#but gold is missing and silver is desperately trying to hide why he’s here to look for her

[florsial]

Based on @deathnguts's post

"WEALTHY HEIR TO THE ROSIER FAMILY FOUND CHEATING?"

His lips open slightly to mumble over the words. Trying hard to suppress the edge of his mouth from twitching up. He traces the words on the edge of his phone as his eyes take in the photograph's details.

Evan and Barty leaving an expensive restaurant, he would know, he's been there, hand in hand. It's a little blurry but there was no mistaking the blond hair and expensive suit next to Barty's dyed hair and silver jewelry.

That reminds him, he has an idea.

A smile spreads across his face as he runs his fingers through dyed hair. The weight of silver jewelry against his bare neck, slowly warming from the body heat. Barty tucks his face deeper into Regulus' neck, shallow breaths ghosting on pale skin. He knows Barty isn't asleep, the way his hand rubs circles into Regulus' waist under his shirt. The slight turn of Barty's head in the crook of his neck. The smile that appears when he's comfortable.

His finger pinches the skin of Barty's shoulder, a teasing smile on his face, "Get up, love."

"Now why would I do that when I'm perfectly comfortable right here?"

"Because I'm taking you out, go get dressed, you idiot," Regulus replies, affection laced through his insult. He smacks Barty's shoulder, who gets up laughing. Pressing firm kisses to Regulus' lips and neck before heading to his room to get ready.

He hears the front door open and knows that Evan is finally freed from the judgment of the paparazzi. Getting up, he grabs his jacket on his way to the foyer and smiles upon seeing his husband. Dropping his keys on the table with an exhausted expression, his index finger and thumb roughly brushing against each other in a habit that Evan's had since forever. Regulus falls in love all over again when he takes in the sight and the glimmer of their gold wedding band.

"You're back," he hums, leaning against the entryway.

"And I'm assuming you've read the article?"

"Yes, you are a cruel man, Evan Rosier, cheating on your "wife" like this," Regulus lets out an exaggerated sigh, feeling the dramatics of his family more than ever it seems, "after everything I've done, you go around and disrespect and humiliate me. You cruel, cruel man. I ought to take our imaginary dog and move to back China to be with my family."

"I thought we had an imaginary cat?" Evan pouts, walking closer to Regulus to slip his arms around the other's waist, "I don't like dogs."

Regulus rolls his eyes fondly. Of course, leave it to Evan to be unserious in his dramatics. But whatever, he misses his husband so he'll let this slide, he thinks as he leans in and kisses Evan in a gentle kiss. It makes him feel like they are high schoolers again, hiding in empty classrooms, rooms in their families' giant estate, the corners of the library, etc etc. There is a sense of nostalgia that warms Regulus' chest and makes him pull Evan closer.

When they need to breathe, lest they become dizzy and weak, Regulus whispers, "I'm taking Barty out."

"Mhm," Evan presses his lips to Regulus' cheek, swaying slightly and forth, "Where?"

"That one restaurant we went to when we got married," he replies, "do you want any leftovers? Or anything we can get on our way?"

"Anything is fine," then his face scrunches up, "just not a lot of meat. They've been tasting weird for me lately."

"Okay."

They pull apart when they hear Barty coming. Who immediately flings himself onto Evan in a hug before pressing kisses all over his face. Loudly declaring that he misses his rose so desperately he would've died had he not seen Evan any later.

"I'm being serious!" He cries as Regulus and Evan fall into a fit of giggle.

"That's my brother-" Barty shuts him up with a kiss.

"I cannot be thinking of your brother right now, we are going on a date, Reg!" Barty says exasperatedly.

"Yeah yeah whatever," he teases, reaching for his keys and wallet, "now say your goodbyes, we're heading out now."

"Is it weird that I think he treats me like a toddler sometimes?" Barty whispers into Evan's shoulder.

"Probably," Evan hums, "I'll see you guys later."

He kisses Barty on the forehead, then both of his cheeks and finally on the lips in a gentle manner that Barty has always considered a rarity. Evan allows himself the pleasure of running his thumb over Barty's cheeks, following the curve of his face down to the swell of his lips. Which he gives another kiss to.

"Alright," Regulus says, pulling his attention away from the man in his arms, "I'm taking my boyfriend now, Rosier. Hands off."

Barty sneaks one last kiss, a quick one, and a grin before pulling away to follow Regulus out the door. He waves a goodbye while Regulus nods and the two are off. Leaving Evan standing by the door frame watching their car leave, a habit he'd picked up from Regulus whenever they were leaving each other's house back then. When the car is finally out of sight he heads back in, thinking of his latest book.

. . . .

"ARE THE ROSIER'S IN A OPEN RELATIONSHIP?"

Evan skims the article and bursts into a peal of loud laughter while Pandora looks amused.

[foxtamer113]

Detached Desperation

AO3 Link: click here!

Summary: Wilford and Dark have been trying for another child for years, with no result. Dark figures it's their fault, and they must fix it, no matter the cost.

---

The crypt exhaled centuries of damp stone and forgotten prayers as Dark stepped inside, their polished shoes clicking against the uneven floor. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something old—something that curled in the back of the throat like a half-remembered nightmare.

They had chosen this place carefully.

Far from the warmth of the manor’s hearth. Far from Wilford’s booming laughter. Far from the sound of small feet pattering down the hall, of a child’s voice calling "Mama!" in that bright, demanding way that made Dark’s chest ache.

No distractions. No weaknesses.

The book lay open on the altar, its pages yellowed and breathing, the ink shifting like trapped insects beneath glass. Dark ran their fingers over the ritual circle carved into the floor, the grooves worn smooth from previous attempts.

Fix this. Fix me.

The knife was cold in their grip. They turned it once, watching torchlight catch on the silver edge. There was no hesitation as it parted their skin—only the clinical satisfaction of precision. Blood welled, thick and dark, dripping into the waiting basin with a sound like a dying clock.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

They exhaled, long and slow. The pain was irrelevant. Pain was for creatures bound to flesh, and Dark had long since severed themselves from such weaknesses. This was not suffering. This was correction.

