness, watching, waiting.

“I always thought I wanted it to be real, Qrow,” he said. “All my life. Ever since the wanting to know dug its claws into my head for the first time. Even when we both should have run away after the incident. I- but now I’m here. And I really do know now, even if there’s so much more that I don’t. Hidden. Layers waiting for me to scrape away and dig down into them.”

When he looked back up Qrow’s face was near unreadable, as it always was. As though his old friend had at some point become a spy. “You can still get out, Bart. Quit. Forget.”

Barty laughed weakly. “You don’t… you don’t think I tried? I attempted to write up a letter of resignation, and it was as though the keys had transformed, like staring at some unknown machine as the cursor blinked. So I took up a pen, determined to write it, and I forgot how to write. And when I saw Ozpin I… the words. They wouldn’t be spoken. I don’t think I can quit.”

He sagged then and pulled out his chair, sitting heavily down. His head was laid in his arms, trying to think it through, but what was there to think of? To understand? He was trapped. A group of beings wearing skin suits had attempted to break into the archives. He’d looked at one of them wearing the face of a person he’d taken a statement from. Veronica Chase of Leeds.

“Everything I remembered pointed to… to the world being a very dark place, but I think I. I was too young to understand just how horrific.”

Cool fingers curled around his. Barty squeezed them on reflex, trying to convince himself not to do anything so childish as cry. There was so much going on. Too much going on. And he knew Ozpin, Qrow, perhaps some of the other assistants, he knew they knew more. And those secrets, that untold knowledge, burned like a hunger in him as much as recording statements had become. A part of him, one he didn’t yet know how loud it truly was, wanted to devour that knowledge.

Qrow’s voice broke into his thoughts. “...Have you ever spoken about it?”

Barty considered the question a moment before he lifted his head. Qrow was no longer unreadable. He was sad. Maybe angry as well. 

“I haven’t.” He’d alluded to things to Qrow, when they were young and just a few stupid, desperate children, but he’d never told the full story. Perhaps not even to the police.

Qrow nodded to the tape recorder. “Maybe now’s the time.”

“You mean give a statement?” He sounded incredulous, as though that was the last thing he ought to be doing.

The other man shrugged, but thin fingers curled a little tighter. The gesture was soothing. “Couldn’t hurt.”

Barty sat up straighter, looking at the recorder waiting for him to merely press record. It called to him. With a sigh he picked up his glasses and placed them on his face, straightening his back. Qrow’s hands retreated over the table to his lap, and the other man was silent as he slouched and stared at Barty.

The record button depressed with a satisfying click, and the gears within ground softly with their age. The sound tingled along his spine like light, tickling fingers.

“Statement of Bartholomew Oobleck, regarding a series of deaths at Eastwyke Museum of Artefacts and Antiquities in 1996. Statement taken on November 22nd, 2020. Audio recording by Bartholomew Oobleck, Head Archivist of the Beacon Institute, London.” He paused a moment, as memories returned, like he’d merely opened a door. He remembered being a young and curious boy, and the scent of dust and paper and age in the museum’s storage. It was almost as if he were there, and he knew he’d be able to tell the story down to the deepest detail, and when he began to talk he wasn’t entirely sure who he was talking to - Qrow, the tape, or himself. 

“Statement begins.”

I don’t suppose there are many people who would remember the Eastwyke Museum of Artefacts and Antiquities anymore. Or if they do, they might pretend not to. The galleries had originated from the private collection of Duke Francis Egerton, who had been the Duke of Eastwyke for perhaps a decade in the eighteen hundreds and primarily concerned himself with gathering rare and unusual antiquities. In the 1950’s several of his descendants saw fit to open it to the public, perhaps to use it to make a little money or invest. Despite that it didn’t see tourism. The patrons were mainly students from Oxford, or travelling academics. Anthropologists, archaeologists, Egyptologists… even had an entomologist come in weekly to just sit in the insect room and take it all in. No, not many people would remember it, but it was my childhood.

My parents, Pearl and Mathis Oobleck, were archaeologists. They were often abroad with work and digs. Sometimes I went with them, sometimes I stayed at home with my grandfather Tennyson, who had a little cottage on the grounds when he worked as curator. When he retired the mantle passed to my father and they were home a little more, unless going off to expand the collection. It was… a happy enough childhood. Maybe lonely sometimes, but I had an entire world of secret knowledge to explore, a library to devour and help curb my hyperactivity. I was content prowling those halls, which felt more like home to me than our cottage.

When I was nine the proprietors purchased a considerable number of artifacts from a private auction, something to do with a portion of Duke Egerton’s original collection that had made it into the hands of a branch of the royal family they’d had a rivalry with. The purchase caused quite a stir. All sorts of wild stories were told… not the least of which was that many of the artifacts there were once bought from grave robbers. I never heard the truth of it, though I suspect it was. Most private collections are just that. Stolen.

I was forbidden to go near the newest items. While it was next to impossible to keep me out of the storage rooms, I had learned early not to touch anything, and was not allowed in the room where they were held without an accompaniment to make sure I kept my hands well off. I remember standing in the middle of the room, hands stuck firm under my arms to resist the temptation to touch the pottery or old weapons. I must have looked like I had seen Father Christmas as I turned every which way trying to get a peek at it. I was a horrible annoyance, I suspect.

One part of the lot, though, I remember very well. It had been a beautifully preserved set of canopic jars. I recall being told they were from the eighteenth dynasty. They were made of black stone, each head carved with exquisite detail, the polish hanging on despite the millenia since. All over the surface of the jar were carved hieroglyphs, uncharacteristic of the usual designs. Several people believed the jars to be fake, as the material was wrong for the time, and the glyphs were unusual, but carbon dating seemed to suggest it was an immutable fact. I think there was a lot of discussion whether to open the jar and study the remains inside.

The largest advocate for their authenticity was Dr. Herbert Renshaw, a loud and corpulent man. I never knew him well. He was the sort of man who didn’t have patience for even a docile child, let alone a hyperactive boy with a million questions. He usually didn’t want me about so I didn’t hear much of them until he’d found me one day loitering near the entrance of the archive where they were being kept and he asked if I would like to come inside.

I remember finding that odd, chiefly because I knew he didn’t care for me, but also because of the look in his eyes. I was never much good at deciphering human emotions when I was younger, but even then I thought there was something of a gleam to them. I readily agreed, though, and darted inside the moment I was allowed to.

We didn’t have much in the way of conversation. He talked at length about the glyphs carved into the rock, and how they’d seemed to be in several different languages. His speech had been rapid, I remember, and I’d had difficulty following along. All the while I’d been edging closer to them, feeling captivated by the staring eyes of the figureheads atop the jars. I felt as though they were looking back at me, urging me in. 

I hadn’t even been aware of reaching for them when Dr. Renshaw’s hand slapped down hard over my own, knocking it away. Knuckles stinging, I’d turned and fled as he glared. But even now I’m not sure if I ran from the slap, the look in his eyes, or the fact that there had seemed to be radiant, physical heat from those jars. 

For the next few days I was kept busy with my homeschooling and hardly got a chance to go into the museum beyond writing a maths test in my mother's office. Whenever I was in, though, I happened to see Dr. Renshaw. Normally he was a neat and tidy sort of man, with expensive suits and his moustache waxed within an inch of its life, yet… it seemed as though he was keeping less care of himself. Hair unbrushed, buttons undone, bowtie lank or missing. And as he walked he’d mutter to himself and turn a wild sort of gaze on a person, something that made you feel less like a person and more like an object.

When I asked my mother about it she dismissed it as him being overworked and told me to concentrate harder on my studies. I tried, but the memory of the way he walked and stared wouldn’t be banished from my mind.

It was on a Monday that it truly started. I had left one of my science textbooks in my mother’s office and needed it for that day’s lesson, but it was on Monday’s the museum was closed, so I took my father’s key and let myself in the back entrance. I was hardly afraid. I knew these halls like the back of my hand.

As I was passing through one of the archives - it had been stuffy and hot with summer, without climate control - I heard an odd sound. A sort of whimpering coming from further in the dark. At first I rooted in place, wondering if I should run and get my father, too afraid to call out. When the sound came again I crept through the shelves, terrified of what I might find, when I came upon one of the librarians, Maggie Law. I’d always liked her. She let me read what I like and sometimes would sneak me toffee’s or other sweets. I’m certain she had a kind, round face, but now all I can remember is how she’d looked there in the shadows. Yellowing skin and eyes, soaked with sweat, hands clutched over her side. I remember her crying, her voice so broken and small as she said ‘he pulled it from me, he pulled it from me.’ 

I ran then, straight for my parents. It had taken them a good five minutes to get me to talk enough sense to call an ambulance. I remember watching from my window as she was taken away, staring through old warped glass at the blue lights. 

I also remember something else, though. Dr. Renshaw. His face looking out from a window at the same scene. Even though I couldn’t see him clearly, my vision what it was, I felt sick just to look at him. I felt dread.

More attacks followed. The following day the groundskeeper, Kevin Rutherford, was found dead, torch in hand. I overheard the police telling my parents he seemed like he must have had a heart attack while patrolling the grounds that night. The day after that an archaeologist named Judith Churchill was found in a state of shock in the parking lot, having finished up late that night. 

The museum closed. Everyone by that point was terrified, and the police were doing regular patrols. I was thirsty to know what was happening but my parents refused to tell me, so I’d taken to listening in on the telephone whenever someone rang. I eavesdropped on one such call and learned that Maggie Law had died. Hepatic encephalopathy, they’d said. I remember struggling an ancient medical textbook down from a shelf just to look it up. It’s a condition caused by acute liver failure.

I was in a right state after that. My parents were making sure to keep the doors locked. I remember my mother tucked me in and told me not to worry. I try to always remember that.

It was around ten pm that a knock came at the door. Unable to sleep I’d made a little tent of a blanket and was reading by torchlight when I heard it. Curious who it could be at that hour with so much going on, I crept from my bed to go to the stairs to watch the front hall. I thought perhaps it might be a policeman, that there’d be some news.

It was my father who answered the door. On the threshold stood Dr. Renshaw, and he looked haggard. Deep bags below his fever-bright eyes, cheeks almost sunken, hair a mess. I remember he had a hand tucked into his jacket. 

My father invited him in, of course. There’d been concern in his voice as he shut the door and warned him he shouldn’t be out so late with such strangeness going on. 

I remember the door swinging shut. I remember Dr. Renshaw pulling one of the jars from his jacket and noticing the eyes of Qebehsenuf, the falcon, somehow staring out from its black and smooth surface. And then Renshaw reached for my father.

Words do not feel as though they can describe. I watched as his hand seemed to sink through clothes and skin and flesh without a drop of blood. I remember my father’s face going stark white as my mother asked what was going on. And then Renshaw pulled his hand back.

It was like nothing I had yet seen. Pink, almost purplish, tubes were gripped in Renshaw’s hand. My father screamed then, falling to his knees, watching as this mass was pulled from him. There was too much even for Renshaw to hold and it slipped to the ground with a wet splat, and seemed to move like a languid snake. 

My father fell over then, as my mother screamed hysterically. All I remember clearly was Renshaw looking up at me as he held my father's intestines like fleshy ropes, letting them drag on the ground and slap his clothing. Our eyes met. They were like I had never seen before. There was something mad there, but also elation or euphoria I couldn’t understand.

I ran then, bolting for my parent's room. I remember crawling under their bed and curling up beneath the headboard, hands over my ears as I listened to my mother scream before it just… ended. I waited to hear boots upon the stairs, for Renshaw to come and stick his hand into me, but he never came. All I heard was the door swing shut.

I didn’t leave until morning when the police arrived. The maid found my parents, and the police found me. Had had to drag me from under the bed, in fact. They didn’t let me see their bodies, and the funeral was closed casket. I told the police who I’d seen but Renshaw had disappeared along with those canopic jars. Jars I worry that had gotten full on what was stolen from his coworkers.

I went to go live with my grandfather after that. There was a lot of therapy. I was pushed harder than ever into my schoolwork, and I treated it like a drug to quiet my mind. Eventually I think I half convinced myself it was a hallucination by the time I went to high school. Now I know better.

Statement ends.

[haveanotherfandomblog]

Avenger’s Preferences

How You Meet Pt. 2

A/N: Someone in my family works in the V.A. so yes, I know what I’m talking about.

Peter-

Switching schools was never something you liked. Always being the new kid and having to recreate a whole new life was always so hard and frustrating. You tried to be a lone wolf, but your bubbly and friendly personality just wouldn’t let you. So when you inevitably moved, it was always full of tears.

This time was no different. Your family had relocated to New York City for your father’s business. You were in a new school surrounded by people you didn’t know. While their faces all blurred together, you stuck out like a sore thumb. You knew everyone was staring at you as you made your way to your new locker. Once you found it, you found that it did not want to cooperate and open.

“Son of a bitch,” you mumbled, shaking the lock. You rested your head against the cool metal.

“Need some help with that?” A tall girl with dark skin, black, frizzy hair, and glasses stood a little down the way. She was leaning against another locker, her arms crossed over her chest. You stood up straight, pulling your mouth into a thin line.

“That’d be great, thanks,” you said. She pushed herself off the locker. She came over to your locker, jiggling the lock before hitting it with her elbow. It swung open with complete ease.

“These things suck,” she told you. You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Uh, no. I’m new. My name’s Y/N. Y/N L/N.” You stuck your hand out, a smile on your face. She took your hand hesitantly.

“Hey, I’m--”

“MJ!” Behind you, two boys were waving at the girl, MJ. One was on the heavier side with tan skin and dark hair. The other one was a slim, fit guy with pale skin and light brown hair.

“MJ! We’ve been looking for you,” the first guy said.

“Guys. This is Y/N. She’s new,” MJ said. “Y/N, this is Ned and Peter--a couple of losers.” You giggled, holding out your hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you guys,” you said. Ned shook your hand with a big smile. Peter gave your hand a shake, a tight-lipped smile on his face. “As wonderful as it’s been meeting you all, I should head to class. See you guys!” You skipped off down the hall, searching for your first class.

Sam-

When you had returned from Iraq, you were so happy to be home. Your family had thrown a small get-together to celebrate your safe return. Everyone was so proud of you for serving your country. Your parents had offered to let you stay with them until you found yourself a job and an apartment. With a good record, and an honorable discharge, it shouldn’t be hard.

It was two months before you landed a job as a receptionist at the V. A. Center in D.C. It wasn’t a glamorous job, but you made decent money. However, living in D.C. was expensive. Finding a place seemed almost impossible, even with a job. Luckily your parents were extremely understanding.

After about three months at the V. A., you had your job down pretty well. Most of the time you were answering calls from local and nationwide veterans. Most were nice, inquiring about certain medical options and wanting help through the transition back into normal society. Some veterans weren’t as friendly and called to complain about how the government treated them or simply to yell.

You had finished another call and were logging it when someone cleared their throat. You tapped on the board that was in front of you. You listened as the pen scratched across the paper for the visitor. Once you finished your log you glanced up.

A handsome stranger stood in front of your desk, a half-smile on his face. You smiled back, heat rising up your neck.

“Welcome to the V. A. Center, how can I help you?” you asked, fidgeting with your hands.

“I’m Sam Wilson. I have an interview in about twenty-minutes,” he told you. You nodded, sliding down a bit to the other phone. You picked it up, dialing the three numbers to your boss’ office.

“Sir, there’s a Sam Wilson here to see you,” you informed him. “Yes sir.” You slid back down to Mr. Wilson. “He’ll be here shortly, he’s finishing up a meeting.”

Mr. Wilson nodded, sitting down in one of the chairs. You tried your best to not stare, but not staring was never your strong suit. Mr. Wilson was tall, dark, and handsome, how could you not stare? He was sitting back in the chair, his ankle resting on his knee. His arm was thrown over the back of the chair as he stared down the hall.

“Can I ask you something Mr. Wilson?” you inquired, pretending to type on the computer as if you hadn’t spent the last five minutes staring at him.

“Please, Sam is fine,” he said.

“Okay, Sam, can I ask you something?” He nodded. “What branch did you serve?”

“Army,” he replied. You nodded, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“So when they do a men of the Army calendar, is it just twelve months of you?” He paused for a moment before laughing. “What? Don’t like it?” You shot him a wink, a smirk on your face.

“I like it quite a lot, actually… what’s your name?”

“Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

Bucky-

It took years and years of studying and hard work, but becoming the leading psychiatrist in dealing and helping soldiers with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSS), formerly PTSD. You never experienced it personally, but you had neighbors and friends who suffered from it growing up. You wanted to do something helpful in the world, something good, so you dedicated your life to finding ways to work through what others had experienced. Your reputation began to precede you, and that was how you were flown across the world to help one of the worst cases you’d ever seen.

The patient was a Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. He served in World War I where he was presumed KIA, Killed In Action. That was until about four years ago when he resurfaced as an assassin for an organization that was almost gone. The more you read, the wilder his story seemed to get. Reading his file, which was quite extensive, covered almost the entire flight to Wakanda.

King T’Challa stood ready to greet you when your plane landed. You bowed your head respectively, taking in the empty fields that surrounded you. He shook your hand firmly, offering you a warm smile.

“Welcome to Wakanda Dr. L/N,” he greeted.

“Thank you for having me, Your Majesty,” you said. “You have beautiful, open lands.”

“You’re much too kind. If you would follow me this way.” He held his hand out and began guiding you across one of the fields. Birds chirped above you as you made your trek over the verdant hills.

Just over the last hill was a single hut. Goats roamed around freely, munching on grass and bleating. King T’Challa gestured to the hut, staring at it solemnly.

“White Wolf lives there. He lives happily in solitude, but human interaction is important. The world says you are the best in your field. Please, help him,” the King said. You nodded your head.

“Nothing is guaranteed,” you reminded him. “My methods aren’t a one-hundred percent success, but I will do my best.”

“That is all we ask.”

You nodded one more time before resuming your walk to the small hut, this time alone. The goats were curious about you, pausing their lunch to stare at you. One particularly small one ran to you, nudging its head against your leg.

“Steve, be nice.”

A new voice caught your attention. His hair was longer and his beard was fuller, but you recognized the man as Sergeant Barnes. He stood in the doorway of the hut, staring down at the tiny goat that was now nibbling at the bottom of your pants. He wore white, traditional, Wakanda clothing. A white bandage covered the stub where his arm once was. He would have seemed peaceful were it not for the dark, solemn gaze in his eyes.

“Sergeant Barnes?” you called, bending down to pick up the goat. He looked up at you. “Sergeant Barnes my name is Dr. Y/N L/N. King T’Challa asked me to help you transition back into civilian society.” He nodded his head slowly. The goat, Steve, nestled into your chest, nibbling your shirt. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Of course,” he said, moving aside so you could enter his hut. Setting the goat down, you stepped inside the small hut. It was bare for the most part, only the necessities were present. You took a seat on a nearby chair, watching him carefully. He took a seat across from you, awkwardly shifting in his seat.