Their thoughts splintered—one half methodically reciting the incantations, the other drifting somewhere outside their body, watching with detached fascination as their own hands worked.

Detached. Efficient.

But their fingers trembled.

---

Yancy’s laughter bounced off the parlor walls as he hurled another pillow at Wilford’s head.

"Missed me!" Wilford crowed, ducking with exaggerated flair. The pillow fort—a lopsided monstrosity of velvet cushions and stolen bedsheets—trembled precariously.

"Did not!" Yancy scrambled over a mountain of pillows, his socks slipping on the polished wood. At ten years old, he was all knees and elbows, a whirlwind of energy with his father’s wild grin and his mother’s sharp eyes. "You cheated!"

"Cheating implies rules, sunshine," Wilford said, ruffling his hair. *"And we Iplier men invent the rules."

Yancy stuck out his tongue. "Mama says that’s why you keep setting the kitchen on fire."

Wilford gasped, clutching his chest. "Betrayal! From my own flesh and blood!"

Yancy giggled, flopping onto a pile of cushions. "Where is Mama, anyway?"

Wilford’s smile didn’t falter, but something flickered behind his eyes—too fast for a child to catch. "Oh, you know how they are. Probably brooding in the study. Or plotting world domination. Very busy, very scary stuff."

Yancy rolled onto his stomach, kicking his feet idly. "They promised to help me with my math."

"Ah, well, in that case, they’re definitely hiding," Wilford said, winking.

Yancy huffed, but he was grinning. "You’re terrible at math, Pops."

"Excuse you, I’m brilliant at math," Wilford said, snatching him up and tickling his ribs. "I just don’t like it."

Yancy shrieked with laughter, squirming away. "Mama’s better at it!"

Wilford’s grin softened. "Yeah," he said quietly. "They are."

---

Wilford was laughing when the scream tore through him.

One moment, he was sprawled across the parlor floor, Yancy’s indignant yelp ringing in his ears as the pillow fort collapsed around them. The next—

*Agony.*

A sound that wasn’t a sound, a scream that wasn’t his own, ripped through his skull, a psychic blade buried hilt-deep in his chest. His magic recoiled , then surged , a wildfire of pink and gold lashing out before he could think. Dark.

"Pops?" Yancy’s voice was small, confused.

Wilford didn’t hear him. He didn’t teleport—he unraveled , reality shredding under the force of his panic.

The last thing he saw was Yancy’s wide, frightened eyes.

Then he was gone.

---

Wilford re-materialized in the crypt, the stench of blood and rot hitting him like a physical blow.

What he saw stopped his heart.

Dark knelt at the center of a grotesque masterpiece, their blood painting the floor in jagged, hungry spirals. Their face was serene. Empty. The way it looked when they had locked themselves away so thoroughly even Wilford couldn’t reach them.

"Stop." The word clawed its way out of his throat, raw and desperate.

Dark didn’t look up. "Don’t interfere."

Wilford lunged. The wards screamed as they seared his skin, blood-magic burning like acid. He barely felt it. "DARK!”

"It’s necessary." Their voice was flat. Lifeless. They lifted the basin, their hands steady. "I am flawed. I cannot give you what you deserve."

Wilford’s magic detonated. The crypt shook, dust raining from the ceiling as the wards shattered under the force of his fury.

"Flawed?" he roared. "You’re perfect . You’ve always been—"

"Liar." A crack in the ice—just one. Dark’s breath hitched. "You want another child. I want another child. And I—I cannot—"

The basin tilted toward their lips.

Wilford moved faster than thought.

---

Yancy stared at the spot where Wilford had been.

"Pops?"

Silence.

The parlor felt too big suddenly, the shadows stretching too long. The pillow fort lay in ruins around him, the cushions scattered like fallen soldiers.

"Papa?"

Nothing.

Yancy swallowed, his throat tight. He knew better than to go looking when his parents disappeared like this. Mama had rules about that.

But he wanted his Mama.

He curled into the remains of the fort, pulling a blanket over his shoulders. "They’ll come back," he whispered to himself. "They always come back."

---

The basin exploded against the wall, blood splattering like a dying star.

Wilford didn’t remember crossing the distance. One moment he was screaming; the next, he had Dark’s face in his hands, his thumbs pressing into the hollows of their cheeks hard enough to bruise.

"You think this is about a child ?!" His voice was a blade, sharp enough to draw blood. "I would raze continents . I would unspool time itself . Do you hear me? You are not allowed to leave me. "

Dark stared through him, their eyes glassy. "You deserve more."

"I DESERVE YOU!" Wilford’s voice broke. "All of you. The coldness, the fury, the calculated fucking cruelty —it’s mine . You don’t get to take it away!"

For the first time in decades, Dark flinched. Their composure splintered, just for a second. "Wilford, I—"

"No." He dragged them against his chest, his fingers tangling in their hair like a man clinging to a cliff’s edge. "You don’t get to die for a maybe . You don’t get to die at all."

Dark’s hands hovered—trembling—before fisting in his shirt. "I’m… tired," they whispered.

Wilford pressed his face into their neck, his tears scalding. "Then rest. But here. With me."

Somewhere, in a ruined pillow fort, a child waited.

And for the first time in a long while, Dark let themselves be held.

---

Wilford found Yancy asleep in the wreckage of the fort, curled under a blanket with tear tracks on his cheeks.

He scooped him up gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Hey, sunshine."

Yancy stirred, blinking blearily. "Papa?"

"Yeah, kiddo. I’m here."

Yancy’s eyes darted past him, searching. "Mama?"

Wilford turned.

Dark stood in the doorway, their expression unreadable.

Yancy wriggled out of Wilford’s arms and ran to them, burying his face in their coat. "You left," he accused, his voice muffled.

Dark’s hands hovered for a moment before settling on his back. "I came back."

Yancy sniffed. "You promised to help me with math."

A beat. Then—

"...I did," Dark said quietly.