“Sergeant Barnes, I would like to preface this by saying I am here to help you, and if what we do isn’t helping, it’s okay to say that,” you said.

“Bucky.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name… it’s Bucky.” You smiled.

“It’s nice to meet you Bucky. I’m Y/N.”

Loki-

Rehabilitation, patience, and forgiveness were some of your core beliefs. You also believed that good was in everyone, no matter what bad deeds they did, no matter how lost they seemed, with the right guidance and a voice of encouragement, you truly believed that anyone could redeem themselves. Because of this firm belief, you started a rehabilitation center in your kingdom which grew into the biggest and most successful rehabilitation center in the world.

Being the princess of a small country was hard, but this success gave your country exactly what it needed--money. Which sounded worse than it actually was. The world runs on money and your people weren’t exactly millionaires, but being paid to rehabilitate both petty and hardened criminals was surprisingly a great way to make money.

So much so that King T’Challa of Wakanda, an old childhood friend of yours, asked a favor from an American aquanitice of his. Tony Stark, owner of Stark Industries and Avenger, had been asked by his fellow Avenger, Thor to seek a place for his trickster brother. You had heard all about New York in the news, but you never expected that to have an affect on your country. You weren’t so sure until Thor offered to pay in pure gold. That, you simply couldn’t refuse.

You stood on the runway, watching as the plane carrying your latest case began to touch down. The wind whipped your hair around your face, but your sunglasses protected your eyes. The wind settled once the plane came to a stop. The door opened and the first to exit was King T’Challa.

“Your Majesty,” you called. He smiled at you as he descended the stairs.

“Your Highness,” he greeted. He jogged over to you, skipping all formalities to give you a heartfelt hug. “It has been too long, old friend.”

“Much too long,” you agreed. A posse of people had followed him. Guards from Wakanda, Tony Stark, Thor, and his brother, Loki.

“Princess Y/N, this is my American acquaintance, Tony Stark.”

“Yes, Stark Industries precedes you.” He bowed to you respectfully.

“Your Highness, this is Thor and his troublesome brother Loki,” Stark said, gesturing to the two giant men beside him. Loki was bound in unique chains and had his face covered so you could only see his eyes.

“Welcome, gentlemen. We are happy to welcome you to our small corner of the world. If you all would follow me,” you said. You looped your arm through T’Challa’s, leading them to the facilities where Loki would be kept. “While your brother is a rather unique guest, we will be treating him like we treat everyone else here. Because of his abilities, he will be placed in a special room designed specifically for him.”

“How do you know it will hold Reindeer Games over here?” Stark asked, sending a pointed look to Loki. You smiled.

“I had a top engineer design it using advanced technologies that could put your entire company to shame,” you said. A smirk pulled at T’Challa’s mouth at the mention of his sister.

“You are very kind for doing this Princess Y/N,” Thor said. “I know with the right guidance, my brother will come back to who he used to be. Loki rolled his eyes at that, opting to look out the window. From the corner of your eye, you could see him staging at your reflection through the glass.

“It’s my pleasure.”

[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter Twenty-Four - Olives and Handkerchiefs

My great-grandfather was nothing if not a man of vision. Having grown up in extreme poverty, he spent his childhood days begging and stealing vegetables and fruit from other peoples’ orchards and farms so he could feed his family. His dream was to own land that would reach as far as the eye could see, and build it up with trees and animals, so food could be grown there, and no one in his family would have to starve ever again. So, when he became a man, he did everything he could to make that dream come true. Because he was too poor to go to school, he couldn’t read--only do some basic math--so he taught himself. A lonely tailor taught him his trade and provided him with enough knowledge to try and make a life for himself. He went to Oporto to work as a tailor for the elite.

My grandmother said he never stopped working for a single day, even when he was married and the father of five children: two girls and three boys. And finally, when my grandmother, the oldest of all the children, turned fifteen, he had finally saved enough to buy the land he had dreamed of. It wasn’t perhaps as grand as his ambition would have had it, but even so, vast enough so that, after it was filled with trees and animals, it could feed an entire village.

Unfortunately, my great grandfather’s dream was short-lived. Fate would have it that, while traveling to the city with his wife to buy provisions, he would lose the control of the wagon, ending his life and his wife’s at the bottom of a cliff. My grandmother was left an orphan, with four other mouths to feed, and a huge piece of land that she had no idea how to capitalize.

That didn’t stop my grandmother, though. She was desperate, and she had a determination that would be very much alive inside of her until the day she dies. Understanding that pretty much everyone in the village was barely scraping by, she offered her land to feed the small village provided she had the help necessary to feed her own family. The neighbor lands struggled to bloom due to the lack of water, so she worked her own land so the spring in her field would water all the other plantations, and, in time, she created the amazing farm she had in the present day, devoted to the production of high-grade olive oil. To that day, one week a year, there would be a large celebration on her farm, and all the villagers would help harvest her olives, thanking her for the cooperation of years ago.

It’s said my mother’s family blood makes strong women, and so far that was true. My grandmother raised an entire village on her own, my mother left the village to become a notorious therapist and researcher, and I… had been abused by a violent prick. Obviously I didn’t get the strong gene. And that made my family worry for me. Although no one ever blamed me for anything, I couldn’t help but feel like the ugly duckling. Even though I knew my family loved me to pieces, they couldn’t help but look at me with sorrow in their eyes, sad I wasn’t strong enough to fight an abusive man.

As I drove with Victor to my grandmother’s farm, I felt like things could be different now. I had finished my doctorate with the highest praise, had a good job as a researcher in a good institution, and was dating a great man. Maybe this time I could prove my worth to my grandmother, show her I was worthy of the Collaço name. The thought was as exciting as it was terrifying.

“So, garfo means fork.” Victor closed his Portuguese for Foreigners book, seeing if he had all those words memorized.

“Yes.”

“ Foca means knife.” He looked at me for approval. I laughed. He glared at me.

“ Foca means seal. The word you want is faca. ” I kept my eyes trained on the road, as I drove us to my grandmother’s farm.

“ Faca. ” He repeated. “Glass is copo.”

“It can be a glass or any kind of cup. It’s the container that is used to drink liquids. It can be paper, glass. My grandma has clay cups.” I explained.

“For the vinho.” Victor offered. “Very rustic.”

Half an hour later, we were arriving at the village my grandma lived in. It was a really small village, with only a dozen houses, a pharmacy, a supermarket, and a small church. And woods all around, luscious green as far as the eye could see.

My grandmother was already waiting for me at her door when I parked the car next to my mother’s. She was her usual self, a serious expression on her face, all dressed in black, golden Viana earrings in her ears.

“My beautiful child!” She spoke in Portuguese, opening her arms to me.

“Hello, Vó. ” I greeted, embracing her. “I brought someone for you to meet.”

“Yes, your mother told me you were bringing your foreigner boyfriend.” She frowned. “Why do you keep dating these snotty boys from the city? Look at him, so polished, he looks like a candlestick! You need a real man, with hair on his chest and some meat in the bones!”

Victor smiled, oblivious to what was being said about him.

“ Vó , be nice.” I warned her and took Victor’s hand, bring him to my grandmother. “Victor, this is my grandmother, Bia. Vó , this is Victor, my boyfriend.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Victor shook her hand, speaking in Portuguese.

“Same.” She replied, eyeing him up and down. “Come, I’ll take you to your rooms so you can change your clothes. We have work to do.”

Victor looked at me to translate what she said.

“We are taking our stuff to our room, then we’ll go olive picking.”

As we arrived in one of the rooms, with a double bed, my grandmother turned to me.

“Leave your things here. You’ll be sleeping here with Cristina.” She ordered.

“Wait, what about Victor?” I complained.

My grandmother turned to both of us, her expression stern.

“It’s very simple.” She spoke slowly in Portuguese, gesturing so Victor could understand. “Girls in one room.” She made a circle with her right hand. “Boys in the other.” She extended the index finger of her left hand. To our absolute embarrassment, she inserted the index finger in the circle and started pulling it in and out. “No funny business in my house, understood?”

Victor swallowed hard as I watched all the color draining from his face, and then returning in a bright red.

“She said-”

“No need!” Victor interrupted me. “I understood clearly.”

“You, come with me.” She pointed at Victor and raised her voice, speaking slowly. “I’m going to show you your room.”

“Vó, he just doesn’t speak Portuguese, he is not deaf.” I scolded her softly.

“You and your mother and these foreign in-laws you bring.” My grandmother shook her head. “There is nothing wrong with Portuguese men, you know.” She then turned to Victor. “Come, Stretchy. Let’s see if I can fit you in one of my beds.”

It was clear that my grandmother didn’t exactly approve of the CEO in my life, and it would take her time to accept it. Knowing my grandmother, I knew she would test and push him in any way she could, and that made my stomach turn with worry. Victor, on the other hand, looked serene and confident, completely up for the challenge. That somehow eased my mind and allowed me to enjoy my time spent with family a little bit more. Everything would be ok, I told myself. We were not alone. My parents and Josh and Cristina loved Victor, and they would vouch for him. And Victor being his extraordinary self, it was only a matter of time before she would see what a true man of value he was.

We arrived at the field filled with rows of olive trees, ready to work. We geared up with gloves and a small saw to cut some branches, and started working on the tree my parents were.

“I see you arrived safe and sound.” My mother greeted us. “Andy, teach Victor how it’s done.”

“Ok, so you take the branch from its base.” I took a branch and tighten my grip somewhat nearest to the trunk. “Then you slide to you, pulling the leaves and the olives. Just let them fall on the ground. It’s ok if you step on some, but try not too.”

“I take the leaves as well?” He furrowed his brows.

“Yes, will we separate the leaves from the olives later on, with a special sifter.” I explained. “Give it a try.”

Victor pulled the branch somewhat clumsily at first, but soon he got the hang of it. My mom smiled with pride.

“We have ourselves a picker.” She offered. “Your grandmother will be pleased when she sees this.” Insightful as always, she quickly picked the look on our faces, and turned to Victor. “Don’t worry, she’s hard at first, but she’s a softie deep inside. Reminds me of someone I know.”

I stifled a laugh.

“Ok, this one is pretty much done.” My mom took a last look at the now almost completely naked tree. “Andy, you and Victor take the next one, we take the other next to yours. Let’s make this interesting for our entrepreneur.”

“You mean a contest?” Victor smiled, pleased with the suggestion.

“That’s right.” My mother clapped the dust out of her gloves. “The first to clean the tree, wins.”

Suddenly Victor, who seemed completely out of his element before, was now completely engrossed in the olive picking task, cleaning branch after branch with amazing speed. The look on his face was a focused yet relaxed one, and I wondered for a moment if he remembered that across the ocean, miles and miles away, he was a business shark, owner of a company worth millions. Not even his clothes would differentiate him from the rest of the group. He looked like a countryman, working hard on the land, taking pleasure from harvesting its fruits. And I had to say, it suited him well.

Across the field, a group of women chanting the Portuguese well-known tune.

“Ó rama, ó que linda rama,

Ó rama da oliveira,

O meu par é o mais lindo,

Que anda aqui na roda inteira.”

Soon, everybody was singing in unison, all busy disrobing the tree branches, including my family and… me. When I finally noticed, Victor was frozen, staring at me, a loving smile on his lips. I shut up immediately, blushing.

“Don’t stop on my account. You have a beautiful voice.” He glanced at me, still smiling smugly, as he took another branch to strip it clean.

I eventually overcame my shyness and resumed my singing with the crowd. After a while, Victor was joining us too, humming the tune.

“Stretchy, I have a job for you.” I heard my grandmother talk to Victor behind me. “Are you strong?” She unceremoniously pinched his arm. Victor seemed to understand, and he nodded promptly. “Tell him to help me take the olive bags to the truck.” She asked me.

“She needs you to carry some of those bags to the truck.” I translated. “Do you mind?”

“Absolutely not.” Victor turned to my grandmother with such a ceremony I almost expected him to salute her and yell ‘Sir, yes Sir!’. Instead, he stretched his arm, motioning her to lead the way. My grandmother eyed him up and down and scoffed, walking away.

A lot of men would be deterred by this. My grandmother went out of her way to show him that despite him being a successful and rich man, she was not impressed. Part of me believed that she was making him carry those bags only to break his back and prove her point. What she didn’t know was that the man I loved was as strong-minded as she was, and wouldn’t shy away easily from a challenge. Besides, the guy worked out on a daily basis, and carried me in his arms as if I was made of air. A bag of olives was nothing to him.

I watched them go with a cocky smile on my face, when I heard someone talk to me in Portuguese.

“Is that your boyfriend?” The old woman from the village asked. “He’s very handsome!”

“Yes, he is.” I quipped, unwilling to keep that conversation going.

“He is very successful too.” My mother chimed in. “A millionaire.”

“Andrea! You won the lottery! Gorgeous, polite, rich… Oh, just look at that…” She sighed.

And I did. The heat must have had the best of him, because he took off his grey sweater, and was now wearing a white t-shirt with his dark blue chinos, his sweaty muscles visible with the strain of carrying the heavy bag on his shoulder, the t-shirt rising slightly, allowing his well-defined abs to come to view. Seeing him like that made me feel suddenly very hot… And it wasn’t the sun.

He looked my way and smiled seductively, noticing I was all flustered on his account. I smiled back, letting him know I was enjoying what I was seeing. A second later, his face fell and he looked away, his cheeks turning bright red. I looked behind me to see what he had seen, surprised with his reaction. I then noticed the group of old women behind me, all of them also flushed and sighing as they watched my boyfriend go by. I took a fallen olive branch and waved it in front of her eyes.

“Let’s get back to work, ladies! Shame on you! You are all married!” I scolded. I heard my parents cackle in the tree behind me.

“Well, we are married, not gelded!” One of them complained, walking away.

“We can’t help it if he’s so easy on the eyes! If you have it, flaunt it!” Another chimed in.

“Oh, he was flaunting it, alright…” Another sighed, waving her handkerchief to cool herself.

I felt slightly guilty for being such a hypocrite, as I turned his way again and enjoyed the wonderful view of his cute butt moving as he picked one of those heavy bags from the ground. Easy on the eyes was an understatement. That man was hot as sin, and I was looking forward to getting burned.

I was startled with the sound of my grandmother clearing her throat, a look of disapproval on her face.

“We need you in the kitchen.” She said with a grumpy voice.

“What?” I stupidly asked, still dazed with the view.

“Is the sun cooking your brain? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the girls these days! Get going!” She scolded impatiently, and I practically ran to the kitchen.

An hour later, someone rang the bell, letting the workers know it was time to place the tables outside for lunch. I smiled as I secretly watched Victor carrying some chairs, his bangs matted to his forehead with sweat. My grandmother must’ve done a number with him, but he looked happy. Point for Victor.

I started serving lunch to the people outside, lamb stew in clay bowls with a piece of cornbread on the side, and all the wine one could wish for. I watched Victor struggle with the lack of utensils, since the only thing he was given was a fork. I came to his rescue as I served the rest of the people.

“The meat is tender enough to cut with the fork, and you push the food into the fork with the bread.” I whispered behind him.

“Aren’t you coming to eat?” He turned to me.

“In a second. I need to make sure everyone is served first.” I patted his back.

“I’ll save you a seat next to me.” I heard him behind me, as I moved quickly to distribute bowls of food to everyone.

After everybody had a bowl of food, we placed the big clay pots in another table nearby, in case anyone wanted a second serving. I took some food for myself and went to sit next to Victor… Only to find my grandmother was sitting right there. Victor saw me coming and got up, so I could sit on his chair.

“Sit here, I already ate.” He offered, looking a little sad for not being able to sit with me.

“Where do you think you are going? You aren’t finished yet!” My grandmother pulled him down by his arm, speaking in Portuguese. “Marília, get another serving for Stretchy here!” She called another woman that she saw was getting up. “Got to put some meat on those bones, you are too thin!” She pinched one of Victor’s fingers, showing him how skinny it was. Victor paused, seemingly trying to understand the situation.

“Andy, sit here.” Josh, who was sitting in front of Victor, scooted to make room for me. “You don’t need to eat more if you don’t want to, Victor. Portuguese moms want to feed you until you burst.”

“It’s not much of a sacrifice.” Victor confessed. “The food is delicious.”

I sat down and started eating, observing Dona Bia and Victor. She still wore her stern expression, while Victor seemed to be in a good mood and perfectly relaxed. While she was going out of her way to show him she didn’t like him, he was dead set on winning her over. They were both stubborn mules, so I suspected we were in for quite a treat with these two.

After eating, I helped the other women clear the table and the men went to finish harvesting from the last trees. The next step would be the next day, separating the olives from the leaves, and taking them to the mill, where they would be pressed to produce olive oil.

It was already late in the afternoon when we finished washing the vast amount of dishes. My mother was already busy peeling cloves of garlic.

“Where’s Victor?” My mother asked me as I returned from the other room.

“I don’t know. Probably on some task grandma gave him.” I sighed.

“You know, we could really use him in the kitchen. He’d do this in a blink of an eye.” She showed me the garlic cloves she had yet to peel, a bored look on her face.

“He would.” I smiled, sitting close to her. “Let me help you, you’ll finish faster.”

“What are you girls talking about?” My grandmother entered the room. “You need to hurry with that, we have to season the meat with that.”

“We were saying Victor would be a great help in the kitchen.” My mother answered. “Where is he anyway?”

“Would he?” My grandmother frowned. “That would be a first. A man in the kitchen with the women.” She laughed.

“Mother, times have changed.” My mother scolded lightly. “Men can cook. And Victor is great at it. Got training with a known chef.”

“Men these days…” Grandma shook her head. “He’s with Josh cutting dead tree branches. Where he should be. Men don’t belong in the kitchen.”

I felt sorry for Victor, knowing he would be under the afternoon sun, working those sweaty muscular arms, bringing the saw back and forth. At least he wouldn’t mind the sleeping arrangements that much, he would pass out the moment his head would touch the pillow. And fortunately, dinner was coming soon. Provided we worked a bit faster.

After a while dinner was served. A vast selection of dishes, including Cozido à Portuguesa, Rojões à Minhota and Caldo Verde. As it seemed to be the rule, my grandmother was adamant in keeping Victor and I apart, so she put me on dessert duty, making the rice pudding and Aletria while they ate.

After my long journey in the kitchen, manning the stove, I was finally able to sit down and eat, chatting with the women washing the dishes. I wondered where Victor was, hopefully Josh was with him, helping him cope with all the new he was being immersed in. I was slightly worried he was hating it all, just enduring it to humor me.

“What are you still doing there?” Cristina interrupted me. “Where’s your skirt and handkerchief?”

“Crap, is it today?” I almost jumped from my chair. “Oh, nevermind, Victor is probably tired and not in the mood to dance.”