Wilford watched as they let Yancy drag them to the table, as they bent over his workbook with exaggerated patience, as their fingers—still stained with blood— brushed his hair back with something almost like tenderness.

In the doorway, Wilford smiled.

And Dark, for once, didn’t argue.

[Read at AO3 for better formatting! Formatting in Tumblr is a Pain and I give up. Sgdhshd]

[myfavouritelunatic]

Covered in Colours

Here's my offering for day one of Hellbrand and Ghouladriel Week aka Hellghoul Week!

I chose the day one prompt, 'Leaves'.

I hope you enjoy the following 900 words of domestic Halloween/Autumn/Fall fluff! With a tiny sprinkling of angst of course!

❤️🎃🍁🍂🍁🎃❤️

They were the colours she always loved, autumn leaves covering the earth, a neverending sunset. She watched content from the second story window as the life she made worked and played happily beneath her. Two pairs of feet, of man and child, disturbing the leaves as they walked over them.

Halbrand in his flannel, sleeves rolled up, raking up the brittle streams of gold, red, and brown. Celebrían doing everything in her power to make sure her father’s work lasted all afternoon. Galadriel sipped her hot chocolate, soothed by its warmth as well as the warmth from below.

Her daughter loved playing hide and seek. She wasn’t sure why. Celebrían wasn’t old enough yet to understand what it meant to be lost and found. But there was something that twinkled in her eye, her smile and how it lit up her face, every time Halbrand discovered her. It brought Galadriel back to that same feeling of wonder that encompassed her when Halbrand came into her life. Rescuing her as if she was drowning in a sea of sorrow, pulling her onto a raft, his raft, the safety of his embrace.

Celebrían wasn’t old enough yet to know Halbrand wasn’t her real father.

She would, in time, and Galadriel suspected it wouldn’t change much. It wouldn’t change the way her little girl looked at him, as if he hung the moon and stars. However, It would change the way she looked at her mother.

Casting aside thoughts of the past and of a future that had not yet come to pass, Galadriel laughed as she saw Celebrían jump into Halbrand’s very large pile of fallen leaves. He went along with it of course, playing his role to perfection, pretending like he hadn’t heard the very loud whoosh and crunch sounds of a little girl covering herself with autumn. That neverending sunset. Celebrían playing a game to ensure this afternoon with her father would go on and on.

Halbrand caught Galadriel watching them from above, that smile of his flying straight into her heart. Along with the kiss he sent into the air, before her husband went back to trying to find the ‘missing’ girl. Galadriel opened the window wanting to hear the whole thing fully.

“That’s odd… I swear I saw Celebrían not a minute ago…” Halbrand was so good at this, acting confused, feigning a distraught state. She knew he was good, because she could see the leaves of the pile moving, like shoulders shaking from laughter. Halbrand was good at this but Celebrían… not so much.

“Where could she have gone? Not behind the bushes? Not behind the shed? In the shed?” He checked. He didn’t have to check, but he checked. “Hey Mummy? You see a tiny silver haired girl? About–” Halbrand gestured her size, “This big?” Galadriel couldn’t help but laugh as she saw her five year old daughter pop her head out of the pile, a tiny digit pressed to her lips asking Mummy to be quiet. “No Daddy, sorry! My eyes see all! And they do not see her.” Galadriel bellowed down, before taking another sip from her mug, nearly spitting it everywhere as she watched Celebrían desperately try to hide beneath the leaves again.

“Oh no…” Halbrand began, sounding ‘scared’, “If Daddy can’t find her… and Mummy can’t see her… I guess that means we’ll be going trick or treating all alone…” “No!” The little girl cried out, bursting out of the pile, sending flashes of orange and brown everywhere. “Got you!” Halbrand yelled, making Celebrían squeal in delight. Then she couldn’t help but to toss some leaves in his direction. Her throw wasn’t strong enough, but the wind helped her out.

Halbrand copped a face full of nature.

Galadriel burst into laughter, the wind helping her out, carrying it right to his ears. “Oi!” He chuckled. “That’s not very nice! Let’s see how you like this then!” He picked up some leaves of his own and poured them over Celebrían’s head. “No, Daddy!” She protested, poorly, her giggles telling him how much she was enjoying this.

Then Galadriel watched from her window, as her husband threw himself into the pile and tackled their daughter, rolling them around in a fit of laughter and screams, spreading the leaves back across the lawn. All of Halbrand’s work undone in less than ten seconds. But she knew he wouldn’t mind.

He would also happily see this afternoon go on and on.

When finally they got to their feet, Galadriel had her phone out, snapping pictures of her two favourite people, wanting to remember this day she knew would eventually end. Like the sunset. Like autumn. Like all things.

Halbrand picked Celebrían off the ground and pointed up to where Galadriel was perched. The tiny silver haired child couldn’t help but wave. The two of them were covered in leaves, twigs, and dirt. “How about we go pay Mummy a visit, hmm?” “No!” Came Galadriel’s cry, genuinely protesting. “You know she likes autumn leaves as much as you do, Celly.” “No, you clean up first!” “You don’t want her to miss out, do you now?”

Celebrían shook her head with a cheeky grin. A grin that matched Halbrand’s. Blood didn’t matter. She really was his daughter. And they both howled up at her as they ran indoors, Galadriel hearing their thumping footfalls and their giggles coming up the stairs.

She resigned herself to her messy fate. It was a good thing she loved leaves.