Every year, on the last Saturday of the olive harvest, the village would have a dance to celebrate the community’s spirit of mutual help and cooperation. My grandmother gladly hosted the dance, providing her huge barn for the festivities, as well as food and drink. But this dance had something special though: the men of the village would get together and pick flowers in the fields, and they would go to each house and offer those flowers to their women, who were waiting by the window, as an invitation to the dance, while they offered them perfumed Viana handkerchiefs, that they embroidered themselves. My grandmother insisted I did one myself, years ago, so I could give it to my future husband.

The tradition asked that the men wore a red waistband, and the women a skirt. I was rummaging my grandmother’s closet to see if I could find a traditional that fit me when she entered the room.

“Well, I guess it’s time I give you this.” She handed me the handkerchief I had embroidered years ago, full of flowers and a dove, and the words O nosso amor só vai acabar quando esta pomba daqui voar (Our love will only end when this dove flies away from here.).

I looked at the old woman in front of me, the stern look on her face gone. Only love in her eyes.

“You approve of him?” I smiled.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?.” She begrudgingly admitted. “Just don’t let him hurt you like the other one, do you hear me?” Her voice quivered.

I held her tight, tears spilling from my eyes.

“He won’t hurt me, Vó. ” I assured her. “He is a good man.”

My grandmother wiped a few tears from her eyes, clearing her throat. She had more in common in Victor than she would ever care to admit.

“Now go.” Her stern face was back in place. “Stretchy is waiting for you outside.”

I put on the skirt in a haste, not believing my own ears. But sure enough, as I left the room, I started hearing the guitars playing outside, and male voices singing the known song “Menina que estás à janela” (Lady by the window).

“Andrea!” My mother called, excited. “Look who’s here!”

There he was, in all his glory, and my heart stopped. Victor had changed clothes in the meantime, wearing a white shirt with black pants and the typical red band around his waist. Without a second look, he was a villager. He smiled widely at me, as I stood by the open window, stretching his arm to offer me the makeshift bouquet of wildflowers he had collected.

I ran to my room to spray my handkerchief with my perfume, the one I knew he liked best. I bolted downstairs to meet him, and without a second thought, I threw myself in his arms, my heart bursting with joy. He held me tight, a warm chuckle vibrating in his chest.

“Will you give me the honor of coming with me to the dance?” He presented the bouquet ceremoniously.

“How could I say no to such a thoughtful invitation?” I put the handkerchief in his hand, closing his fingers around it. His smile widened and he presented his arm for me to take.

As he led us to the dance, he looked at the embroidered piece of cloth I gave him, bringing it to his nose.

“It’s scented. Did you make it yourself?” He gave me a tender smile.

“A long time ago. Carefully kept to be given to someone very special.” I looked back, and saw my grandmother at the window, looking at us and smiling.

Victor pulled me to him as we walked, hugging me tight with his arm. A huge wave of happiness and affection hit me and almost made me lose my senses, drunken with his smile, and his scent, and his warmth. I didn’t know where the future would lead us, life could be so complicated sometimes, but I was certain I would never love any other man like I loved Victor. And now that he was finally letting me in, trusting me with the darkest corners of his mind, I felt that love so much more real and possible.

The name fitted him just right. He was a victor, alright. He had won my heart, and my family’s, and even managed to melt the hardest one of all. Not because he was ambitious, or cunning, or insistent. Because he had this immense light inside of him, and whenever he let it show, one couldn’t help but fall in love.

[yullen]

amelioration in yours truly

18-19th: Amelioration   » The act of relieving ills and changing for the better

AO3

The words that he had left never told to others, he wonders how, of all people, Kanda Yuu managed to spill forth from him.

He kept persisting, kept chasing, no matter how much Allen pushed him away, and when the words started to come out, they just kept pouring out like water out of a fissure from an already fragile and cracked vase.

He supposed he just never really had the opportunity. Nobody really sat down and really took the time to ask him; he’d never had the time to explain. His entire life, he spent running forward in one long, breathless sprint, never really having a moment to rest.

So naturally, he had been shocked beyond belief that Kanda Yuu, again, of all people, found the patience to do this with him.

Why?

And how?

He had a million questions. There was no way this had been the same Kanda Yuu he knew, right?

The way he had opened himself up to listen. It took Allen a second to realize he had still been holding in his breath. Even the way the man sat at his side was unbelievably elegant, giving him a look of inquisitiveness he had never seen on the other’s face.

When had he changed like this?

What made him change?

He opened his mouth to speak.

––—∞—––

The pain in his voice was audible in the pauses between memories and in the silence left behind, but this wasn’t something Kanda wasn’t already familiar with.

Past wounds and scars. Allen’s past was riddled with uncertainties, and he had to live with the dissatisfaction of not having many answers.

Allen thought it had been a miracle that Kanda didn’t simply say “Okay, enough,” or stomp off, or act like he stopped listening. He had reacted, and he had scowled and sometimes said “Idiot,” while scoffing while they bickered very briefly, but they stayed on topic until Allen was finished.

After it all, he heard a breath of exasperation. Allen almost chuckled and laughed, just a tiny breath out his nose, as he combed his hair out of his eyes with his hand, and looked upon Kanda with a fondness he didn’t even notice he had shown.

“Shit doesn’t add up,” Kanda said.

And from there, the idiots talked it over as much as the idiots could and knew how.

But at least they knew in which direction to go from there.

Towards this mysterious manor in Allen’s memories, Kanda stepped towards, and Allen smiled and followed behind in step.

“Thank you, Kanda.”

“Don’t mention it. I mean it.”

Allen laughed.

“…Ah.” Kanda remembered.

“Hm?”

“I just… remembered what I told Tiedoll.”

––—∞—––

“I mean, it’s not really all that unbelievable,” Johnny said at the bar.

“But you were listening! He just sat there! And talked to me! Properly! He hated me, remember? I mean, I think he still really dislikes me, but…” Allen trailed off as he took another sip of his drink, milk seeping onto his tongue with the pleasant mixed bitter taste of coffee.

“You should have seen him as we were looking for you. One time when he was drunk, he had been ranting off about all the things he would do to you when he found you.” Johnny propped up his coke bottle glasses. “Oh, like how he would pin you down and make you explain yourself, or how dare you do all that for him and then be such a pain to track down. Or how…” Johnny continued to explain how Kanda would do this and that.

It was super embarrassing, and Allen couldn’t help but blush a little at the wording, as he thought ‘It’s nothing,’ and didn’t read into it.

“And then the next morning, he said, ‘How dare that beansprout give me this hangover.’”

Allen lightly slammed the counter and exclaimed with reddish cheeks, “How is that my fault!”

“My point is, I think he cares a lot,” Johnny claimed making a sign like ‘Eureka!’ with his hand.

“Since… when…” Allen asked, covering his face with one hand.

Johnny shrugged, deciding not to bring up moments in the past where he and others in the Science Department decided not to say anything.

“But I’m glad you guys had a proper talk with each other. Maybe the General said something, but after that… I feel like he had grown up a bit.” Johnny took another swig of his beer and took another bite of his burger. Swallowing, he said, the look in his eyes calmer and more serious, “Ever since he came back, he also surprised me with how much he changed! It’s like he’s walking around now free of the burden of what happened back in the East Asia branch.”

“…”

“In fact, let me tell you what he said when I asked him why he came back…”

––—∞—––

“Yuu-kun, I know you’re anxious to meet up again with the Walker boy, but he will be okay on his own,” Tiedoll consoled.

“For the last time, I’m not sad I couldn’t go with him!” Kanda yelled.

About ten metres away, Marie looked up at the shout and answered it with a silent look. Even he didn’t believe Kanda.

“I’m fucking serious!” Kanda exclaimed. Then he let out a loud breath of complaint. “I’m going to seek different answers on my own. We’ll meet up on the same path. It’s just more fucking efficient this way.”

“Mhmm.”

“Stop looking at me like that,” Kanda demanded irritably.

Tiedoll simply smiled.

“You two spoke, didn’t you?” Tiedoll asked fondly.

“So what?”

“I’m proud.”

Kanda was confused at that response.

“You two are learning how to communicate with each other instead of simply arguing, my boy. That’s a step in the right direction. You’re growing into an adult.”

Kanda let out a ‘tch—’ sound through gritted teeth. “I’m already an adult!” eventually retorted, to which Tiedoll only patted him on the shoulders as if he were still fourteen.

After all, none of them had the chance to live normal lives between all the battles and missions they were assigned. While it was true they had handled horrors beyond those of adults, it had only been natural some skills would have been more stunted than others.

Tiedoll had been unable to levy such heavy chains and burdens from the young man’s back. Such chains he had locked up on his past, Kanda stubbornly refusing to budge, reflect, or remember.

The anger tore at the edges of his mind, and hatred made his soul heavy.

The reunion with Alma…

In the end, Tiedoll was simply immensely glad Kanda was finally freed from those chains.

He was thankful to Allen Walker.

Hearing his dear disciple’s continued mutters, he grinned again as he wondered what there was here between these two boys. Much had changed, from the impression he had, and he had never seen his disciple act this way with another.

“What is it, General?” Marie had asked.

“Nothing. Just mulling over our dear Yuu-kun’s spring of youth.”

Marie had a question on his face. “Is this about Allen?”

“Ah, so it’s not just me.”

––—∞—––

Sometimes, Allen would feel Kanda’s absence. It was pronounced.

More pronounced than he anticipated.

Something was building. He wasn’t sure what. He huffed the cold into his hands, looking up at the sky.

It would be okay, they were all heading towards the same goal and direction.

It was difficult for Allen to not settle into what he had accepted would be his natural state of being alone. He feels it, consciously. He can tell himself that he isn’t, but it’s difficult making himself believe it.

He grew up in solitude for much of his childhood when he wasn’t by Mana’s side, after all. And General Cross was certainly family in a way to him, but he certainly didn’t know how to raise a child. In that respect, he can’t say Cross made him feel less lonely.

And now even Cross was gone.

But his family in the Order, Lenalee, Komui, Reever and the others in the Science Department… Miranda, Marie, all of them, would be on the other side.

Sometimes when he has time to breathe, he would worry about Lavi, too. He had no idea where he was or if he was okay, he can only pray the Bookman foresaw such a situation and they were simply secretly and safely tucked away.

He heard a step, and Link was walking up to him along with Johnny. Kanda had already revealed to Allen that Link was alive. He ignored Link with an exaggerated snub, still pissed at him for letting him think he was dead. Link sighed, but smiled as Allen looked away as he remembered how Allen had initially reacted.

Johnny tapped his shoulder with a bright smile, and a gentle warmth welled up within him with his companions at his side and his comrades connected to him by the sky.

Johnny was his constant reminder of “You’re not alone, you’re not alone.” He wouldn’t dare let Allen forget it.

To say that things were difficult were an understatement.

Allen was determined not to disappear. Even so… Even so, fear crept in his shadow. It was simply natural. Tragedy pervaded his life and he didn’t want to lose anyone else. But he never wanted to stop caring, either.

At least he was glad that Link was alive, but his worries were endless.

And he wasn’t at his side. He wasn’t sure if he felt less or more safe without Kanda. On one hand, he wouldn’t hurt Kanda. On the other, Kanda was reliable and…

‘Huh?’ Allen caught himself thinking that, shaking his had and trying to stop wanting for it, wondering why he did.

Link raised his eyebrows as he observed Walker looking into the distance again, and then shaking it off, and then doing it again later throughout the day.

––—∞—––

“Are you stupid?” Lavi asked.

Surprisingly, on their journey, Lavi had turned up out of nowhere with memories missing and he had no idea how he had turned up there. Link had been heavily suspicious to the point where even Lavi didn’t trust himself.

Allen saw Link’s point, but at the very least, at least Lavi was safe. Allen’s first instinct was to run, but he couldn’t make the same mistake again. Kanda would march right back and flay him if he did after the scolding he gave him.

(Or maybe it would be fine if he did.)

(Maybe they would let Kanda come back now.)

“What?” Allen asked indignantly.

“You explained all that, and you still can’t figure out why he changed?” Lavi asked with his arms folded behind his head.

“I mean. I can understand that I helped him back during the incident with Alma, but…” Allen said as he had his hands on his nose.

“I think you know, you just want someone to reaffirm it to you.”

“…” Allen couldn’t deny it.

“It’s because of you. There, I said it.”

Allen muttered a quiet thanks.

“Wow, I still can’t believe you’re talking about the same guy. Yuu? Really? You actually managed to pull the stick out of his ass? That is so impressive! I mean. Wow, I don’t even know where to begin. He sounds like… well.”

“Hn?”

“Well, this is going to sound ridiculous, but if it really was like as you say it was, he sounds like he likes you.”

“What???” Allen asked in utter disbelief.

“Hey, listen. Don’t shoot the messenger.” Lavi put up his hands.

Allen only sputtered. He chose to believe that what Lavi meant was what he thought was more likely. “I don’t know. I don’t know if we can become friends now.”

“You know what I mean.”

Allen opened his mouth, and then blushed. “It’s definitely not like that.”

“Uhuh. Also, you told him everything, but not the rest of us?”

“I… He just asked.”

“He influenced you too. He got you to open up,” Lavi pointed out. “Tell us later too.”

Allen nodded after a moment. “Of course.”

Lavi then chattered and then continued to ask for more gossip with the Order, and asking for more information about the others, and if anyone else would know anything about where the old man was.

––—∞—––

The sky continued to change.

As Kanda looked up above, remembers the same sky he saw back then, when he first broke through to the surface.

He wondered what Allen’s side is doing. His hands grasped the first key, and he made his way back to find him again.

Under those changing clouds from far away, the light flickered in silver eyes to and back from gold.

Kanda refused to get there too late.

He chased the unending sky.

[burlesque-articulation]

Opening Note: Okay, so I’ve decided that for PeterMartin week, I’m going to write a sort of… short series in a chronological order, where for each day it’s going to follow the rough timeline that takes place in the 6 months after the Unknowing, before the start of season 4. As the days/story progresses, so while the odd relationship between Martin & Peter, because I think that’ll be fun. Plus I’ve already locked myself in on this setup, so there’s really no turning back for me. So! Without further ado…

PeterMartin Week Day One: Lighthouse // Concealment | 4.1k

It had been weeks now, since the Unknowing, that is. And Martin had found himself in a bit of a weird spot, unsure of how he was meant to carry on-- or really, if he even could. But he did know that he couldn’t continue sulking around the archives, or bumming about Jon’s hospital bed waiting for everything to just magically be okay. Yet it also wasn’t like there was much for him to do. It wasn’t like he could quit and run away. Though he doubted he would be able to do either of those things even if they were a possibility. So instead, he settled back into what he knew.

Taking, and researching, statements.

The current statement in question, had come in from someone by the name of Castor Wick, and it had led Martin some couple of hours away from London to just outside of Norwich, along the shore somewhere between Mundesley and Walcott. And that was where he found it. A small, out of the way, and rather out of place, lighthouse. There were no mentions of it on any travel guide or roadmaps, and quite frankly, he wasn’t sure it was even supposed to be real. A few kilometres to the south there was one in Happisburgh anyways, and some authority or other had already tried to get that one deactivated or something a while back. Or at least he’d read something like that on the long trip out this way.

Regardless, he was there now, standing not too far from the thing, and by all accounts, it did look pretty abandoned and rundown. Though it didn’t look like the weather had torn any of the railings off the top sections, or blown any holes in the siding; it was definitely a few decades off from being “new”. But his “source”, so to speak, relayed as much. The statement giver had grown up around this area, and according to them, the lighthouse had always been this curious oddity to themself, and their childhood friends, and so about a month ago, now that the friends had all grown up, apparently they’d all also found the gumption to break into the old place and have a peek around. 

And naturally that’s when things had gotten “weird”, as the statement giver had so eloquently put it.

But, with any luck, the statement was a hoax, and Martin wouldn’t have any troubles. After all, he’d already promised himself that if the front door to the Lighthouse didn’t budge, then he was no longer obligated to do any further research into the described phenomenon that had occurred here about a month previous. After all, it wasn’t like he had a disgruntled boss back at the office that would berate him for not doing the utmost possible. And now, somehow that thought depressed him to think it.

So he stopped thinking about it, swallowing it down and concealing it in the back of his mind as he approached the lighthouse before him. The closer he got the taller it seemed to get, and was almost picturesquely wrapped in smokey tendrils of mist coming off the water. The more he regarded the building before him, the more it resembled something out of an eerie postcard. Which figured, honestly. And as luck would have it, when he reached what had to be the front door of the place, the knob was cold against his hand and turned easily, creaking slightly as it swung open. Even still, Martin proceeded with caution, looking over his shoulder, and along both sides of the empty beach. Upon seeing no one, he steeled himself, and entered the Lighthouse. And was immediately greeted by another door.

Standing in the small entrance way, Martin allowed the first door to close quietly behind him before trying the next door, once again finding that one unlocked as  well. But unlike the first, this one opened without a sound, as if the hinges had been newly polished or something, and the age of the building from outside hadn’t yet reached the inside. As Martin stepped through the second door, he was entirely put off guard by how well-preserved the place appeared. Not a speck of dust on any of the surfaces or floor; the paint looking fresh, as if it had just gotten a new coat no more than a few days ago. There was still a musty smell in the air though, like that of an old basement, or attic, even. A place few feet ever tread, and with each step further in to the main room, the floor creaked and groaned, unable to pretend to be anything other than old and worn, despite the look of it all.

Towards the back of the main floor, he could make out a short of old kitchen area with a wood stove that seemed to branch off into what he assumed would be living quarters, but he couldn’t actually bring himself to step further in that direction; instead casting his gaze to the side and up, following the spiral metal staircase that led up towards the top of the Lighthouse. The whole building felt off, and empty in a way that something as small as it was shan’t have. “I think I hate this place.” He muttered to himself.

"Then what brings you here?"

The voice coming from beside him made him jump almost entirely out of his skin as he slammed a hand against his chest and stumbled away from a person he certainly hadn't seen since entering--

"M- Mr. Lukas?"

Peter Lukas smiled warmly, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his woollen overcoat. "Martin, hello."

"W- How did you get in here? Why are you here?"  Despite recognising the man that now stood next to him, Martin was not at all put at ease.

“Hm? Oh, I’m simply checking in, nothing to worry about.”

“Check- checking in, is it? On what exactly, Mr. Lukas?” 

The man’s eyebrows rose, as if the question surprised him. “On this place, of course. I dare say, I thought you were meant to be a researcher, Martin. This Lighthouse was built and maintained by my family. And really, Martin, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Peter?”

“At least once more,” Martin said dismissively, “So that’s why this place is all weird then, eh? Is this some... gateway to the Lonely then?”

Lukas blinked at Martin’s question. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Great.” Martin headed for the stairs, leaving Lukas behind, and distantly hoping he would stay there. He wouldn’t, but Martin could still hope. As he began to ascend the stairs, he started by counting the steps he took, uncertain as to why, but when he finally reached the top of the spiralling stairs, he'd somehow managed to lose count.

"You know it's quite rude to walk away in the middle of a conversation, Martin."