❤️🎃🍁🍂🍁🎃❤️

Tagging: @hellghoulweek @pursuitseternal @heronamedhawks @gil-galadhwen @theriverwild @scriberated @thrillofhope @youwearfinethingswellwriter @klynnvakarian @tmwillson3 @coraleethroughthelookingglass @somebirdortheother @ichabodjane @hazelmaines @rebelrebelwrites @hikarielizabethbloom @marimosalad @jhalya

[un-pearable]

so i’ve been pondering the sonic triple threat au again (sonic underground au i’ve been working on about ~a year now that lives in my brain but i always forget to record) and incorporating movie stuff where i like it,, but honestly nothing tops the two year gap where sonic disappears into the wilderness after his foster parents get backstoried and then shows up out of nowhere at uncle chucks with a whole little brother and absolutely no explanations

[sukirichi]

Like, what happens to Mia? How does Gojo end up picking us? Naoya? How about Naoya? 😭😭😭🙏🏼😔

Omggg if you’re not going to continue reckless, can you please please please tell us how it ends? 😭😭😭 I don’t think I can bear living not knowing how it ends 😭 please? 😔😢🙏🏼😭

okay well here’s how it was gonna go, pls keep in mind my storytelling in asks and in writing are diff so this might be explained crappily HAHAHAHA but basically in reckless...

gojo gets shot in the head by his abusive dad bcos he finally stood up against him, but that backfired. his father is really adamant on control, and gojo loses his memories at the same time y/n gave birth. she decided to keep the baby after deciding that she wants a family after all, but when gojo woke up with mixed and lost memories, he only remembers mia and everything after her accident was gone. gojo becomes distorted and even becomes harsh sometimes, especially when y/n said they had a baby and she was his friend, bcos gojo’s mindset was from way back to six years ago, where he had lots of issues with his family and mia’s that he was wary who to trust.

so,,, they didn’t want gojo to hurt y/n bcos he’s such in an emotional mess that he has no control of himself. eventually, y/n decides to stay away but the baby is adopted by gojo and mia, who gets married for the sake of business and gojo’s current situation. truthfully, mia doesn’t want to marry him bcos it would hurt y/n and she’s not that awful. mia and y/n become friends after realizing they’re pretty similar and actually find genuine friendship with one another. she doesn’t have a choice tho and gojo, mia, along with gojo’s mom who divorced her husband for his abuse move to the states where they raised y/n and gojo’s daughter, sayori, leaving y/n all alone in tokyo who then becomes vice president of kamo enterprises. basically, it shows the repeated history of y/n’s father choosing to hide her from her real parents, and she begins to understand why he did that bcos she also has not really met her own daughter. y/n knows mia and gojo could take care of sayori better than she could, especially with the fact that gojo’s memories are mixed and transfixed on the timeline of him dating mia, mia giving birth to sayori, then them getting married. y/n is not present at all in his memories. gojo thinks he was the one in a car accident, not mia.

sayori is about four years old when gojo decides to come back to tokyo. now that he’s disowned and his mother has also left, gojo becomes a successful model in the states. he comes home bcos he remembers geto and wants to start their own agency (gojo as a model, geto as the photographer.) mia is wary at first for fear gojo might remember everything. she’s not being selfish; the doctors warned that anything that could potentially trigger gojo’s memories that his subconscious has erased could be detrimental to him. mia tries to hold it off but gojo insists, so the gojo/yamazaki family go back and that’s where gojo meets y/n, who he first thought was geto’s new wife.

in the reckless fanart, geto’s photo is like this.

geto’s ring is silver - it’s his dead wife’s ring. the hand caressing him is gold - it’s y/n wearing the ring of gojo’s mother, who by then has already apologized before they all left.

geto and y/n become best friends on the course of four years. missing her daughter, y/n becomes attached to mei (geto’s daughter) and acts more like a mom than an aunt. geto basks in this faux family they’ve built, though he makes sure mei is not too dependent or expecting that y/n would be her mom. he falls in love with y/n and he notices how after gojo left, she becomes softer and a lot sweeter. all the anger and hatred disappeared, all thanks to y/n finding peace with her new life and making up with her mother, Valeria, who once overdosed on drugs after it was exposed to the public that Y/N is a child she abandoned. y/n saved Valeria by rushing her to the hospital, which is also the same time that Y/N saw gojo being wheeled in the emergency room with a bullet in his head.

now that gojo is back, he can’t help but notice that y/n is avoiding him. she feels familiar but he plays it off over her being a close friend and possible lover of geto. meanwhile, y/n’s dedication to pretending he doesn’t exist breaks slowly when she sees sayori, a beautiful little girl who’s growing up, call mia as her “mommy.” it hurts her that she missed her first words, first steps, or that she’s being excluded in the family that is truly hers, but everyone is happy and doing great that she chooses to be the only who isn’t for the sake of everyone else.

in ch2, gojo goes to a carnival/amusement park and takes a polaroid photo with y/n. he finds them in one of the stuff he left behind in the penthouse he used to live in; shocked bcos y/n had been adamant they never met before. that’s when he begins to confront her on who she really is what they really used to be. he feels guilty that he can’t remember, but most of all, gojo is torn inside that y/n had been all alone the whole time when he promised he would be there.

its complicated for them since gojo x mia are already married, and sayori got her mom’s stubborness so its difficult for her to believe someone she never met before is her real mom and mia is...well, mia. mia actually helps sayori accept that she is not the real mom, apologizing to the child for lying to them and it ends up with sayori running away and getting lost for a few hours. sayori is scared since tokyo is alien to her and she doesn’t speak japanese, but when y/n finds her, she comes running to her arms and that is when she begins to soften up around her real mom.

this is where the slowburn with gojo and y/n begins. for them, getting to know each other once more on a clean slate is both refreshing yet scary, especially since one has erased the past in their mind and the other is desperately trying to forget it. the thing about the mia x gojo as a married couple and parents is that gojo deep down feels he does not love mia that way. he can’t explain why there’s just something missing or confusing in his life. he loves mia out of respect and friendship, but he would never admit that he is not in love with his wife. however, he plays it over the fact that its “just the broken memories” and lies to himself that he is very much in love with her. when he meets y/n again, however, it makes sense. he does love y/n and him forgetting her was a defense mechanism of his system to erase the most painful times of his life, and that included his guilt for hurting y/n with the abuse of his parents who controlled the way he acted around her. as for mia, she also does not love gojo and she probably never did, but for the sake of his well being and for sayori’s future (which was entrusted to her by y/n) she stayed with him. now though, mia knows its time to let go.

geto...it is not easy for geto. he loves y/n so much because of her tenacity and kindness, but he also loves her enough to know she is happier with someone else. to him, he’s content knowing that she felt less lonely when he was around and that he helped make her smile. in the end, geto has closure with y/n who apologizes for not returning his feelings.

NAOYAAAAA though...ofc i gave him a good ending 💕 after he was brutally rejected by Mia, y/n cheers him up by setting Naoya up with a law professor around his age, who is Ayame. Ayame is supposed to be named Suki tbh 😋 but I thought the self insert is a little too much so I changed it to Ayame. Ayame is pretty funny and even respects that Naoya is uncomfortable on the first date, telling him that it doesn’t have to be that kind of date and she doesn’t expect anything from him. Ayame’s bubbly yet blunt nature is a breath of fresh air from Mia’s secretive and perfectionist nature and the two become good friends. Naoya and Ayame end up hanging out a lot bcos “thats what friends do” but it doesn’t take long before they go out together. And ofc, Naoya is a little ashamed that Ayame was the first to confess and she beat him to it, but they get married and are happy nonetheless 💕 Mia ends up as a successful doctor who helps her family with the business, divorces Gojo, but she still has no plans to marry and is perfectly happy and content to focus on her career.

Eventually, Gojo and Y/N get married once everything is sorted out. Gojo becomes a well known model in Tokyo as well, and Gojo Group is absorbed by Y/N herself after proving Gojo’s father guilty of attempted murder. Gojo doesn’t want anything more to do with the corporate world though, but Y/N stays and kicks ass as a vice president to all the merged companies.

Y/N and Valeria also makes up after Valeria is indebted to Y/N who saved her life, and Valeria’s parents become more supportive and start to see Valeria more as a person than a child to inherit the business. Albeit being in her 40s, Valeria enjoys the youth she lost only now, but also enjoys being the grandmother to Sayori. Its a little awkward between Valeria and Y/N after everything that happened, but they’re trying and are even dubbed as the iconic motherly duo who is unbeatable in their games.

Gojo’s father is thrown into prison, and his main victim, his own wife, also shows recovery from the years of abuse. Although her obsessive control with Gojo and his sister (the eldest Gojo child) was not right, his mom was left with no choice but to keep them on close watch and control their lives because she was trying to keep them safe from their father’s wrath. In the end, Gojo’s mom makes up by being a better mother, and Gojo and his sister forgives her while also apologizing that both of them left home when they knew their mom always shouldered the abuse to protect her kids.

Overall, its a happy ending for most of the characters! the last chapter is Sayori’s wedding to Naoya and Ayame’s son, Naori, who is a few years younger than his bride. Gojo is grumbling to Y/N about how his little girl is all grown up now, and that their son, Shinichiro, who is 18 in that timeline is also maturing and would be leaving the nest soon. Y/N thinks its adorable and asks Gojo to just enjoy the union because its only one of the many great memories they would still have to make.

That’s how it would end! Gojo Best Dad and Gojo DILF. Everyone is happy!

Basically the theme of Reckless is that sometimes the most unexpected things we do out of character can end up as one of the greatest things to ever happen, which in their case was the suprise baby. They went through a lot and it has a lot of psychological themes, along with heavy family drama, but overall I wanted the series to be a heartwarming one by the end. I really would’ve loved to see it all happen but I am also happy to share it to you guys in this way.

So yeah, happy reading and thanks so much for supporting Reckless !! I was also thinking of doing maybe like a bonus chapter where the characters pretend it was all a movie and they’re actors that you can talk to, but that didn’t happen so :// anyways I hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading up until here 💕

[iguessilovebakugou]

In Search of Silver Linings, We Discovered Gold ||  Bakugou x Fem!Reader (x Shinsou) ||  Happier pt 3 ||  Series

I really feel like Sleeping At Last’s “Two” resonates with Shinsou in this one.  But also for the Reader towards Bakugou just like...in general.  Also, I would suggest Gang of Youth’s “Achilles, Come Down” as well. And Lauren Aquilina’s “Fools”. 

One day I’m going to make a playlist for this fucking series - and then you bitches will be sorry.  

I’m sorry it took so long to get this part out.  I feel like nothing I would write would live up to what I did 2 years ago now.  So I really hope that people like this one just as much as the others. 

Part One!  Part Two!

Word Count:�� 7.7K TW:  Smooching, Death Mention

“Hey, you okay?”

It should be so easy to explain to them what you were feeling.  They where there with you.  They went through the same thing you had, right?  You were right there with Ochaco, sat right by her side and watched her tell Mr. Aizawa...you should be able to just...

“Yeah,”  You offered Asui a bright smile.  “Just...tired.  These make up classes are just...they’re really killer, you know?”

The dorm had been quiet by the time the raid team had made their way home from their extra classes. Everyone had already gone to bed, the common area devoid of life by the time you had settled on the couches. And you were happy for it.  Ever since...well, it had been a bit harder to be around everyone.  It was hard to come to terms with the fact that after everything that had happened, happened.  And you were supposed to just...move on from it.  Keep going forward.  No time to process.

You pulled out your phone to check your messages.  You had hoped Shinsou would have at least texted you - but you had been left on read.  You tried not to be upset about it and instead, pretended to go to another app and check your messages there.  You even got comfortable and put an arm behind your head - yep, perfectly relaxed and not at all wanting to break down on the inside.  

Tsu’s big bright eyes stared down at you.  You wondered if she felt the same - if Kirishima, Izuku or Ochaco felt the same.  You wondered if sometimes, during class, they just lifted their heads, looked around at your classmates and felt...so out of place.  The only way you could describe it was like stumbling in the middle of a skit being performed in the middle of a park, and no one seemed to quite realize you weren’t actually an extra.

But you didn’t want to run the risk of looking at her.  If she looked at you, she might realize that you hadn’t come to terms with what happened - with Nighteye, Lemillion, with that poor girl, Eri.  And that wouldn’t do.  That might lead into her asking what was wrong.  And what were you supposed to do then?  Answer her honestly?  Come to terms with your feelings like a rational, level headed adult?

You?  Nah. Never.