“Is that what we were having? A conversation, was it? News to me.” Martin finally turned around, unsurprised to find Lukas standing not two feet away from him. But at hearing Martin’s words, an amused little smirk crossed the man’s face. And somehow that was worse than any other possible reaction. The quiet enjoyment Lukas seemed to take from Martin's snark just didn't sit right with him. After all, normally if someone said something less than inviting, it was a clear sign that one wanted someone to piss off. And yet. “Don’t look at me like that.” Martin huffed.

“Like what, exactly?” Lukas questioned, all while still keeping the exact same expression on his face.

So Martin just ignored him, and headed towards the metal ladder that was placed across from the top of the stairs. Placing a hand gingerly against the rung at eye level, he inspected the ladder and found that, like the ground floor, it did not show its age. If anything it looked as if it had just been freshly polished or something. But at least it looked sturdy enough that he was unlikely to break anything if he attempted to climb it. So rather than continuing the ‘conversation’ with Lukas, Martin began his ascent up the ladder, towards a grate that seemed to be made out of the same metal as the ladder, but thankfully wasn’t nearly as heavy as it appeared.

"Martin?"

"Sh." He waved a hand dismissively at the man below him before focusing on pushing the grate up and then continuing his climb. As his head poked up through the hatchway, he immediately felt a cold ocean breeze against his face and rustling through his hair. The smell of saltwater and seaweed welcoming his senses as he climbed out and onto the catwalk at the top of the Lighthouse. It only took a moment of consideration before he carefully flipped the cover of the hatchway back over and into place. Then it was only after doing so that it crossed his mind that, if Lukas wanted to follow him, he probably wouldn’t have to climb up the ladder like Martin had. Still, there was a certain amount of vindictive joy that came with the action. Stretching out his back, Martin gazed around, noticing that the sparse amounts of mist that had rolled off the water seemed to have turned now into a heavy fog that clung to the shore of the beach. As Martin peered out towards the water, he found the view entirely obscured by the fog, barely able to even see the water closest to the shore. It made sense that this didn’t make him feel too great about things.

Swallowing a sigh, Martin turned to inspect the Lighthouse’s lamp instead, and ignore the growing feeling of unease in his stomach. He was probably just overreacting anyways. The lamp seemed to be a somewhat older one. Paraffin, maybe? And unlike most of the Lighthouse, it definitely looked like it hadn’t been in use for decades, or even longer. Oddly, though, was that there still seemed to be signs of when it had last been in use, a thick layer of smut coating the inside of the glass. Although, he supposed that could just be dust. Probably wasn’t though.

Exhaling a long breath, Martin eyed the hatch, deciding it was probably best to just leave now. Clearly there wasn’t anything that weird about the place, and he was pretty sure the statement giver had been drinking with their mates, and they’d come in the night, so… God, he sounded like Jon, didn’t he? Trying to come up with a witty logical reason for things rather than except that something strange might’ve happened. Lifting the grate and placing it down gently, he descended the ladder, only pausing for a moment when it crossed his mind that he probably ought to replace the hatches cover, for no other reason but that it would be polite of him to do so, really.

Back down in the Lighthouse, Martin didn’t know whether to be happy, or further unnerved, to find Lukas nowhere in sight. It was reasonable to assume that Martin’s less than hospitable attitude had convinced the man to leave, or that he’d left to inspect the ground floor instead of waiting for Martin to come back down. That’s when… that’s when Martin really started to notice things about the place. First thing was when he let go of the ladder rung, and a smear of rust came off with his hand, staining his palm with the unsavoury russet colour of unkempt metal. Then, the floor, that seemed to have accumulated a lifetime's worth of dust in the five minutes or so that he’d spent above. The walls seemed to have bent and bowed with age, warped from their many years left uncared for by the sea’s shore, and no doubt if they were to bend to the point of snapping, the framework of the Lighthouse would yield nothing but rotten, decayed wood. 

And it wasn’t that Martin hadn’t noticed this all before-- it was the fact that it hadn’t been like this before. The knot in his stomach shifted as he looked down the spiralling metal staircase. It still looked vaguely in one piece, but… with the state of decay the walls were in, he doubted the staircase was sporting any stellar amounts of support. He took a few cautious steps down the stairs, and he really didn’t love the way they creaked and groaned under foot, the occasional hollow clunk as if a nail or screw, or something, had come lose. Luckily, he still managed to make it back down to the ground floor, and the whole staircase didn’t collapse in his wake so… He was probably going to be fine, right?

“Um… Mr. Lukas? Are you still here somewhere? Because I’m, uh… I’m leaving now, y’know. Place really isn’t that strange or anything, so… I figure this was a wasted trip.” 

No answer.

“Great, yeah. Okay, bye then, creepy lighthouse.” Martin clicked his tongue as he scooted over towards the door, no longer surprised to see that it was also showing its immense age. Or that the floor was covered in debris, and the smell of must and abandonment had only grown stronger the longer he regarded the door. Which honestly tracked. But all he had to do was leave and everything would be fine, so. No big deal.

He only hesitated when he noticed the thick layer of dust that clung to the door handle, but quickly managed to just… ignore it, and he wrapped his hand around the handle and opened the door. Or tried to. It wasn’t magically locked or anything. And it hadn’t warped to the point that it was stuck in place. No, what stopped Martin from opening the door, and by extension nearly gave him a heart attack, was a large hand slamming palm first against the old wood, forcing the door to stay closed.

“I don’t suggest leaving just yet, Martin.”

Martin didn’t respond immediately. Mostly because he was trying to make sure his heart wouldn’t explode. That being said, standing statue-still and staring wide-eyed at the door in front of him probably wasn’t a good look if he wanted to pretend Lukas hadn’t just almost scared the shit out of him. “Oookay… and why is that?” He finally asked, still white-knuckling the door handle.

“Well, I would have addressed it earlier when you brought it up; the-- thing about this Lighthouse being a sort of… gateway to the Lonely wasn’t entirely off base.”

Martin nodded sharply, but made no other movement. “Right. So… are we… are we in the Lonely, right now?”

“No. The Lighthouse as it currently is, is neither here nor there. Unless of course, you decided to leave, in which case, you would certainly find yourself in the Lonely.”

Martin’s face scrunched at the revelation, and slowly, he managed to pull his hand away from the door handle and step back. “Great. That’s great, that is just… peachy.” Martin exhaled a long breath, turning around to pace in the open space available to him. “So, what? Are we stuck here now? Or is there something special we have to do so that when that door opens we’ll be back in… in the real world, or whatever?”

Lukas seemed to relax, lifting his hand from the door and shrugging slightly before speaking. “This is hardly a matter of ‘we’, as I am more than capable of coming and going from the Lonely as I please.”

Martin folded his hands, pressing his knuckles against his mouth as he took a deep breath in through his nose. “O-K, so! What do I have to do then?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that. I have certainly never been in such a situation, and neither have I ever had reason to get someone out of the Lonely.”

“Guess I just have to wait it out then, don’t I?” Martin decided, looking around the sparse room for a chair or something. Finding nothing of the sort, he went back to pacing the length of the room, back and forth. “There has to be some way to… speed it up, though, right? I mean, clearly when I first entered, I was still in- in England, or whatever. So… do I have to go back up to the top of the Lighthouse again? Retrace my steps or something? Undo whatever it is I did in the first place?”

“I believe you’re thinking of this too literally, Martin. Or rather, you’re thinking about this like an acolyte of the Eye would, which isn’t surprising, but it certainly won’t help you. I doubt you’ll find any magic clues that will reverse your situation.”

“No? Then what? I should think of it like… like you would? Takes someone who’s lonely to figure out the Lonely? God I hate that.”

“Then perhaps you ought not to have come here in the first place.”

“Yeah, a bit late for that, innit?” Martin turned to glare at the man.

And, of course, Lukas only shrugged under Martin’s ire. “What do you want from me, Martin?”

“Well, a bit of help would be appreciated, actually. Seeing as this is your… area of expertise, so to speak.”

Lukas looked considerate for a moment, head tilted to the side ever so slightly as he seemed to be weighing options. At least, that’s what his expression brought to Martin’s mind. “And what would be in it for me if I did help you?”

Now, obviously Martin’s first instinct was to just ask what Lukas wanted, and maybe bargain from there depending on what was requested. However. Martin actually brought his brain with him on this trip. “ Oh? So now you’re saying you can help me? Before you said you wouldn’t even know where to start, but now, suddenly you know what’s up, but you want something from me first? How do I know I’m not gonna end up agreeing to something, only for you to have no idea how to get us out of this, hm?”

Lukas’ brow furrowed, and he seemed to mentally go back over what Martin had said a few times before his frown only deepened. “Apologies, Martin, but I don’t follow.”

Martin took a short breath, before just being blunt. “How do I know you can actually get me out of this Lighthouse?”

“Oh. Well, I suppose you don’t, but it would also appear as though you don’t have many other viable options for a means of escape. As you said, you could simply continue to wait it out or…”

“Or I could listen to your offer.”

“Correct.”

“Hm.” Martin crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his shoulders as he considered. “And what exactly is your offer then? What’s the catch for getting you to help me out?”

“Well, as you know, I have made it clear I would like you to be my assistant at the Institute, however… unlike your former boss- that is to say, Elias- I’m not as interested in forcing people into inescapable contracts. And given what your responsibilities as my assistant would include, it would work far better if you were willing to work with me.” Martin’s shoulders tensed as the man paused. “After all, your interest in research would be an asset in what I need from you.”

Martin relaxed slightly, but he still wasn’t quite sold yet. “So… what? If you help me out of here, then I’m obligated to… consider the position as your assistant?” That sounded far too simple to be all there was to this.

“Not exactly. As things currently are, I have been having some issues with adjusting as the new director of the Institute, so rather than having your mere consideration, or fully throwing you into the position, it would be of great help if you simply… made yourself available to me when I have issues with the more… mundane day-to-day nonsense of the Institute. And when you’re ready, we can have a proper conversation about the more… esoteric demands of your position as my assistant.”

“Alright, so you help me this once, and then I spend the rest of my time helping you out here and there until I’m ready to make a full commitment?”

“Basically, yes.” 

Martin eyed the door that led out of the Lighthouse, finding himself wondering if maybe this had been some sort of grand, complicated setup. But the more he regarded Lukas, the less he was certain the man was capable of something like that. The thought still itched at the back of his mind though. “How do I know that i can’t just… walk out of here right now and find myself back in the normal world?”

Lukas sighed, but didn’t seem surprised by Martin’s question. “Naturally, you are more than welcome to open up this door and have a look for yourself, but I assure you, you won’t find England on the other side of it.”

“Well naturally. I’d just find another door, because beyond this one is a tiny little entryway.” Martin couldn’t help but point out.

“Yes, of course, but… you know exactly what I meant. But if a demonstration is what you need, then by all means.” Lukas reached a hand back towards the door handle, as he’d never actually managed to step away and had more or less just stayed in the same place throughout the whole exchange, and opened the door, letting it creak open to reveal the actual door that stood between the Martin, and what would supposedly be ‘the Lonely’. “You are more than welcome to take a peek.”

Martin took a moment to look from the door, to Lukas, and back again before making his decision. “You know what? I think I will.”

“Fine. Be my guest,” Lukas stepped to the side.

Martin eyed him as he passed by. It was only when he reached the outer door that he paused for a moment. The door handle was surprisingly warm against his palm, but like before, the door opened easily, and for a moment Martin dared to hope. But as the door opened, he was greeted with a dull grey light from outside and the sight of thick fog. Looking down, he didn’t see a worn path, but greyish water that stretched away from just outside the doorway, and eventually mingled and seemed to become one with the swirling grey mist, until telling them apart was impossible. Martin also noticed how, even as he leaned out a bit, staring into the seemingly clear depths of the water, there was no image of himself reflected back, and there was no discernible bottom beneath the calm water.

The longer he stood there with the door open, then closer the fog seemed to stretch out towards him, until it seemed to be reaching out, ready to grab him. Martin quickly pulled back, and pushed the door closed once again, leaning against it, and finally realising that he was very nearly gasping for breath, as if he hadn’t breathed since he opened the door.

“Okay, alright. So, um… I help you out with any future difficulties in regards to the day-to-day of the Institute, and you can get me the hell out of here, right?” Martin turned around, and found Lukas’ frame standing in the doorway.

“Not a fan of the Lonely I take it? Bit of surprise, I will admit.”

“Hm, no, I just… don’t really feel like a swim right now.” 

Lukas frowned, tilting his head to look at the door Martin was leaning against. “Was it high tide already?”

“You could say that, yeah.” 

“Hm. Well, we can leave whenever you’re ready, I believe. You are finished with your little investigation, yes?”

“Yup, very finished, very much done. Also I’m starting to feel like you might’ve set this all up, and while I don’t like it, I would still rather be out of here than just… left stranded, so. Yeah.”

“Martin, as I said, I’m not the sort to come up with ways of forcing people into contracts. No, this is nothing more than a bit of luck, at least on my end. Really, given how long this place has been abandoned, it’s unsurprising that its managed to find a life of its own. It’s quite interesting, actually; perhaps after I get you sorted I’ll come back here… but let us focus on one thing at a time.”

It really was too early to tell if Martin would come to regret his decision to agree to work with Lukas, even if it were just in a small part, but he was vaguely certain that this was a sort of… foot in the door scenario. And it would likely only be a matter of time before Lukas managed to completely enter, and Martin would finally have to deal with whatever nonsense the man had decided he needed Martin’s help specifically with. But one thing at a time.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @zjofierose!

Read on AO3

*****

Stiles, like most people, was five years old when his mother gave him the necklace. Dangling from the thin silver chain was a tear-shaped pendant holding a beautiful stone. It appeared to glow from within, and as his small hand wrapped around the cool gem, he imagined it was a droplet of pure moonlight encased in glass.

“Alright, my little Mischief.” His mother smiled at the look of awe on his face. “When your soulmate is near, that pendant will start to warm, becoming hotter the closer they are.”

*

Stiles fiddles with the iridescent stone hanging around his neck. The unusually warm temperature of the pendant continuously buzzes at the edge of his awareness, like an annoying insect, whispering maybe and could be. A more likely explanation is that he’s standing next to a roaring fire and feeling a nice buzz from the couple of drinks he’s had. Yeah. That’s why his pendant is warm. Not at all because his soulmate is close.

Stiles knows it’s impossible, despite what his inebriated brain wants to believe, because he knows how it will feel, had felt it once before, six years ago, as he sat at his father’s desk in the sheriff’s department. Of course, by that point, his mother had passed away and the only person he could ask about the jewelry warming his chest was his father, who was busy working. So instead, Stiles decided to wander around the bullpen.

Outside the sheriff’s office, he found a dark-haired boy, not much older than him, rubbing at his red, tear-stained cheeks. His clothes were filthy and ripped, covered in a fine layer of gray soot. As Stiles approached the boy, the warmth of the stone grew.

With his head tilted curiously, Stiles waited until the boy looked up at him. Piercing hazel eyes sent a shock through his small frame, but there was something in the vulnerable expression on the boy’s face that made Stiles’s heart ache, and though he hadn’t really shown any outward emotion since his mom died, Stiles leaned forward and wrapped his skinny arms around the boy.

A spark, like a jolt of electricity, sizzled when they touched, and as Stiles gripped him tighter, he could feel the boy’s pendant, a hot point of pressure directly over his heart.

Soulmates.

Before Stiles could say or do anything, the sheriff came out of his office with a haggard, angry-looking young man and a devastated teenage girl, who’d also been crying. The girl went straight to the older boy, almost knocking Stiles out of the way. The boy looked at Stiles and then the girl, hissing out a name. “Laura!”

The boy looked like he wanted to say something to Stiles, presumably apologize for the girl’s abrupt shove, but he was being wrapped up in a blanket and led away by the two people who’d exited the Sheriff’s office. And even though his name was called, Stiles stayed rooted in place, staring after him until the trio crossed the threshold to the lobby, venturing out of sight.

A few days later, when Stiles was cleaning, he found a file on the dining room table. Its contents reported on a house fire that claimed the lives of an entire family, save for three people: a young man named Peter Hale, his niece Laura Hale, a teenager, and Derek Hale, the boy Stiles had hugged. The boy he needed to find again because Stiles’s pendant had turned summer-warm in his presence.

But Stiles never got the chance. The three remaining members of the Hale family moved away days after the fire, and the case remained unsolved. Coincidentally, Stiles’s pendant never warmed again.

Until now.

The sights and sounds of the party assault his senses, breaking him from his reverie. His classmates talk loudly and laugh raucously. The fire, warm and bright on his face, crackles and pops, while twigs, branches, and leaves crunch beneath the feet of people as they trample through the preserve.

It’s overwhelming when combined with the memory of his soulmate being gone, leaving him before they could even get to know one another. He stumbles back and, in his haste to get away from the cacophony of noise, trips over an exposed tree root. But instead of hurtling to his death, or at least a broken bone, two strong hands grab his waist and haul him up.

Stiles’s hands fly out instinctively, gripping his savior’s biceps until his feet are planted firmly on the ground. “Thanks, du—” His words are lost because standing before him is someone Stiles never thought he’d see again. “It’s you…”

The impressive brows on the guy’s face pull down into a frown. The sharp cut of his cheekbones and jawlines create menacing shadows. Stiles would make a quip about resting murder face if not for the memory of how vulnerable this man looked so long ago, hunched in on himself as he sat waiting for his uncle and sister outside the sheriff’s office. It may have been six years, but Stiles would recognize those eyes anywhere.

Derek.

“What are you doing here? Huh? This is private property.” The words are growled harshly.

Stiles holds up his hands in self-preservation, palms out, to show he’s unarmed and harmless. “Uh, sorry, man, we didn’t know.” Shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he nods towards the rest of the partygoers at Lydia’s annual back-to-school bash.

“If you want, I can-” Stiles turns back to Derek, but he’s gone, vanishing as mysteriously as he appeared. If it weren’t for the ghost of Derek’s hands on his hips, he would have sworn he’d imagined seeing his soulmate again.

Kicking at the dirt, Stiles lets out a heavy sigh. Did Derek not recognize him? Of course not. It’s been six years, and Stiles has grown up a lot in that time. They both have. Surely Derek’s own pendant warmed in Stiles’s presence, though. Didn’t it? But that’s not even the most crucial question.

What’s he doing back?

The sounds of the party die out the further Stiles travels into the preserve. Without thinking about it, his feet take him towards the dilapidated shell of the old Hale house. The trees cast ominous shadows in the early autumn breeze, dark fingers stretching toward him in the moonlight. Stiles shivers, briskly rubbing his hands up and down his arms, smoothing away the goosebumps as he blows out a breath.

He hasn’t been out here in a while. After the Hales left and the unsolved case was filed away to gather dust, Stiles would come out and visit what was left of his soulmate’s childhood home. At first, he searched for clues–about what caused the fire or where Derek could have gone–but he was only a kid. He didn’t have the first idea of how to ‘investigate.’ Besides, everything he needed was in the file his father denied him access to.