“Yeah, you’re right.”  Once you were certain her back was towards you, you risked a glance in her direction.  

Your body ached, your eyes were sore, and your mind felt blank but busy at the same time.  You weren’t sure where to begin with everything, where to start with trying to catch up.  But this had become your norm, and as sad as it was, it felt like your body was accommodating to the drama that had become commonplace in your life.  You watched as she met Ochaco at the base of the steps leading up to the rooms.  She seemed surprised when you didn’t move to join them, turning to give you a concerned glance and a lip pout - for extra measure.  

You smiled, lifting up your phone and giving it a little wave.  “I think I’m just going to hang out down here before heading to bed.”

“Oh,”  She muttered softly.  “Okay, if you’re sure?”

You knew she wasn’t buying the act - whatever it was - in the slightest.  You knew Nighteye’s death hit her hard.  A lot harder than you.  As it should have - you had tried to use your quirk to defend her and Nighteye, only to be overpowered and rendered unconscious when it mattered most so you weren’t technically cognizant when she had made her getaway.  But it must have been terrible, holding a man in your arms as he died.   And yet here you are moping about it.  What gives you the right?

“Yeah, I’m sure.”  Another smile, this time a little wider.  “Got some videos to watch, don’t want to run the risk of waking anyone up.”

You turned, ending the conversation there.  You stared at your phone, sitting on the home screen and not bothering to look back once you heard them make the ascent up the stairs to their respective rooms.  It had been getting harder and harder to sleep these past few days and you couldn’t spend another restless night staring at the same four walls anymore.  Watching the same videos, rereading the same texts, you would go insane.  With an exasperated sigh, you tossed your phone to the side.  Hands found your face, fingers rubbing your eyes while reclining back, letting out a slow, low groan.

The lights in the common room were dim, just enough to find your way in case you stumbled down here in the middle of the night.  It was a small comfort, you figured to yourself, to have this moment alone.  To sit in the quiet and listen to the sounds of your friends around you, of the dorm settling snuggly down for another night’s rest.  And there you were, sitting by yourself in the common room.  Trying to decide if you were still mourning for a man you spoke to maybe a handful of times before you watched him get impaled on a spike or if you were ready to move on from it all.  Your head fell back limply against the edge of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to push any semblance of thought from your mind.  You just needed this one minute, one second for your entire world to just...stop running away from you.

If I could just get to him in time, maybe I could, I could help.  I could save him and be a hero and...

God, how dramatic could you get.  At least you hadn’t held the man in your arms as he lay dying.

With a sigh, you sat yourself back up and went back to your messages, pulling up the chat with Shinsou.  You hoped he was free.  Maybe even free enough to talk.  The empty feeling finding home in your chest was becoming too much.  You could use him, right now.  Maybe you could convince him to leave and come over.  You could watch a movie and just talk until you passed out.

Like friends did.

And if he was there, maybe it would so much easier to stay asleep. 

Hey.  We just got home.  Hope you’re...

Nope, delete.  Didn’t sound right.  

Hey!  You free right now?  I can’t sleep so

Nope, too eager.  

Shinsou, you loser get your ass over here

Nothing was coming out the way you wanted it to.  Nothing had ever sounded right.  You had so many things you wanted to say and yet never seemed to have the energy for it anymore.  Is this depression?  Do you have depression?  Do people who have depression know they have depression without being diagnosed with depression?  

You bit your lip, chewed on it until it grew sore and red and angry.  You needed your friend.  Your best friend.  Your only friend.  You missed hanging out with him, missed being able to text him weird shit and get a selfie of him looking bored at the camera just cause he knew it would make you laugh.  Cause you knew the weird shit you sent him made him laugh.  You wanted to see his face, to hear his voice.  You wanted it to go back before the dorms, back before whatever extra curricular thing he was doing.  But it wasn’t like he was doing this on purpose!  He was busy and you were just being fucking dramatic and needlessly stupid you didn’t even see Nighteye die but Deku did and he is holding himself together so much better and you would be okay if...if...

Why were you fucking crying now???????

Shinsou - I really miss you and I don’t want to be alone right now but I don’t know what to do I just wish you were here

“Hey.”

Given the recent events in your life, his gruff voice shattering the quiet of your isolation should have been expected.  Nevertheless, it still sent your heart skyrocketing into your throat.  You thought everyone had gone to bed and you could be a miserable wretch on your own time.  You jumped, sending your phone clattering to the ground and sliding under the coffee table.  The giant...granite...coffee table.  “Ah, shit, shit...”  You fell to your knees, trying to make a grab for it.  “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

“I thought I would find you down here.”

Shinsou had hardly heard from you since the night you got back from the raid.  He had seen the news that something had happened.  When you didn’t answer his morning text, he just hoped you were just being your normal self.  When you didn’t show up at lunch, he feared the worst.  He paced his room, hardly ate, did nothing but refresh his news feed to see if your name flashed by as a causality.  He figured no news was good news but waiting to hear from you was the hardest thing he ever had to do.  And the fact you hadn’t told him you were going in the first place and had to find out about it by overhearing one of your classmates mention it?

Ample payback it seemed.  Secrets had become your duo’s new norm - and he hated it. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We were told not to say anything to anyone.  I’m sorry, Shinsou.”

Your voice had sounded so off, so different in what little words you spoke.  Silence had never been so poignant until he experienced it from you.  As he laid in bed and stared at the phone on his pillow, his heart broke with each toss and turn he could hear from you.  He sat quietly, for that whole 2 hours as you tried to make sense of what you had just been through that day.  But you never said more than a few words and, even so, those were just a mask to hide the rest of the truth you wanted to keep hidden.  He listened, patiently, as you tried to place it all in order so you could begin to move past it.  

He hoped he had helped - in what little way he could.  In what minute way you had allowed him.  You were closing off and he so desperately wanted to cry out for you.  But he stayed quiet.  

And he felt entirely useless. 

He didn’t know exactly what happened; only what little information he had heard from Mr. Aizawa and even that had been bits and pieces.  Confidential, he said.  Bullshit, Shinsou thought.  If he was going to try to begin to figure out a solution to...whatever it was that plagued you, to lift your spirits, he needed to know exactly what happened.  But, when Shinsou had asked if you had been involved, if you were alright...?

“You’re friends with her, right?  She didn’t really seem to want to talk about it when I asked her after the fact.  But I figure that’s just because I’m her teacher.  Maybe you should be the one to check in on her instead.  She might actually open up to you.”

Open up to him.  

And that was the problem wasn’t it?  Something that always seemed to stand right between the two of you, pushing you in separate directions - opening up to each other.  It was a thought that occurred to him as he watched you spin your spoon around in your soup, but refused to eat.  The two of you had no problems talking, especially you.  You talked a lot, and he...didn’t.  You suited him fine.  More than fine.  

But what is talking if you’re not saying anything?  What was the point of being friends if you couldn’t even rely on each other to keep a secret, to lean on each other when everything seemed so fucking terrible.  Had he done you a disservice, hiding things from you?  Had he given you the impression that you couldn’t come to him for something so small as a crush on...ah, for something really small?  Had you transitioned from “don’t want to bother him with something silly” to “I can’t talk to him anymore period”?

Shinsou had always been the more straightforward one.  Where you seemed to be an endless supply of needless conversation and seemed to always dance around subjects, Shinsou was the one who could give it to you as plainly as possible.  And you knew that.  You knew him better than anyone, could understand him better than anyone.  

So when he didn’t give it to you as honestly, as plainly as he could have, it would stand to reason that you would be sent tumbling.

Shinsou - I really miss you and I don’t want to be alone right now but I don’t know what to do I just wish you were here

The text had come as a surprise.  Shinsou had been trying to sleep, but it was a rare commodity those days.  His mind swirled with thoughts of you.  Of how much he missed just you.  Your laugh, your stupid jokes.  Everything was starting to feel so hollow when he heard that soft ding from across the room.  To say he scrambled towards his desk where the phone lay charging was an understatement.  

I really miss you.

You were screaming for him and he hadn’t heard it.  You were sinking further and further and yet here he was, wondering and waiting for some sort of sign on what to do.  How he could fix it - but later.  He’s not strong enough now.  He’s not ready.  After he’s done with Aizawa.  After he’s a hero.  After after after.  Always cautious, always testing the waters.  

I just wish you were here.

You never waited, never paused, never hesitated.  When Bakugou was kidnapped, you rushed home and came up with a plan of action.  When you wanted to talk to him, you marched from your dorms, almost got into a fist fight, just to talk.  You were reckless in all the best ways.  In all the ways that made him want to scream, to touch you, to praise you, to love...to love you.

“I would be able to sleep if you answered your phone once in a while.”

He gripped his phone and hated that he had to draw one hand up to wipe his eyes.  Hated that his chest ached and hated that you even had to ask him.

“I wish you would have answered me.”

No more.  You would never have to ask him again.

He couldn’t pull his shoes on fast enough.  Before Shinsou could stop, rethink if this was a good idea, he was outside and making his way towards your dorm.  If he couldn’t help you now, when you needed it the most, when you were asking for him to pull you out from the waters...

His heart didn’t have the right to ache for you as much as it did. 

The two of you had done this so many times, Bakugou was surprised that you weren’t in the kitchen when he finally got down stairs.  The moment he got to the ground floor and saw you hunched over on the couch, his body froze.  

He had been hoping to have a bit more time to think of what he wanted to say.

“Is it just me, or has she not been the same since coming back from the raid?”

“No, I noticed it too.”

“Should we ask her about it?”

The frog grew quiet for a moment.  Bakugou had to strain to hear her response from down the hall.  “I think she’ll open up when she’s ready.”  She said softly.  “If we try to push the issue before then, it might just make matters worse.”

“Yeah,”  Uraraka responded, “I guess you’re right.  Still...I’m just worried.”

Worried.  For you.  

He didn’t want to think about why he was down in the commons, so late at night.  He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that seeing your shaking shoulders, hearing the fast gasps you were making, ripped his very state of being apart.  He watched you, eyes narrowed.

He didn’t like it.  He didn’t like that you were in this state at all.

“Hey.”

He expected you to jump - it was a good thing that you did.  He would drag you out of whatever rut you were in, kicking and screaming if he had to.  

You got to your knees, cursing under your breath and scrambling for whatever you had been holding.  Probably your phone.  Bakugou stepped around the couch, shoving his hands in his pockets.  “Figured I would find you down here.”

You didn’t pay him any attention.  In fact, as you tried to reach under the coffee table, you kept your head turned - enough to where he couldn’t see your face.  You kept cursing, kept trying to reach desperately.  He watched you for a moment, feeling the frustration rise up inside of him.  You were ignoring him.  Like he wasn’t even there.  Like he wasn’t standing in front of you.

“Hey!”

“SHHH!”  You snapped to attention, pressing a finger to your lips.  He tried not to stare for too long.  “Do you want to wake the whole dorm!?”

“You should be in bed.”

Your stare lingered on him, for just a moment.  He refused to break eye contact first, refused to back down from the daggers you were sending his way.  You let out a huff, going back to searching for whatever it was that you had dropped.  “Couldn’t sleep.”

Bullshit.  He could tell.  It was a fact that he didn’t like to pay much attention to: tiny mannerisms that caught onto his attention like a hook.  You generally were so bright, hardly ever short.  Low energy, but not tired?  Sure.

He waited another minute.  “The others just got home.”

The slight pause.  Heh - you were like a book.  So easy to read.  “Oh.”  You said so matter-of-factly.  In another beat, you were back to searching, still focusing your gaze on the far side of the wall.  “Yeah, I guess.”

“So unless you got sent back early, I doubt you’ve even had a chance to try and sleep.”

Your fingers clenched, your fist shaking against the granite top.  Your body pulled up and away, resting in a rigid position.  But you were still refusing to look at him; in fact, to ensure that he wouldn’t be able to see anything,  you put your face in your hand.  Still, you didn’t say a word, didn’t argue with him.  So he continued:  “I’m just saying, if you’re going to lie, at least keep track who you tell what.”