When he got over the inability to solve the case, Stiles started visiting as a way to connect to Derek. What wasn’t destroyed by flames and soot became precious to him, from the scorched wolf figurine he found hidden under the crumbling remnants of a dresser to the half-burned copy of The Lord of the Rings. And as much as Stiles wanted to take the items, they weren’t his, so he left them in place and would continue to go out to the property whenever he could.

His visits slowed over the years. Now he only comes out when he’s sad or lonely. When he aches for his soulmate.

The pendant on Stiles’s necklace starts to warm again, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He’s being watched.

“I thought I told you to leave.” Stiles’s heart might race, but he doesn’t startle as Derek steps from the shadowy tree line.

Usually, Stiles would have a sarcastic comeback, but there’s tension in the air and he has an important question. “What are you doing back?”

Those impressive-looking brows shoot up as Derek looks at him with a scowl. “Do I know you?”

It’s hard for Stiles to distinguish between the Derek he met so long ago, the one he got to know through scavenging the bones of the Hale house, and the Derek that stands before him now. Neither version of Derek ever had a chance to get to know him. Stiles isn’t sure Derek would even want to. Why had that thought never crossed his mind? “No. I guess not.”

“You guess not.”

Crickets chirp as Stiles realizes Derek’s waiting for an answer. “Oh! Was that a question? Inflection, dude. It’s a thing. And no. I mean, you don’t know me, but I know you. Who you are at least. Derek Hale.”

The muscles in Derek’s jaw jump, and when he takes a step forward, Stiles can see his fists clenched by his sides. “Who are you? How do you know me?!”

Tumbling back with the force of Derek’s words, Stiles, who on a good day is still clumsy, trips over his own feet. His arms go flailing as he tries to catch himself, managing to land on his ass with a dull thud. He scrambles back, twigs digging into his palms, as Derek stalks forward.

“I met you once!” he yells hastily. When Derek stops in his tracks, Stiles sits up and crosses his legs. The position puts a strain on his neck as he looks up at Derek, but for some reason, maybe it’s the predatory look in Derek’s eyes, he feels the need to make himself seem smaller.

“It was the night of the fire,” Stiles continues. “At the sheriff’s station.”

Derek narrows his eyes, and Stiles can’t help but shrink at the scrutinizing look Derek gives him. His nostrils flare like he’s sniffing the air, and his features soften. “You. It was you. You gave— You gave me a hug.”

Stiles shrugs, ignoring when Derek’s eyes track his fingers as they fidget with his pendant. “You looked like you needed one. I didn’t know until after-” he waves his other hand in the direction of the ruined house- “about the fire.” He doesn’t say he’s sorry, like others probably would, somehow knowing it’s not what Derek would want.

Leaves crumble under Derek’s boots as he steps forward, and Stiles feels the heat radiating from his body as he kneels in front of him. His hand is engulfed by Derek’s as he turns it, exposing the pendant in his palm. “I lost mine.”

Tilting his head, Stiles nods for Derek to continue.

“After the fire… I don’t know how much you know about it.”

“Almost nothing,” Stiles says quickly, hoping Derek will explain.

“There are things that I can’t tell you, at least not yet.” Derek lets go of the pendant and sits back on his heels. “My sister, Laura-” he takes a breath like he’s setting up for a long story- “her soulmate didn’t— I don’t really know how to— Her soulmate didn’t care for her or our family. In fact, she hated us.”

Stiles opens his mouth to ask why, but Derek cuts him off.

“Don’t ask. It’s not something I can—”

“Okay,” Stiles hurriedly says because it’s clear Derek is uncomfortable clarifying. “It’s okay.”

“She did it. Kate. She trapped my family in the house and started the fire. I don’t have proof, which is why it remains unsolved. It’s also why we ran.”

“You and Laura. Your uncle, too, right?” Stiles glances around, fully expecting the other Hales to pop out of hiding.

“It’s just me now.”

The words are heavy, weighed down with grief, pain, and anger. Derek doesn’t need to say it, Stiles can tell from his somber tone. They’re gone. He has questions though. How? Did Kate follow them? Kill them? Where is she now?

“Why are you back?” is what he goes with, which Derek doesn’t answer.

“When we left–before we left–I took it off.” Derek gestures at the pendant Stiles is still playing with. “Tossed it. Out there.” A hand gestures at the trees surrounding them. “I was scared. Soulmates are… They’re magical, right? This person is supposed to— They’re supposed to be perfect for you. Not— Not that. Not someone who tries to kill you. I couldn’t— And yeah, you might have been a kid, but I— Not after that. Not after that.”

“I get it,” Stiles says with a heavy heart and sad smile. He’s always held onto a bit of hope when it comes to his soulmate. That one day, Derek would be back, and they’d meet and get to know each other. While he understands Derek’s reluctance when it comes to soulmates, the rejection still stings.

Swallowing thickly, he gets up and wipes the dirt from his pants. “You should talk to my dad. About the fire. He always thought there was something he was missing. If you tell him about Kate, I’m sure he’d reopen the case, figure something out that ties her to it. At least if she’s behind bars, you won’t have to keep running.”

“She’ll never hurt anyone again. I made sure of it.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat and rubs a hand through his hair. Derek looks at him, not saying anything, and Stiles has never done well with uncomfortable silences. “I guess I’ll just—” he turns to leave but doesn’t get far when a hand wraps securely around his wrist.

“No, don’t— Don’t go. Please. I—” That vulnerable look is back on Derek’s face. “I came back for— I wanted to see if I could find it. My pendant. I wanted to find you.”

“You did?”

“My uncle. He told me—” Stiles waits as Derek composes himself. “Kate was the exception. He told me I shouldn’t live my life based on what happened to Laura. I’d decided a while ago that when it was safe, I would come back.”

“For…” Stiles doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he needs to know. “For me?”

Nodding, Derek steps into his space, placing a hand on his hips. They’re almost the same height, making it easy to stare into the kaleidoscope of colors that are Derek’s eyes. “For my soulmate.”

*

One Year Later

“If I trip and fall, I’m lining my window with mountain ash…” Stiles holds his hands out, feeling for trees and branches as he walks through the preserve. The blindfold Derek gave him in the Camaro fits snug around his head, effectively blocking out his vision.

Stumbling slightly, strong hands grip his waist, and the heat of Derek’s chest against his back gives him a sense of relief. He shivers as Derek whispers in his ear, “I’ve got you, Stiles. Just a few more steps.”

Once he’s directed on where to stand, he closes his eyes like Derek instructs and reaches back to untie the blindfold. “Okay.” His fingers shake slightly as the anticipation builds. The last time Derek had been so secretive was when he sat Stiles down and told him about werewolves as if he hadn’t already figured it out. A subtle ‘wolf, Derek Hale is not.

“Ready?” He startles at Derek’s touch. Deft hands replace his own to remove the covering from his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says with a nervous laugh. “Yeah, you’re killing me here, dude.”

“So impatient…” Derek tsks before kissing the side of his head. “Open your eyes.”

He squints at first, holding a hand up to block the assault of sunlight. As he blinks, the blurred surroundings come into focus. Standing before them should be the ruins of Hale house. Instead, the once run-down building is gone. In its place is a large hole surrounded by bulldozers and backhoes. A dumpster stands nearby along with pallets of bricks.

With curiosity, he takes a step forward and peers into the crater. “What is all this?” Stiles asks.

“I called the city and got permits for demolition and rebuilding.” Stiles gasps softly and looks over his shoulder as Derek shrugs. “But we’ve still got a lot of debris to clear out.”

“I thought you were selling the land, though.”

“I know that’s what we talked about, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this is my home. Forget about four walls and a roof. I grew up here, in these woods.”

Derek strides away, his hand reaching out to touch the bark of a nearby tree. “I clawed this tree when I shifted for the first time, climbed another to sneak out at night. I miss running through the preserve during full moons. I have memories here that aren’t tarnished by that night. And I want the chance to make new ones. With you.”

Looking around, Stiles can envision it. Steps that no longer creak beneath his feet as he walks up the large wrap around porch. He can practically feel the wood grain of a new railing and smiles at the image he has of them sitting on Adirondack chairs, watching the sunset through the trees.

“You can see it right,” Derek asks, hot breath fanning over Stiles’s cheek as he steps closer. “We’ll hang pictures on the walls. You’ll toss your Mets cap on the coffee table, and I’ll leave my books everywhere.”

“And you’ll insist on a TV in the bedro—”

Derek cuts him off with a kiss. “I like watching documentaries before bed, Stiles.”

Throwing his head back, Stiles laughs and the sound echoes through the trees. “You are-” he loops his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss- “an absolutely ridiculous man. And I love you for it.”

Derek ducks his head and smiles shyly, the tips of his ears tinged pink. “I have one more surprise.”

“Another one?” Knowing Derek has plans to build a house for them is already so much more than Stiles could have ever dreamed. “Derek, you don’t have to—”

Derek pulls away as Stiles talks, reaching into his pocket to pull out a silver rope chain.

“Is this—” The oval pendant is dropped into Stiles’s palm and as he turns it over, the polished stone casts off different hues of blue, gold, and coppery-red in the light. Though he’s been told about it, he’d never seen the beautiful labradorite stone that Derek once wore, but the warmth on his palm tells him that this is Derek’s lost soulmate pendant. Tears well in his eyes as he looks up at Derek. “Where’d you—”

Stiles can’t help but lean into the touch as Derek caresses his cheek. “I found it a couple of weeks ago when I was walking with the surveyor. The stone was scratched and the clasp on the necklace broke, so I had to send it out to a jeweler to get fixed. Got it back this morning. Felt like a sign.”

Putting the chain back around Derek’s neck, Stiles hugs him tightly. He recognizes the searing jolt of electricity from so long ago that told him he found his soulmate, and he smiles brightly because this time Derek’s not going anywhere.

[blossomhcney]

( brent antonello. 34. cis male. he/him. ) in texas, thomas horne is more commonly known as tommy. they’ve been living in newton for thirty-four years and currently a florist. some say they are resentful & emotional but i’m more inclined to believe those that say they’re calm & trustworthy. if you walk by their house, you can sometimes hear river of tears by alessia cara playing from their window. ( blood stained dog tags, muddied boots, the smell of freshly cut flowers, rose thorns pricking soft skin, early mornings that lead to late nights. ) 

yes, yes. i am back again with yet another character. pls feel free to hit me up for connections with my lil love bug ! he is my fave baby atm i love him so much do not hurt him. or ...... or do. 

PINTEREST BOARD !

NAME. thomas malcolm horne. NICKNAME. tommy. AGE. thirty four. GENDER. cis male. PRONOUNS. he/him. SEXUAL ORIENTATION. homosexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. homoromantic. HOMETOWN. newton. OCCUPATION. owner of the bloom room & horne family farms.

ZODIAC. virgo. POSITIVE TRAITS. calm, trustworthy, honest. NEGATIVE TRAITS. resentful, emotional, guilty. LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english, french, spanish, arabic.

HEIGHT. 6′1 EYE COLOR. green. HAIR COLOR. brunet. TATTOOS. can be found on the pinterest board ! - with the addition of ‘aiden’ across his heart. 

QUICK INFO.

trigger warnings: pow, death, mentions of torture, mention of cancer.

thomas horne was born to mary and jacob horne on a stormy tuesday evening. he was the second born horne child, but not the last. they would go on to have three more children, growing their family steadily over the years. jacob had always joked about needing to have five children so they had somebody to pass their businesses down to when they died and whilst he was making a joke about it, he would have three children who wanted nothing to do it and two who would dedicate their lives to their family businesses. 

thomas was a shy child and he rarely left his older brother’s side, clinging him to as though his life depended on it when they went anywhere outside of their home. it took him a long time to finally become comfortable with the idea of being alone, not lonely, because he would never grow accustomed to such a feeling. he began to play alone and try to branch out and talk to the other kids at school. there was one in particular that almost seemed to take pity on him, but they became fast friends and, before he knew it, they were inseparable. they were most certainly his best friend in the whole entire world and thomas could not imagine a day without them.

upon discovering that his father had been in the army, thomas had become fascinated with the idea. the thought of helping his country and making a difference was so very attractive. he could not help the obsession as it slowly grew. looking at old pictures of his father, looking at his dog tags, listening to his stories. it was hardly thomas’ fault that he was as interested as he was, especially when his father described it the way he did. there was nothing wrong with just looking into it, right?

wrong. the second thomas began ‘looking into it’, he was hooked. he was absolutely determined to join and he longed for the satisfaction that his father had found whilst serving. his mother was reluctant to get on board with the idea, but she saw the way thomas’ face lit up each time he even mentioned going away, so how could she say no? his siblings constantly talked about how jealous they were that he was going to get out of texas, but truly, he was scared to do it. he was terrified to leave his family behind and become somebody new, somebody that he was so.. scared of meeting because what if he didn’t like them? what if he hated the person that he was to become?

eighteen came and thomas joined the army. the feeling was only to be described as elation as his father hugged him tightly and wished him all the best, his mother grasped his hands tightly and told him to write to her and call whenever he could. his siblings gave him small tokens of their affection and off he went. he felt like he had won the lottery and everything was going perfectly. his mos was translation and it was the best decision he could have made. 

just as he thought that nothing could get better, he fell in love. it was as cliche as it could be, but he slowly began to develop feelings for another on his team. finding out that he felt the same only made it better and more complicated. secrecy was something that thomas was highly skilled at for all his years of only spending time with himself, but it did not make things any easier. he wanted to be able to tell the world about the man he loved and he could hardly tell him.

he had been on patrol one night when everything turned to shit. he and aiden had spent the past few years discussing the potential of their future and thomas had been so excited to take aiden home to meet his parents because his mother would adore him. and he had absolutely every intention of following through with that. until he had been taken as a prisoner of war. not just him, the guy who was on patrol with him that evening had been taken, too. he would go on to spend the next year and a half chained up and tortured because he refused to give up information. the problem was, the information he was refusing to give up? he did not have. he watched as they killed the man he had been taken with and the only thing that got him through each agonising day was knowing that he would see aiden again. 

when he was finally rescued, they told him that there was nobody waiting for him and that he needed to go back to his hometown and not tell a soul about the experience. it took him a while to believe that aiden truly did not care, but he never came for him, so he resigned himself to the fact that he had cared more and opened himself up to heartache. and he had lost that battle. upon arriving back home, his parents were distraught at being told their son was alive after being told he had been killed in action. seeing him in the flesh was something else entirely and it took his mother an entire week to stop sleeping in the bed with him. hell, he needed that more than she did, because he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing images of the torture he had endured. 

after a while, he had been sat at home, not really doing anything and he needed to get back out there and experience life. perhaps not in the ways that he once had the joy and time for, but he needed to do something. he started helping out on the family again and helped his mother with the flower shop. he grew to love the bloom room more than he had when he was a child and he took a course to become a florist with the help of his mother. he finally felt that he had a purpose to his life again.

some months later, his mother fell ill and thomas threw himself into working at the bloom room in her absence. he was there before opening and after closing and people were beginning to associate his face with the face of the shop. when his mother died after a six month battle with cancer, she left the shop to him in her will. it was devastating, that after such a long period of her believing her son was dead, she got him back. but thomas knew that he could never have her back. she was gone and she was gone forever. 

now, he works nonstop at the bloom room and helps out at the farm most evenings and early mornings. he does nothing but work and spends what little free time he has with his family and the few cherished friends he still has. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

childhood best friend: i mean ..... this one is super cute and self explanatory, but they were the bestest friends as kids and teenagers and grew apart when he left for the army. they were the first person he came out to, they literally told each other everything and were inseparable.

first girlfriend: so, thomas had a tiny period where he thought he might be straight and this would have been the girl that sort of .... confirmed for him that he wasn’t. he was 16 at the time, so she would have been 16 or 17 at the oldest. it was not a ‘she turned him gay’ thing (which is not a thing at all but i digress), so there would be no hatred here, but we can discuss this in length. 

first boyfriend: now, this was literally right after his first girlfriend. they weren’t even technically dating, but they took his virginity and he took theirs and it was cute and they ‘dated’ right until he left for the army and he will always cherish them for giving him the experiences he felt he needed before he went off to grow up.

close friends: literally anybody that would wanna love down a lil damaged army boy who secludes himself and want to help pull him out of his shell. he’s basically gone back to his childhood ways of closing himself off so pls feel free to drag him tf out.

and uh anything else y’all want !

[sup-hoes-its-me]

With Time (Tobirama x Reader)

A/N: I'm a terrible writer, I know. Tobirama x reader bc this guy doesn't get enough love. I really love the song anxiety by blackbear so here's a one shot inspired by the vibes i get from it.

word count: 4732

Part one/Part Two/Part Three

I am a Hatake. Naturally I loved dogs, right? They were our family’s summon, our most important companions (other than our human ones), and the one true beast we trusted with our lives. You’d think I’d get along with every dog and mutt out there, regardless of breed, right?

Wrong.

There was one absolute dog that I could not stand. His name was Tobirama Senju. He was the bane of my existence.

Ever since we were children growing up together, I couldn’t stand him. I was always close with his older brother, Hashirama, or as I nicknamed him, “Hashi-kun”. We would run through the forest together, playing silly games like cops and robbers, and pretending we were explorers from a far away land. Then, when we grew of age, we started to train together in our shinobi natures. While he was the only living person known to use the Wood nature, I inherited the Lightning nature from my father.

We were raised in the Warring States period, and although most clans were at war during this time, the Hatake and Senju never had issues with each other (idk if this is even true, just go with it, fam). It was mainly us against the terrible Uchiha who threatened our lives each time we battled. When we were old enough to engage in combat, we did. That’s how our childhood was. We fought for our lives if we could use our chakra, if not we stayed at home and did what we could to support our clans.

For the most part, I was a friendly, easy going girl. I liked normal things, like eating dango and climbing trees and making friends. But for some goddamn reason I could not bring myself to like Tobirama. Frankly, I thought he was a grumpy bitch, and I didn’t want anything to do with him.

Still, Hashirama insisted that I attempt to become friends with him. After all, they were brothers, and if I was to be one of his best friends, I would need to be civil with his only surviving brother.

But it was just everything about that mug that made me want to punch him in the face. His stupid spiky gray hair that almost matched that of my clan. I hated the way he marked his face every morning with that red paint. His face protector was the ugliest, stupidest thing I’d ever laid eyes on.

And god, was he rude to me. Always had been since I first met him at six years old. Six! He was five and I was six, and he completely embarrassed me in front of my friends by telling me my lightning release was weak, and his baby brother could do better. The comment was far from necessary, and it made me fume.

Not to mention he had to be better at everything. He had to best me at Water Release, and he always one upped me when we trained. Hashirama would laugh and always congratulate both of us for our skills, but I was always shamed I couldn’t impress anyone. He always had to show off in front of his clan, my friends, even my dad.

Even my summon, Popo, had taken a liking to him after I specifically told the dog that the boy was pure evil.

To put it simply, Tobirama was my rival and a pain in my neck. I’m not sure he was fully aware of how I felt because I tried to keep things civil, but I could tell from sideways glances and scoffs that he knew something was up between us.

The first time I actually spoke to him alone, without the comforting presence of Hashirama was almost eye-opening. I was sitting in a tree, the ripe age of seventeen. It was my birthday, and I spent it alone. Ever since my father died, I spent the majority of holidays alone.

I let my feet swing below me, hanging from the thick branch. I pulled one of my knees to my chest to hug, pressing my nose to my skin to hide my face. I wouldn’t cry, but I couldn’t help but feel empty. Being isolated in this way really damages a person.

The tree I sat in was producing bright green apples, and they hung around me. They were still sour, not quite ripe yet. I could smell them, the intense scent of freshly picked apples, like the ones my mother used to bring home to bake. They reminded me of a time when my older brother ate so many sour apples because of his and got so sick to his stomach he was throwing up for two days.

Suddenly, I jumped when an apple came hurtling my way and knocking into the trunk I leant against. I cursed under my breath and glared down at the ground, looking for the culprit so I could give them a good whack on the head. Instead, I was met with someone unexpected, and most definitely unwelcome.

“What the hell, Senju?” I growled at him, picking an apple by my head and throwing it down at him with deadly accuracy. He sidestepped it though with a soft ‘tsk’ under his breath. When he said nothing for another few moments, I persisted. “Well? Do you have an issue because I’d rather not be harassed by-”

“Shut up, Y/N. I’m not here to give you a hard time,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I’m actually here to give you something.”

“Sure you are.” I rolled my eyes as I replied. He had to be pulling my leg. I mean, what would he have to give me other than a bad day and embarrassment. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited with my nose stuck in the air. He looked just as unimpressed and irritated as I did, but I could see some foreign emotion flashing through his red almond eyes. I questioned flatly, “What is it?”

He pulled a small box from his pocket, about as big as the palm of his hand and tossed it to me. I caught it in my hand and held it up to inspect it. It didn’t look dangerous, but it could have a paper bomb inside for all I knew. I pulled the box into my lap so I could glare down at him.

“Why are you giving this to me? What is it?”

“It’s just something I had lying around. Don’t think much of it, Hatake,” the boy told me gruffly before turning on his heel. Just as he made it a few steps in the other direction, he abruptly came to a stop and tilted his head forward. I wondered if he was contemplating something as he stood there with his hands strictly shoved in his pockets. I thought for a second to throw another apple at him, but decided against it. I’m so glad I didn’t.

He peered over his shoulder for a quick second before looking away again. “Happy Birthday, Y/N.”

I gaped at him as he walked away. When he was out of my sight, I looked down at the small box in my lap and narrowed my eyes. Was this really a birthday present from my rival? I took a deep breath and untied the wire holding the lid closed.

Hesitantly, I opened the lid and put it to the side. Inside the box were two absolutely beautiful shuriken. They were razor sharp, two of the best I’d ever seen. They were so new and polished that they glimmered in the sunlight. I gasped as I picked one up and held it in my hands. It was weighted perfectly and sat in my hand like it was made for me.

There was no way he just kept shuriken of this quality just sitting around. Tobirama must have bought these special for me. For my birthday. No one cared about my birthday anymore. Not even my brother who lived with his wife and family. As I held the shuriken in my hands, I let out a hitched breath.

Tobirama, you bastard.

_______________________________________

The second time I was alone with Tobirama was actually during a confrontation. Never in my entire life did I think I would defend the Senju, actually protect him from harm like I cared about him, only that’s precisely what happened when he encountered a certain Madara one day when he was in the forest training.

Tobirama had a special place he preferred to train. It was right at the edge of the forest beside the river. He was so skilled in his water jutsu and worked on this developing one. I forgot what it was called, but it involved beautiful water dragons. I watched him conjure it once while I worked on the side with Hashirama. I was completely captivated. It was beautiful, what this man had created.

I was walking through the forest with my summon by my side. He was a majestic husky with intense blue eyes and reddish-brown fur mixed into the white. I loved him like my own family, and often let just walk around with me when I was lonely. He was nice company.

He knew all about my conflicted feelings towards Tobirama. He knew how I thought that his jutsu were gorgeous, and that I’d been moved when he gifted me those shuriken for my birthday. He knew all about it. And he often teased me. It was like having an annoying older brother around, I swear.

“Are you aware that you’re leading us directly to where Tobir-” I swiftly cut Popo off before he could say anything else.

“I just wanted to visit the river today and sit on my favorite rock, Popo. I doubt he’ll be training this late, anyway.” That was a lie. I knew Tobirama would be training at this time. He trained nearly every day at six sharp, and it was a little after seven. He probably wouldn’t finish up for another hour.

I didn’t quite understand why I wanted to see him, but I was convincing myself it was just to thank him for the shuriken he gave me a week ago. That had to be it. I wasn’t going to visit Tobirama for my own satisfaction, was I?

My dog laughed to himself, but continued at my side obediently as always.

The forest was oddly tense as we approached the river where he would normally be. I could faintly make out his figure from where I was, but also there was another figure just beyond him, dressed in all black with black hair. My gut immediately told me, Uchiha, and I gasped. My hand subconsciously slipped out one of the shuriken from my pocket, clutching it tightly between my fingers as I approached on silent feet.

And as I listened in on their conversation, narrowly avoiding their range of sight behind trees and thick brushes, I realized the danger in this confrontation. I bit my lip and fiddled with my weapon, ready to pounce on Madara if needed. Strangely, I felt the need to protect Tobirama. It was like this odd burning desire in my stomach, and I desperately wished to smother the thought.

Only, my mind was on more important things.

I could barely make out what he saying at first, but finally I could hear what Tobirama was saying, and it left my heart racing. “-the only way to end this is to kill you.” He sounded so serious, his voice deep and terrifying. Although these two boys were only teenagers, barely seventeen, they were fully capable and ready to slaughter each other.

My back pressed to a tree, feeling the bark scratch my skin through the fishnets. The shaking through my hands was almost uncontrollable, and I had to steady them to keep from dropping my weapon. I was scared. I admit it. I was terrified. I didn’t want to just stand here and let Tobirama get hurt, but Madara, all of the Uchiha really, were terrifying.

“The day I allow you to raise a hand to me will be the day you die, Senju,” the other boy replied.

“So be it. We will see who really is superior.”

Then, the sound of a sword unsheathing made my head snap up and breath to suddenly inflate my lungs. The fear for myself left my body as I rushed out from behind the tree. I felt like crying as tears gathered behind my eyes. There would not be a fight to the death on this day, at this spot, if I could help it.

I threw myself between the pair. I thankfully kept myself on my feet as I gasped, gritting my teeth to keep myself from crying. I held up a hand towards Madara, as if I had a chance of keeping him from destroying me and getting to Tobirama with the snap of his fingers. My entire body was trembling so violently that I could barely keep my balance.

Tobirama was completely shocked to see me, his eyes wide and concerned. He noticed the glint of his shuriken in my hand and the tears streaming down my face. He was beginning to say something, but only my name left his lips.“Y/N-”

Madara rudely interrupted, his eyes scanning my quivering, minuscule form with amusement in his eyes. “Who is this? You’re little Hatake girlfriend? Can’t defend yourself, Tobirama,” he mocked. I glanced up at him finally, having enough courage to face him. He had no emotion in those blank black irises. Nothing. I felt another rough tremor run through my body at that.

“Please, don’t. N-Not here. Not now, M-Madara,” I whispered through my teeth. I took another step closer to Tobirama until I could feel the heat from his body. I kept my eyes on the Uchiha though. He had no right to threaten my friend like this. He had no right to cross this river where Tobirama trained and threaten to steal his life. “Tobirama, please,” I whimpered. His rough, calloused fingers touched my upper arm before wrapping around and tugging me closer to him, almost behind him in a protective stance.

His gaze was enough for the Uchiha to get the hint. It was not the time. “Fine,” he replied grimly. “Another day we will finally see who prevails.”

With those words being his last, he left into the forest.

I let out a sob, pressing my hands over my eyes to cover my pathetic tears. Why was I even crying? I wasn’t sure. Was it because of my fear, or because of my overwhelming rush of adrenaline? I felt like I was drowning in my emotions, and the only thing I could do was cry.

Tobirama sighed, brushing a few strands of my hair behind my ears. “Y/N, why did you do that?” he mumbled.

“I couldn’t just let you get hurt. I thought you might die, Tobirama!” I cried, burying my face further into my palms.

“Do you doubt my abilities?”

“Tobirama, please. I-I just couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt; even if you are strong, you can still make a mistake, you idiot!” I bawled, finally taking my hands off of my face. Before he had the time to protest, I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck and pulled him close to me, burying my snotty nose and salty eyes into his shoulder. “You dumb idiot. Are you trying to get yourself killed?” I scold him against his collarbone, my lips just barely skimming his skin.

He was awkward and tense, wrapped his arms strictly around my shoulders and patted  me on the back.

“Don’t do that again!”

“Y/N-”

I hissed against his skin and tightened my grip on his neck. “Shut up. Just promise me!” I cried. He nodded begrudgingly, but that was enough for me. I melted in his hold and kept crying until all the tears had drained from my body. And he didn’t utter another word.

___________________________________________

The third time was different. The third time I knew I felt something for Tobirama at this point that I would have never even given thought to before. I was twenty, living alone in my single room apartment. I was a weak shinobi that woke up every morning, wore nearly the same outfit,  drank the same tea from the same tea shop, saw the same faces on the street, and reported to the same hokage each morning.

But I rarely slept. My sleeping schedule ran wild and irregular. It was because I could never get him off my mind. The brother of the first Hokage, the boy who gifted me those shuriken when we were seventeen. The boy who threatened an entire clan and could probably succeed. The boy who held me when I cried and promised me things would be okay.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he smirked when someone did something stupid, or the way he rolled his eyes when his brother spoke about gambling and laughed like a complete lunatic. I couldn’t stop thinking about his face, and how he looked just right when the sun was shining in from the east. I liked the color of his hair, and that his eyes were a unique red, unlike the sharingan, but perfect for him.

His jutsus were outstanding, and his speed rivalled that of no other. He was amazing.

I was entranced by Tobirama Senju, and no one was to know. Not even my best friend, Hashirama. Definitely not him. He would no doubt attempt to meddle and ruin everything. He would be ecstatic and tell me that his plan or whatever worked out, that he was jumping for joy that his best friend was interested in his little brother.

The mere thought of that man’s reaction made me want to be sick.

I’m not sure why I suddenly had this infatuation with the light haired warrior. I wanted I drown out those thoughts, but they kept coming back. I could barely keep my composure when we were working together. He was so handsome, and each time we touched I felt jolts go up and down my arms. Not only was it embarrassing, but incredibly frustrating. I couldn’t get my work done properly with him around.

The only one to know about my feelings was, of course, Popo.

‘Y/N, I’ve known since you were five years old that you were interested in that Senju boy,’ Popo would tell me as if he really knew this would happen all along. He would say,  ‘Although, he doesn’t seem like the dating type, and is quite cold, I believe that you two have history and chemistry to work through the dents.’

And I always scoffed. I did not want to pursue a relationship with him. He was still the annoying Senju I’ve always known, only now he’s grown up and isn’t as rude and ugly anymore. He might even be helpful and attractive...at times. That’s all I’m saying.

Anyway, after the village was created and Hashirama took place as Hokage, he was quick to let me take the place as his personal assistant, which basically meant I just helped him with paperwork and advised him on some important issues facing Konoha. Tobirama was also there to make decisions. We all worked together to keep the village afloat and developing.

I sat beside the long-haired man’s desk with Popo sitting by my side, his head resting in my lap. I stroked his fur softly with my free hand as I filled out paperwork with the other. Hashirama drank tea and scanned over his lotto tickets from earlier that week. He was quite the gambler, and he’d even passed the trait onto his granddaughter, Tsunade. Cute little girl, I tell you, but god was she stubborn.

I took a break from the work to sip at my own green tea, my eyes sliding from the work to my friend. He caught my gaze and grinned. “Y/N, you really don’t have to fill that out if you don’t want to. It’s my job after all.”

“It’s fine. Gives me something to do.”

“Or we could just talk, like old times! What do you say?! It’s been weeks since we had a long, fun conversation, don’t you think, Hatake?” he asked with a chuckle. I nodded, a smile growing on my lips as well. I set down my tea and placed my pen into the ink pot.

“How’s life? Treating you well?”

I nodded, wondering why he was asking. He saw me everyday, and asked the same question each morning, and then after lunch. “I mean, yeah. I don’t have anything to complain about,” I replied, trying to come up with something other than “fine” or “good” like usual.

“Any suitors yet? I know you’ve been single for a long time.”

“Hashi-kun, you know me. Lonely as always. None of the other shinobi catch my eye,” I lied through my teeth. And as always, my cheeks turned a bit red. They always did when I was thinking about Tobirama. When he mentioned suitors, I hated that my mind immediately went to him. “Well, there might be one person, but it’s not plausible.”

He quirked a brow, and I noticed the bright smile growing on his face fill with mischief. I guess this is why he’s my best friend. “Oh? Care to share?”

“Not particularly. I don’t want to get your hopes up,” I laughed, but it was obviously to cover up my nervousness. He noticed.

“Ah, I see. Well, if you need help, I’m all ears, and I can be quite the matchmaker.”

We talked about some other stuff, like his family and my dogs, especially Popo, who remained asleep in my lap for the conversation. The door finally swung open an hour or so later after the sun had begun to set and our tea run cold. Without a knock or anything, the door creaked open and in entered Tobirama in his casual clothes, forehead protector nowhere to be seen. That was my favorite time to stare at his face, as weird as that is. He just looked so...manly. Kinda...well, hot! He was hot as fuck with his hair falling down and his face clear.

He froze when he noticed me sitting at the desk with his brother and my summon. Eyes scanned my form, and I felt myself shift under his gaze. “Tobi,” I hummed the sweet nickname I adopted about a year or two before.

Tobirama rolled his eyes at my nickname, still not used to the casualness behind it. His hand went to rub the back of his neck. “Y/N, I didn’t know you were here.” He averted his gaze from me to the floor.

I noticed when he walked it that he looked clean and rid of sweat and dirt. He must not have trained today, or a least not at the usual time. He maintained that evening practice long into his adulthood. “I thought you would be training. Normally you’re out until eight or so working on your new jutsu,” I said.

“I decided to relax today.”

Satisfied, I smiled up at him and clapped my hands together.“That’s great. You deserve a break, you know. After all, you work so hard during the day trying to bring peace to Konoha and all.” It felt awkward: what I saying, praising him this way, the way he was looking at me as if I was the only one in the room that mattered.

Hashirama noticed the air between us, smugly crossing his arms across his chest and flicking his gaze between us. I gaped at him like a fish and quickly ducked my head, burying my face in my dog’s fur. He stirred from his slumber, but didn’t move, only sighed.

“I hope your conversation wasn’t too important-”

“Nope. We were actually just discussing you.”

I bit my lip, trying not to explode. What the hell were you doing, Hashirama? I screamed in my head. If he exposed me, I would kill him. Godlike shinobi or not, I would actually murder him.

Thankfully, Tobirama said nothing.

“What did you need, brother?”

“Tsunade was calling for you. She wishes you read her a story before bed,” he muttered sheepishly, a phrase I never thought I would use when talking about the man. Sheepish. He was the most blunt, brute man that I knew. Hashirama laughed as he stood from his desk, nodding his head.

He really adored his kin. I admired that about him. He had so many children and grandchildren, no wonder he was such a happy man. I peeked up from Popo’s fur to see my friend leaving the room. He waved to me and saved me a wink for when he was shutting the door. Dammit, Hashi. Like I thought, he was a meddling bastard.

“Y/N, how are you this evening?”

I bit my lip and looked to the side, not daring to look in his crimson eyes. My heart would no doubt skip a beat.

“I’m good, I guess. Just a lot of paperwork,” I told him softly, just barely below my normal speaking voice. He nodded firmly, and suddenly I couldn’t handle the tension between us. If possible, you could cut this tension with a knife. It was awkward and tense, and I could feel my pulse in my chest with every anxious, confused breath.

I stood from my place at the desk and brushed down my skirt, straightening my top as well. He scanned my form; I could feel it from the corner of my eye. I placed the files and papers in a neat pile on the desk, threw the pen in the bucket, and patted Popo on the back, as a signal we were about to leave.

He raised a non-existent brow at me, judging me with that dog logic of his.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, well, Hashirama is gone, and I don’t have any more work tonight so-”

“Right, right. I won’t keep you,” he agreed, his voice lacking his normal confidence. He seemed tired, or even disappointed. Yet, I was too distracted with my own feelings to take much notice. “It was...nice speaking with you.”

I tried to gaze up at him, a small, lopsided smile on my lips. But his face was just too much for me to handle. I loved the way his lip was curved up in a weird grimace, almost a smile but almost a cringe. He looked hilarious. I liked the way his eyes stared out the window as if he felt nervous. He held his head high, chin in the air, but he looked so timid at the same time. He was completely adorable.

No doubt my cheeks were red as I turned my head down once again. “It was nice seeing you too, Tobi-kun.” My voice, as light as a feather sighed. I started to walk to the door and had my hand on the knob when my dog grabbed at my sleeve, making me pause if only for a split second.

But that second was enough.

“Y/N.”

Swiftly, I peered over my shoulder at him. The strange urgency in his tone made me take a second guess. I wasn’t sure how either of us were feeling in that moment. His emotions were hard to read that night. I felt like I was staring at a puzzle, an impossible one.

“Yes?”

“It’s nothing. I don’t know why I called your name. Carry on, Hatake.” My heart broke when he called me by my surname for the first time in years. Once again, I turned around and grabbed the doorknob, only this time I pushed the door open and left the room.

Popo sighed loudly as he trotted by my side down the long corridor. “You are a fool, Y/N. An absolutely foolish little girl.” And I couldn’t say anything back. I knew he was right.

[otomeonfleek]

Request: Sick w/ Eisuke Ichinomiya

anonymous asked:

i have a request, can you write about eisuke having an affair behind mc's back but little did he know mc knew it all along. Mc didn't leave or confront him because she wants to keep her promise that eisuke makes her which is to never leave his side.But everything changes when mc was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Mc left him without telling the true reason why she left. Eisuke regretting his actions try searching for mc but maybe a little too late?? ( the stick around fic was hella good!)

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Ahhh I made a fairly long fic again. It seems that I am incapable of making short ones lol. I hope you enjoy this and I apologize if it isn’t what you had in mind! Btw, there isn’t any proper dialogue until the very end as I wanted to focus on building up to it. 

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Is there any right way to tell someone that you’re dying? You can recite it, make drafts, practice in the mirror, and it still is something neither is ready to hear. 

In your youth, you’ve envisioned a million ways your life could go. Tucked in the arms of a man that loves you in a white dress, moving into a beautiful house that you’ll spend months decorating to make it feel like home, having a darling child or two, and then spoiling your own grandchildren. That was the plan-not this. 

You stood bare in front of the bathroom mirror, burning the image into your mind of the nasty purple splotches peppering your arms, the thinning limp hair, and the gaunt hollows of your cheeks. 

It had been weeks since you found out the technical terms of what was wrong with you. The fact that a few syllables stringed together could ruin you made you bitter. Perhaps a reason why you were especially vulnerable to the negative thoughts running through was because of a certain someone. 

Lately, you were ensnared in a continuous battle of what hurt more-the sickness or the lies. As cliche as it was, one was tearing at your body and the other your actual soul. You almost felt that knowing the truth crippled you the worst. It made you passive and proved how willing you were to look the other way because of the hold he had on you. 

No, it wasn’t his money or power that kept you trailing behind him. It was worse-you stuck around because you loved him with every fiber of your being. Through the disappointments, the arguments that strained both your throats raw, the dates long-forgotten, and the supposed business calls- you were stuck in a love he considered routine. 

Regardless of whether it was his personality or his social class, he was the one calling the shots and jerking your feelings around. Knowing that you were the one that let him take advantage of you furthered how repulsed you were at the sight staring back in the mirror. Yes, the form in its bruised flesh and skeletal-figure horrified you, but you hated the person more for allowing this to continue for so long. 

It took you a while to piece it together. The first incident that caught your eye was the night of your fifth anniversary. You scrambled to finish your shift early, then spent hours fixing your appearance and nicked the price tag of a new dress that strained your budget. 

That entire week, your colleagues and friends teased you on how giddy you were. Years into the relationship and you still felt your heart flutter for the man. 

You found yourself an hour early in the penthouse and eagerly waiting for your partner to arrive. The restaurant was Michelin worthy and kept a stunning view of the city below. It was a place you had long raved about and that he had secretly made note of in that emotionally awkward way of his. 

Before you knew it, three hours has passed and you had already blowed his phone up with texts to no avail. You were a combination of concerned and furious, but knowing his background, you felt with your luck that maybe he had been kidnapped. 

Burning holes in the tiling, you had been found by the other bidders that seemed especially disturbed that you were still in the penthouse sans hotel magnate partner on the evening of your anniversary . 

You brushed them off and made an excuse of how you understood he was a busy man, but felt odd on how Soryu seemed to avoid your stare. From his nervous tic of painfully rubbing the back of his neck to his downcast eyes, something was surely eating at him. Had you not been so disappointed with the night’s turn of events, you would have approached him. If you had, maybe things would have turned out better. 

Nearly one in the morning with you curled up on a love-seat and half-asleep did your date finally arrive. You were too exhausted and emotionally-drained to respond when he gently picked you up. Cradling you in his arms, he carried you to your shared bedroom. 

You recall him softly apologizing and then making up for his absence by spending the remainder of the night entangled in another’s arms. Nothing else was strange except for the faint scent of lavender you remembered. From then on, you would smell lavender every few weeks until a hatred of the plant festered in you. 

The instance that shook your world was when you woke up in the middle of the night with murmuring faint in the other room. You crept past and felt your heart drop to your stomach when you heard his familiar baritone utter lewd phrases meant for another. 

There had to be some mistake. It was a bad dream. Perhaps, he just needed to sweet-talk someone for another shady deal. 

You had been together for years through thick and thin from attempted assassinations to blackmail and petty arguments. Promises to stay together for the long run and countless actions proving your trust in another-no, this could not be happening. 

The next morning, you kissed him on the lips as you usually did and carried on with your life. It was the cowardice and desperation inside that prevented you from confronting him and risk the life you had made together. 

You knew it was unhealthy and violated every one of your values to think that maybe if you kept your mouth shut, if you continued to play the role of the perfect girlfriend that he would marry you. The two of you could still be happy together and that he would soon tire of the other woman. 

Now as you stare in the mirror and dissect every freckle and insecurity you have harbored for the past year, you know you can’t go on. 

The young girl with an honesty like no other still exists in you, dying shell and all. With that, you make the decision to disappear. You feel bittersweet when it’s Soryu that helps you get away. 

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

Sitting on a lone park bench, you don’t react when he comes to sit beside you. You keep your eyes forward with your thin lips pressed in a tight line and wait. 

“...” The silence drags on for several moments as the chill of autumn breezes past. With a slight childhood-like innocence, you note that you can see your breath. 

He shifts and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees before burying his face in his hands. The way he holds himself is so different from the Eisuke Ichinomiya the public knows. There is no confidence and the way his shoulders are hunched over makes him seem smaller. His designer and neatly pressed purple dress-shirt and suit is replaced with a quiet black sweater. 

For how well you are holding up, you nearly flinch when you hear him speak after going without the sound for months. “...It wasn’t easy...finding you. I was surprised.” 

Rather than wasting your breath to entertain his version of small-talk, you keep silent and focus on a grand tree with reddening branches. It would be lovely to paint it. 

“I thought I knew you better than anyone else,” He slowly rose and cocked his head to catch your eye. 

The piercing and calculating sepia was vacant, and now seemed more exhausted than anything. His features were always finely chiseled, but the hollows of his cheeks seemed sickly. In your mind, you laughed bitterly at how you were supposed to be the dying one yet his haggard appearance challenged yours. 

With a rather heavy exhale, he continued, “I once thought I could see right through you and read everything about you. I was wrong.” His tone was low and each word carried its individual weight. 

You used whatever remaining strength and furled your thin digits into fists, trying to fight back the trembles as your throat tightened. 

“I could do anything, say anything, and know that you would still be there. I could hurt you-I did hurt you, and you stayed.” The brunette male pursed his lips and glanced away with a pained expression. 

You finally gathered the bits of resentment and hurt that festered in you to air it out. “I...I really believed in you. I convinced myself that if I stuck it out that...You would forget the other woman and that we would be okay. We could just continue on, we would get married, and we would be fine.” Mustering the nerve, you properly jutted your shoulders to face him head-on and stunned him with the severity of your eyes. 

“Do you know how twisted that is-to think like that? I was so in love with you that I made myself sick,” you spat out the words with such venom that he nearly reeled back. 

Forcing a bitter laugh out, you gritted your teeth, “Now look at me! I really am sick.” Mockingly, you gestured to your frame and picked at the sweaters that swallowed your thin frame whole. 

He remained still, finally getting a proper glimpse into your perspective after all this time. Chest raising heavily, your ex-lover tried, “I can get you help. There’s a hospital in-” 

“Stop. If I really wanted, don’t you think I could have asked Soryu or any of the others?” You sent him a bitter smile, your eyes twinkling humorlessly. Oh, how the tables have turned. You were like a stonewall with cool features while he was fumbling around. 

“(Y/N), you don’t want to die. You’re not throwing your life away because of something shitty I did. I can help-” The words died in his mouth when you raised your hand to signal that he stop again. 

“I’m not throwing my life away. I just want to do things at my own pace now.” This time, your smile was much less cruel as you considered what that meant to you. You pulled at the collar of your woolen coat, noting how stiff your fingers felt from the frigid air. 

The fury and passion that was the Tres Spades King seemed to ignite as he straightened in his seat to bark out, “At your own pace? You can’t think like that and take your damned time!! This isn’t a game-you are dying!!” 

You shook your head, almost feeling oddly comforted to see him in his usual raging spirits. “You’re not listening. I spent years living at your pace, trailing after you, doing what you want. Now I want to live as I like.” 

The words seemed to finally hit him and you decided to provide that extra security for him. “I’m actually getting better. It doesn’t seem like it now, but I feel it.” 

Several long moments passed as your own (e/c) gazed into his, trying to convey every frustrated and hopeful emotion that was surging through you. 

This was your life now. 

It wouldn’t have the white dress, the giddy laughter of children running through a home that you’ve built, or the adoring spouse. Your plans had changed and your priorities altered to fit this reality. It would be one likely without Eisuke Ichinomiya and that knowledge made your heart crumble once more as you forced a smile towards him.

Being with him had been painful. 

Learning to be without him as you healed would be painful. 

The realization that you could no longer smell lavender on him was painful. 

This was your life now.   

[kitsoa]

Fic: A Measure of Gratitude

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Genre: Gen

Word Count: 4309

Characters: Sora, Riku

Relationship: Sora & Riku (mainly platonic but its free real estate)

Summary: [Post KH2][Pre-DDD] It was a childish ambition of his, accomplished in seconds. Perhaps the way he got there cheapened the moment, but it couldn’t change the beauty of the view. This was his home.

Sora reflects on his homecoming.

The air splashed around like a thick hot soup. Hungry gasps for oxygen took in the humidity with native ease while arms pumped through the foliage of green and sneakers slapped the wet stone at a constant beat. The run was joined with the ceaseless screams of cicadas and the scampering rustle of a startled animal.

The island was built around a massive and dormant volcano. Upon its dark soil sprung violently rich greenery. Trees of impressive heights, coiling vines along fallen trunks, moss blooming along jagged cliff sides, wet ravines that spilled water from a nearby ocean channel in loud splatters. The expanse of the main island was covered in a forest known fondly by the youth of the town. The primary hiking trail was exhausted in its familiarity, only holding captive the spirit at the base of the volcano’s sharp incline by a sloppily pinned strip of bright yellow ribbon blocking entry to Uwami Point.

It was almost laughable really. Closed in a moment of crisis roughly 20 years ago, the lone, pathetic string of tape was mainly symbolic of the very few hard laws in the land, relying on the trust of islander fellowship to enforce the idea that Uwami Point could kill as it had done before. It didn’t stop the more adventurous children until resulting consequences satisfied them to play exclusively at a lonely island across a small surf of ocean.

It was a schoolyard dare, a right of passage for unruly teens, a thrilling challenge to a wide-eyed child looking to prove himself. So the act of jumping over the blockade was not unheard of. Not for many Islanders and certainly not for Sora.

The impact of his shoes on the rock was momentary as the young teen immediately broke back into his run. He launched himself among the step stones of a winding creek, sweeping under low hanging branches, arranged in a manner both familiar and entirely new—like someone shifted the couch over by two inches. His focus was as intense as his breathing, eyes darting miles ahead of his next step to take the vault across the stump that wasn’t there 2 years before, and dodging the drop where he broke his wrist when he was nine. All the while the incline grew steep and the smell of the ocean took back dominance over the dirt and green.

The trees started to thin as the rocks climbed to the sky and what was the once the expert movements of a boy at home became something else entirely. He kicked off the wall of stone and parried himself off another in a way that looked like flying. Sora flipped along the small footholds, finding greater purchase on the larger ledges only to launch himself higher, sometimes scampering his shoes straight up a vertical incline to catch a distance lip.

The entire time his blood pumped, eyes elated and sparkling with what was a childhood dream falling—or in this case climbing— into his lap. The moment captured his body into a captivated physical trance, his focus equally pacified and humming with electrifying precision. Beneath that, wells of something greater, more mysterious, and limitless bubbled with the joy. It joined his coiled muscles as he rocketed along the impossible trail of Uwami Point.

The massive leaves of a tropical bush indicated the return of green and Sora grabbed its stalk for one final pull up. There were few trees upon the more level walkways of the mountain but the path winded across vertigo-inducing altitude. Sora rose to his feet, taking several steps toward the clearing on the rocks, the air salty and active. It was a like a different world, the clouds so much closer, his eyes consuming the entire expanse of the forest surrounding the town— the size of a dinner plate from his vantage point. His feet stopped at the massive drop into a sea of trees.

“Wow.” He breathed, unable to contain his wonder. Here was his home, his small world nestled in a nook of island foliage and blue sea, in a form he never before dreamed he’d see. Sora let the temptation to reach his hand out toward the coastal settlement take over, his gloves obscuring the homes, his fingers worming along the dirt streets, every single denizen in his palm. The school was near his pinky, the younger students milling about like ants while at recess. Several ships were finding the port with trade from the island neighbors. His small home settled on the edge of town by a coast of soft white sand curled under his thumb. If he squinted, the mayor’s mansion was in sight by the town square. Face flush with excitement, Sora thought of showing Riku this view. He wondered what he’d say.

And then, in the distance, he spotted the lush little Play Island. The special islet stood out like a beacon surrounded by the blue. Even so, it was still an unsuspecting location for his world’s heart. Just knowing that gave the place a warm glow that was amplified by the fond memories upon those shores. The compulsion to lay on its sun-soaked beach was far too real for the mountain scaling teen.

With a wry grin, Sora fell into the easy analytics of judging if a glide-induced jump from this height would result in an early nap across the stretch of water. Confidence started to swell with a change in the wind pattern, whipping his hair into his eyes which were skirting across the town in a last minute search for witnesses. He took a couple steps back to prep his running start.

His muscles fired him into a leaping sprint when a voice emerged out of the quiet nature around him.

“You will definitely get spotted if you try that.”

Sora squawked as he tried to stop, his momentum launched out of control. And in a comical attempt to stop himself, the boy’s arms flailed wildly while his sneakers slid to the edge of the cliffside until finally, Sora fell off.

“Sora!”

Riku, the unsuspecting visitor to what was actually an impossible trail to follow, stumbled forward in a jerk of protective reflexes, reaching down the cliff toward his falling friend to no avail.

“Oh thanks, Riku.”  He heard the eye roll in Sora’s voice and took in the sight of his friend falling slowly through the air, a magical glide easing him to the next available ledge, arms crossed in a sour mood.

“Did anything hit you?” Riku couldn’t contain the guilty worry in his voice. He clenched the ledged while his friend descended.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Sora insisted, feet touching the ground on a small lip along the cliffside. “Just gimme a second and I’ll give you some payback.”

A second was all he needed to scale back up in two easy leaps. Riku couldn’t rise to his feet in time to avoid Sora’s vengeful tackle on the way up, complete with a gurgly yell.

“Wah? SORA!” He spluttered as a face full of Sora was now on top of him, pushing his shoulders to the ground. A mischievous grin was on his mouth as he pressed his forearms into Riku’s face with a series of sloppy knuckle slaps to his head.

“Way to screw up my plan Riku!” Sora laughed while the older boy knocked his hands away in a light swipe. He then used his long legs to pin Sora’s ankles in a show of resistance.

“Oh, you’ll thank me later,” Riku responded, attempting an easy tone with difficulty amidst the wrestling match. He swept his feet to the side, knocking Sora off balance and into humorous crumpled of limbs. Riku took his chance and went after the boy’s mess of brown hair, rustling it into an even greater mess.

“Hey!” Sora protested grabbing at his pant leg in a childish way as Riku got to his feet. His posture tensed.

“No no don’t.” He said as Sora released his pant leg with a cocked eyebrow. Riku heaved a sigh, scratching has his face with an embarrassed gaze. “I can't let my uniform rip.”

And that’s when Sora took full note of his friend’s attire, blue plaid dress pants and a now dirt scuffed short sleeve uniform polo fit with a plaid tie. The Destiny High School summer uniform.

“Why aren’t you in class?”

Riku swallowed a laugh in a choked huff. “Why aren’t you?”

Sora shrunk back in a spell of insecurity. He grabbed at his feet as he adjusted himself into a sitting position. He was still in his adventuring clothes, complete with the clanking buckles and rattling pockets full of keychains and accessories. He scratched at his head.

“Ah, you know.” He laughed with a furtive hesitation in his eye. “I wasn’t really feeling it today, that’s all...”

Riku crossed his arms, clearly contemplating something in the silence of his piercing eyes. He took in a breath… and then sighed it away in defeat.

“I’m not really one to talk.”  Riku pulled a hand through his bangs, clearing his vision before the wind swept it back into his eyes. Sora felt the tension in his neck relax. “The moment I realized you were skipping, I headed out after you. Talk about an opportunist.”

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

Riku hummed thoughtfully, taking a moment to crouch down to Sora’s seated level and kick his feet out. “You were staring at Uwami Point yesterday. I had a feeling you wanted to give it a spin with your new abilities.”

“And yet you stopped the biggest test of said abilities.”

“Hey, as impressive as your ability to glide is, don’t think for a second you won’t get spotted by the entire town trying to take a short cut to the Play Island. We have to—”

“Maintain the world border. Don’t worry, Donald never let me forget.”

“‘Border?’ ”

“Sorry— ‘order.’ ”

“You’ve clearly committed that to memory.”

Sora made an exaggerated pout. “It’s not easy lying to everyone.”

His exaggeration hid greater stress and Sora had to swallow down a sudden string of tension in his throat at a creeping memory from only days before. A reunion so basic; the family friends rushing to their home as news of Sora and Riku’s return rippled across the town like the igniting lamps at nightfall. He remembered Hana, the wife of his father’s employer, in her misleading scowl and heavy glare, yielding to a twinkling joy on verge of tears, crushing him in a hug and pawing his shoulders and face for signs of some kind of harm. Questions spilled from her mouth that would echo later from neighbors of a more casual bond. Where had he been? What had caused his absence? Was he okay?

He didn’t blame them for their overbearing reactions. He even indulged in the euphoric atmosphere of their presence. Old bonds in his heart leaped. Childish selfishness basked in an attention he had gluttoned for in his younger days. And as joy curled his lips, a blush rose to his cheeks and brought a similar twinkle to his eye— looming clunch on his jaw skewed his face awkward. His neck grew tight and a pressure seeped through his chest.

When the swell of shock and elation died out, and all that was left between them was that empty air of unanswered questions and great expectations, there was the seizing dismay in her eyes. It was a confusion so unrelated and undeserving while she and many others in the following days would realize that they had come to harbor a worry that would never find burial.

And wasn’t that worry just another form of darkness?

Riku’s face was lax, his mouth a hard to read line. “True.”

Sora shook his head of the memory, choosing instead to cling on the more present good. The beautiful horizon lent a hand in that.

“Oh, but secrets can be fun too! How many people do you think have ever successfully climbed Uwami Point?” As if to exclaim his point, Sora outstretched his arms to present the impressive view of the town.

Riku hummed. “If the stories are true, I can only imagine a small number have even tried.”

'Stories’— meaning cautionary tales and ‘tried’—meaning ‘failed.'

“Yep… Everything looks so different from up here.”

“It certainly provides… an interesting perspective.”

The kind of perspective a restless child could have used to cure his island fever. A spin on the small sameness of a sea-locked paradise that could easily inspire and regrow weary appreciation for home… But it was a perspective nearly impossible to gain without first stepping foot outside. Redundant, the view of the town could just as easily summate the limits of their world.

The thought was sobering. The memories of reckless horseplay on the island and schemes of adventure on the beach gave a sleepy warmth in Sora’s head. It felt a little like swimming, staring out at home. Weightless, free, and comforting. The memories of loving smiles from shopkeepers on the square, or his father’s crew, to the diligent teachers at the school— he imagined they were all within his vantage point from this distance. But in the same way, it felt a little muffled. Unreal and distorted as though the winds from this mountaintop were waves and those smiles were trying to talk to him from the surface when all he could only see was their sun dazzled shadows through the water and all he could hear were their warped voices in the bubbles.

“Are you happy to be back Riku?”

The question caught Riku off guard, Sora’s expression was mellow and perhaps nostalgic—not an ounce of unspoken context or prying. Just an honest reflection. Their home behind his heartfelt gaze, the sun as ever faithfully crawling through the sky, the question seemed silly.

“Yeah.” And his words were sure. It didn’t really matter if rumors flew in unsavory ways, or if the townsfolk would never completely understand the people they were growing into.  Even if there was a foundation of truth in the furtive glances, and that horrifying storm— now a bad memory— was a result of his weakness… the idea of standing on this earth had been resigned so many times in the past year that Riku couldn’t fathom regret. At least not at that moment. Sora just made things easy.

“What about you?” He shot back. What of this open heart could words really convey? There was something so islander about an exchange of easy pleasantries, if this could be considered that.

“Oh sure.”

A silly question indeed.

And it was like they were on those dark shores again, yearning for the slight breeze to smell the same while letting it settled slowly that they were never going to view their sea again. If Sora hadn’t been there. If he had been alone, grounded on that suffocating land, Riku imagined he would have wept endlessly on that black sand. He would have gone from being blind to the wealth he already had, to truly destitute. A real island prison as opposed to his naively manufactured one.

But Sora’s eyes flickered, that sobered feeling from earlier swelling around his vision while he took in his friend. Déjà vu. That water swarmed around Riku and he felt the urge to reach out to him against a swallowing current. At least… he was below the surface with him. It gave him the strength to lay the feeling on the table.

“But you know. I think I’m a little nervous.” The surprising words had that characteristic Sora pep. It was the sort of certainty that spoke of his refusal to dwell and brood, or at least fight in the face of it.

“Nervous? Of what?” Unlike Riku, Sora’s never resented his home. Any guilt around his heart from here would have to have been born from some contrived sense of failed responsibility and as far as he could tell— Sora was nothing but victorious.

Sora slowly let his gaze fall away from the town, focusing at his feet, upon the shoes that trodden on lands beyond the wildest imagination.

“Not a day went by when I didn’t think of home… I just wanted to find you and Kairi and let everything go back to normal... “ He cocked his head in some mixture of nostalgia and amusement.

“But ever since we got back… I’m starting to wonder if normal’s even possible anymore.”

Sora wasn’t sure normal was the word. Maybe it was ‘same’? But that forced him to recognize the feeling as unyielding change. A transformation instead of a slightly skewed picture frame.

Sora‘s voice was gentle, almost lost to the wind in his bout of insecurity. Riku exhaled through his nose, not taking his eyes off the sad smile on his friend. There was a flare of guilt in his gut he refused to let fester. If only he had realized what he had. If only he hadn’t uprooted their world and destroyed any sense of the word normal. If only—

“You think you’ve changed?”

Sora crossed his arms with a more befitting pout of consideration as he rolled the summation.

“Yes? I mean something’s different. I feel different.”

“You’ve grown,” Riku corrected and Sora felt an uncontrolled swell of pride from a younger side of himself, desperate for his older friend’s recognition, now suddenly dished out without fanfare. He laughed it away with a dry bark.

“I’m taller.”

“And you can climb Uwami Point in seconds flat.” And the weight of such a benign fact was reluctantly recognized, but promptly ignored.

“That doesn’t matter.” He pushed Riku’s example away with his hand, bemusement in his eye. It did matter. It was indicative of his new abilities, of his responsibilities and purpose. It was the highest point in their world. The limit.

“Does ‘normal’ even matter?” Riku asked, but in his head, he screamed ‘ of course it matters.' The attempt at devil’s advocate to fight Sora’s woes was a purpose he could rally behind though. It settled him into a familiar position; giving sage advice he wasn’t entirely sure of like the older kid on the Play Island he was used to being.

“Not exactly…” Sora admitted. “But it probably does for everyone else.”

Riku paused, the spell of concern resonating and tugging at his own heart. It didn’t take long for the rumors to reach them. While their return was miraculous and welcome, the lack of answers to their great mystery simmered a world of fables. How long until they tainted the hearts of their beloved islanders? How long until the weakest of connections withered when Sora’s love included everyone? Would it spread like poison? What would that lead to?

“I know what you mean,” Riku said after a moment, doing his best to fight the spiraling void of dark possibilities. Alas, it brought him to a spot of resonance. A memory from just that morning, interrupting Kairi’s pre-class conversation with her classmates to inquire about Sora and the stares from the underclassmen that ensued. People unsure of what to think. Perceptions once gilded in admiration and familiarity now boggled in the foreign sight that was Riku himself. Otherness. Guilt. It was like playing with fire and blisters calloused along his skin.

Riku didn’t know how to put that into words.

“But hey,” He continued, finally knocking Sora out of his thoughts and catching his drifting gaze with a tilt of his head. “I guess we just have to keep it a secret the best we can. Just you, me, and Kairi.”

They were the people Sora’s heart chose. Woven into the foundation of all he felt, they were his pillars. As long as they stood beside him, he would be okay. That image of swimming felt a little more grounded, in his hands were the solid palms of resonating company and it coursed through him like liquid courage. The steadfast eyes of his longest friend reassured him. He was not alone.

Sora nodded sharply, encouraged. “You’re right.”

“That’s more like the Sora I know.” A wry smile teased Riku’s mouth. A shock of perspective— one of less macrocosmic levels— jolted Sora with a trill of self-conscious anxiety at his words. He blinked back beside himself.

“Ah… uh… Sorry?” He offered. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t being ‘me’...”

Riku waved the concern away with a laugh. “Don’t think about it too hard, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Hey!” Sora jutted his jaw forward for show and Riku had to hold it together with a bemused smile.

“Why don’t you go to class tomorrow? We can bring things to normal together.” Riku offered after a kind silence.

He shifted his weight and brought himself onto his feet as Sora pursed his lips, giving the only school building on the island a long and pointed glance.

“Come on Sora. United front?”

He may cox his friend with ease, but stepping into the constricting uniform was a herculean task in and of itself. He could truly sympathize with Sora’s reluctance with striking clarity. Even so, Riku's efforts seemed fruitful.

“Only if you let me glide to the Play Island after nightfall.” Sora mirrored Riku, rising to his feet with a sly grin on his face, troubles far away. He began walking toward the edge of the perimeter he arrived from, intending to jump.

Riku gave a scoff. “You’ll have to carry me with you.”

“No way! You’re too heavy!”

“I’m offended.”

“How are you gonna get down without scuffing up your uniform?” Sora asked pointedly, peering over the edge to find potential footholds for his friend to ease down the cliff. Riku, in a moment of concern, glanced at his uniform pants, patting away some dirt collected from when he was sitting.

“I guess I didn’t think that far.”

Sora took a step back in yet another jumping prep, a self-important laugh. “Then it looks like you’re actually are getting that lift.” And that’s when Sora stepped on a loose stone, bringing his attention to the earth beneath his feet.

“Hey, Riku… come over here.”

“I was joking,” Riku said turning around from the cliffside only to noticed Sora‘s distracted focus. He drew closer, following his friend’s curiosity as he crouched himself toward the stone.

“What do you know... We aren’t the first ones up here.” Riku mused as Sora brushed away loose dirt from the sloppy engraving. It appeared to be old but was deep enough to have survived years of erosion. Whoever wrote the message did so with passion. Sora imagined if someone were to have scaled this cliff —without superhuman abilities— they would’ve easily had the drive to inspire a trophy of this simplicity. The message itself was the confusing part.

“‘Another, ’” Sora read aloud. “Another what?”

This was the highest point in all of Destiny Islands. There wasn’t ‘another.’

Riku failed to respond, something dark sobering his gaze. “That’s kind of sad.” He said after a pause.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Sora was attempting to search for more inscriptions on the rock but failing.

Riku took his time to brush his thumb over the message, the jagged engraving seemed artistic at first glance, but closer inspection showed more sloppy desperation in the lines. “Whoever climbed up here chose not to write their name… they probably weren’t very proud of themselves.”

And to write something as greedy as 'another.' There was little context in those lines, but something about its location was chilling. Sure... the view was beautiful, the feat was validating, the notoriety was immortalizing, but what more could someone from this small world expect?

“Oh…” Sora knitted his eyebrows together in concerned thought. “That’s… not right…”

Who wouldn’t feel proud of themselves? Sora and Riku technically cheated themselves from the pride… but the spoils of the view, the nostalgic dream-come-true was too sweet to not appreciate. But this mystery person, who most likely scaled this mountain with their hands, facing the dangerous winds and stretched out footholds… they didn’t even tell anyone to warrant an island legend… assuming that they got back down alive. Sora almost choked on that sinking thought. It made him feel wrong, almost dirty. In those moments, the air clung to his skin weird, like he didn’t really belong. Nothing stirred more fear in his heart.

“Or their name is actually ‘Another.’” Riku offered after a silence.

Sora choked, but this time on a bursting laugh. “Now that’s sad.”

“I’m just picturing a cranky mother naming her fifth kid ‘Another’ out of frustration or something.”

Sora threw his head back. “I’d probably climb a mountain too if my mom was that disappointed in me.”

“You’ve done more than that and your mom’s a saint Sora.”

Sora smiled, impossibly bright. “I’m actually really happy we weren’t the first up here.”

It made him feel closer to the ground, but he didn’t know how to say that out loud.

Riku hummed in agreement. Sora took in the town as he rose to his feet one final time. This was home. It was small, but plenty. This was enough.

When they returned to level ground, Sora and Riku took a boat out to the Play Island. They stretched the long afternoon in the dark cave of the Secret Place, holding a handful of conjured fire to newly made engravings of their own, sloppily scratched on the precious blank stone. They tested their imagination and art skills on the walls, making up stories about a mysterious ungrateful mountain climber and later showing Kairi in fits of laughter. She scolded them for skipping class before drawing an artistically superior sequel.

And when night fell they saw the stars shimmering from the cave openings. Backs flat on the wet stone floor, they got another, equally impressive view of their world.

[q-is-a-letter]

Prologue

So... this doesn’t have a real title yet. But it will next chapter!

Short summary: “Human” au where Genji’s a weredragon, Zenyatta’s a telekinetic. After being separated in childhood under mysterious circumstances, the two best friends unexpectedly reunite in college. This time with 100% more “being a disappointment to their families”. And they definitely don’t start crushing on each other. Definitely.

I don’t write very often, so this is a bit different than what I’m used to doing!

The young Shimada sat slouched in the seat outside the principal’s office, arms crossed, pouting over being punished for his latest 10-year-old crimes. He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth, or at least the few that had grown in. Perhaps losing his dull baby teeth to be replaced with sharp adult ones shouldn’t have been such a big deal to him, but it was another sign he was starting to grow into a weredragon. He already knew that would be the power he’d have, since the gene ran in his family, but his powers starting to manifest was no less exciting. Someday, he would be old enough to shift into his dragon form entirely. Then he could soar into the skies and dazzle people with shiny scales and cause even more havoc than he already did as a tiny humanoid. He had recently gotten the ability to breathe small puffs of fire, which of course he had already taken advantage of.

Which led to his current situation. Waiting for the principal’s assistant to call his name. This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten in trouble, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. Not when everything fun also happened to be everything that got him punished.

He drummed his fingers on his knees, looking around for anything to occupy his attention. There was another kid waiting--one of the last people he expected to see here. He didn’t know the kid’s name, but he knew his reputation. Or rather, lack thereof. While the kid certainly wasn’t the teacher’s pet type or the high and mighty Star Student, the teachers did like him. He was quiet, got good grades, and didn’t stir up any trouble. He was kind and genuine with nearly everyone, he must have had plenty of friends. Though he was never seen hanging out with anyone.

Now, he was sitting up straight in his wheelchair, nervously pulling on the sleeve of his yellow shirt that was much too big on his lanky frame. The dragon had never paid much attention to this kid, what with how shy he was, but now he could occupy his time with getting to know him. He always was a social one.

“Yo,” he muttered as he leaned back and put his hands behind his head. The other kid turned to look at him and he took note of how piercing blue his eyes were, especially in contrast with his darker skin. They would have been intimidating were it not for being paired with a genuine smile and bouncy, curly black hair.

“Hello!” he answered in a voice that was surprisingly cheery for how nervous he looked.

“Why are you here?”

The dragon’s blunt question seemed to take him a back for a moment, but the smile soon returned, though now more of a smirk. “I got bored during a test… so I made everybody’s papers float all around.”

The dragon looked at him for a second then snorted. “You can move things with your mind?”

The kid gave a grin that was as sweet and innocent as his reputation, but with something impish hidden just beneath the surface. He pushed his hair off of his forehead to reveal nine faint dots. A telekinetic. People had told the dragon about that type. That they were frighteningly powerful, and some could even control people’s minds. The dragon always asked why everyone seemed so scared of them, but always got the same infuriating answer. “You’ll learn when you’re older.” But everyone would still tell him to stay away from their kind. Good thing he never did as he was told.

“Cool…” the dragon breathed, grinning.

The telekinetic seemed to bask in the compliment as his hand returned to his lap. “Why are you here?”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair in what he hoped was a cool, casual way. “Set the teacher’s desk on fire.” He blew a small puff of fire for emphasis.

The telekinetic stared wide eyed for a moment before bursting into snorting, ungraceful laughter. The dragon glanced over at him with a crooked, boyish grin. His overly relaxed façade become more genuine as he made the other kid laugh.

“Why?” he asked, leaning towards the dragon a little. There was an unmistakable sparkle in his blue eyes that spelled mischief and danger.

“I just wanted to,” he said. And lied. He wasn’t about to say the real reason was to get out of the fact that he didn’t do his homework. Not when he just found out that one of the most hard working students in the school was actually cool.

Before their conversation could continue, the principal’s assistant opened the door and grumbled in her voice that showed her age more than the wrinkles, “Zenyatta.”

The telekinetic nervously started to wheel towards the office. The dragon almost felt bad for him, with how he was biting his lip with his eyes glued to his lap. Normally, he would have laughed at someone being so nervous about something so mundane to him. But something about Zenyatta intrigued him, and he couldn’t bring himself to.

“Hey… Zenyatta?” He spoke up without fully meaning to. All eyes were suddenly on him and his usual bravado was nowhere to be found. Still, if he was anything it was stubborn. “Do you wanna hang out at recess tomorrow?”

Zenyatta smiled and sat up a little taller. “Sure!”

The principal’s assistant narrowed her eyes and looked from one child to the other. As Zenyatta wheeled into the office, the dragon overheard her say, “Be careful who you make friends with, Zenyatta. That girl is a bad influence.” The dragon took it as a compliment and grinned ear to ear.

The next day on the playground, for better or for worse, the two hit it off. The young dragon found Zenyatta sitting under a tree letting a caterpillar he’d befriended crawl on his hand. He noted the fact that Zenyatta’s wheelchair was next to him, without him in it. Always a showoff, he decided to get Zenyatta’s attention by swinging upside down in front of him with his legs hooked around a branch.

“Oh hi!” Zenyatta jumped, clearly a little surprised. The dragon took pride in being able to successfully use his Cool Ninja Skills.

“Yo!” He let go of the branch, hoping to impress his new friend further by doing a cool flip and sticking the landing. But quickly realized his mistake as he crash unceremoniously to the ground, sticks and leaves tumbling with him. His pride was too hurt by his failed trick to realize he’d instead succeeded in making Zenyatta laugh. The little dragon grumbled and sat up as he brushed leaves and dirt out of his hair.

“What’re you doing over here all alone?” he asked, glancing back at the crowded playground behind them. Zenyatta shrugged in response.

“I like being by myself. Other kids think I’m kinda weird anyway… so I make new friends!” He proudly held out the caterpillar. The other examined it then looked back up at Zenyatta.

“Why do you wanna be by yourself all the time?”

Zenyatta looked over his shoulder at the loud, busy playground behind him, then turned back to watch the caterpillar on his hand. “People are stressful.”

The dragon paused for a moment then let out a loud, snorting laugh. “I don’t understand you. But you’re kinda cool.” With that, he sat down hard next to Zenyatta, stirring up dirt around them.

It started as the dragon hounding Zenyatta with questions, “What’s it like moving things with your mind?” “How do you go up and down stairs in a wheelchair?” “How’d those dots get on your head?” All of which Zenyatta answered patiently. But eventually this turned into something closer to an actual conversation.

It was all rather easy going until Zenyatta asked the dragon what his name is. He knew it was inevitable, but he, as always, decided not to think about.

“Oh my uh… my name!” He looked sheepish for just a moment before regaining his confidence. “I just go by a bunch of nicknames. My real name is stupid.”

Zenyatta giggled. “Well then what name do I call you?”

He thought for a moment before a devious grin spread across his face.

“Sparrow!” he announced proudly, crossing his arms.

“Sparrow? That’s a cool nickname! Where’d you get it?”

“My family,” he shrugged, “they say it’s cause I’m ‘small and weak’,” he raised his voice to a high mocking tone, with air quotes for extra emphasis, “but if I use it for myself, I can make it mean whatever I want!”

Zenyatta chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so! You’re funny.” Sparrow beamed at the compliment. “So what does it mean for you?”

Sparrow paused again before admitting, “I dunno. Something cool!” He punched his palm.

They continued talking for the rest of recess about tv shows, teachers they didn’t like, families. Though neither seemed too willing to share much about the latter. Sparrow, as a diversion from that topic, decided to show off some of his coolest tricks such as Look How Fast I Can Climb Up The Spiral Thing or Watch Me Jump To The Furthest Monkey Bar I Can Reach. Zenyatta cheered, and laughed at Sparrow’s cheesy poses, and decided not to mention the incident the whole school heard about. When Sparrow sprained his wrist trying to break his monkey bar jumping record.

The two became fast friends, to the grief of all their teachers. If Sparrow was trouble before, it was doubled by the fact that he now had a telekinetic accomplice. And Zenyatta, always the quiet and obedient student, began to show a more rebellious side. Though that’s not to say their friendship was entirely negative. Zenyatta knew when to reel Sparrow in when he was about to take their pranks too far, and was probably one of his few genuine friends who saw him as more than the hilarious class clown. And, in turn, Sparrow helped Zenyatta feel a little less lonely. While he was still far from popular, and probably didn’t have all that many friends, the fact that he talked to anyone was a surprise. While he stayed towards the top of his class grade wise, he was no longer the straight A student he used to be. If you asked his teachers, Sparrow was the worst thing that ever happened to him. If you asked Zenyatta, he would give a very different story.

And so they remained friends for the rest of the school year. They spent as much time together as they could without Sparrow introducing his family to his new best friend. And when his friend moved away suddenly and mysteriously just before the summer, Sparrow was inconsolable, and, to his family, near intolerable.