You didn’t respond.  And he wished it didn’t make him as angry as it did.  He wished that he had been able to stop the rage that bubbled in his stomach.  But he couldn’t.  He didn’t want you to hide anything from him.  He wanted you to feel comfortable telling him when something was hurting you.  After he laid it all bare for you a few weeks ago, you couldn’t be bothered to at least confide in him what the hell was going on in your tiny little world?

“...tch.”  Bakugou fingers slid under the edge of the coffee table.  “Grab the other side.”

You paused, turning to stare at him.  His eyes met yours and he saw so clearly how blood shot they were, your cheeks blotchy and burning.  You sniffled once, pushing a strand of hair back into place.  “Uh...wha?”

“Do you want your crap or not!?”

“Oh, yeah, uh...”  You pushed yourself up.  His eyes followed you as you stationed yourself on the other side like instructed.  “On three.  One-”

He didn’t bother waiting.  Up he lifted and you scrambled to meet him half way.

Just a little to the side - and the bright screen of your phone illuminated the living room.  It was closest to him, causing him to flinch just slightly when the glow blinded him.  He moved to grab it for you -

Before Bakugou could realize what was happening, your fingers brushed against his.  You both paused, your digits flinching away from him every so slightly.  He didn’t know if he should continue making the grab for it or if he should pull away.  He didn’t want to.  Your skin was so soft and warm and...

He could feel your eyes on him and almost was able keep his gaze away.  Almost able to hold off temptation.  But you were like that, weren’t you?  The light had dimmed, casting a soft glow over your features.  He wanted to look anywhere else - anywhere but at you.  But your eyes held his, demanded that he hold your attention.  He hated the soft sound that escaped him.  Hated the way his heart hammered in his chest as you stared at each other, fingers still touching ever so slightly.  

He shouldn’t feel this way about you.  But he did.

Bakugou pulled back with a grunt.  He could feel your eyes follow him as he stood back up and stepped away, away from you.  Why did you do this to him?  Why did you manage to make him the worst of himself?  Lord Explosion Murder - reduced to a sniveling little puppy, eager to please because a girl he kind of thinks is pretty sometimes makes him feel like he’s going to throw up.  

His fingers shook.  He shoved them back in his pockets to hide the evidence.

You plucked the phone off the ground and immediately hit the lock screen to turn the light off.  You were once against standing alone in the dark, though he could see you plainly.  Neither of you said a word.  He wished he could say something, not scream it but just say it.  His mind strained to find something meaningful to say to you, something catching or just enough to keep you distracted from your thoughts.  But you had the knack for words - he didn’t.  All he could do was leer at you, waiting for you to start conversation.  You always had something to say.  

You silently slipped your phone in the pocket of your skirt.  

There was something different about you.  A wall that was keeping you from him.  Maybe the girls’ concern for you had weight behind it.  You still didn’t look at him, eyes downcast.

He had hoped, that night in the kitchen, that things might have been different.  That maybe...someday...

“You got your damn phone.  Now go to bed.”  He turned on his heels and made his way back towards the stairs.  He was done.  He helped you out enough.  

Sometimes you were too much.  Messed with his head and pulled his mind in so many different directions, he forgot which way was up because right there with you was where he wanted to be. 

“Why do you want to be a hero?”

Your voice cut through the silence of the dorm like a knife.  He hadn’t expected you to speak up now, though it fit you.  Question, make him stay; just when he decided to leave.  And of course, because you asked him to stay - he would.

“What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Humor me.”

He regretted coming down here to talk to you.  He should have just stayed in the comfort of his room.  “Why?”

“Humor.  Me.”  

His eyes narrowed.  Even if you wrapped yourself around him, brought him to his knees and groveling in your steps, no one spoke to him like that.  He spun around, snarl behind gritted teeth.  Who the fuck did you think you were talking to?

Then he paused.

You were watching him and the hollow expression on your face shoved the rage back down into his stomach.  With just a glance, you quelled that fury.  Another noise, another shock. Then your eyes softened and your shoulders slumped.  You remembered where you were, who you were talking to...no...no, you had never been afraid to talk to him like that.  Never afraid to meet his attitude head to head.  So what was different now?  “Please,” You added on, quietly.

What the hell happened to you?

Why did he want to be a hero?  

“To be number one.”

“Is that it?”

I don’t know anymore.  He didn’t like this line of questioning.  Bakugou was a smart kid - he could tell this conversation wasn’t going to be like the last one the two of you had.  No tea, no gentle touches.  The wounds were infected now and he felt shame burrow deep.  You had something you wanted to say, but something else was keeping it trapped, holding you back from being honest with him.  “What are you getting at?”

You fell quiet, letting his eyes take you in.  With a sigh, you turned and sat back down on the couch.  Your body folded in on itself, your hands grasping your arms, shaking fingertips digging into the fabric of the white dress shirt you were wearing.  “Nothing.”  You said finally.  “Just...thinking.  About things.”

You thought a lot about a lot of things.  Perhaps a little too much for too long.  You were receding back into your thoughts, pulling away from him again.  While he didn’t enjoy the feelings that being around you brought, losing you to your own headspace wasn’t something he would do tonight.  Or...any night.  His feet carried him back to the couch.  With a groan he sat down beside you.  “Well, then say it out loud.”

You let out a laugh that sounded too much like a sneer.  “Yeah.  Okay.”

It took everything in him to not reach out and grab you.  “I’m being serious.”

“I know.”

He just wanted to fucking help you.  “So tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Like you had helped him.  “Whatever the hell that’s going on.”

A moment passed before you pulled your eyes back to his.  Finally, you were back in the present - back in that room with him.  Suddenly, you were aware that he had stationed himself beside you, so close your arms were a breath away from each other.  And there was a moment of panic in your eyes.  

You smirked, “Oh, are you playing therapist now?”

“Shut up!”  He bellowed.  “And tell me what the hell is going on before I change my mind!”

Your laugh was bitter, but it was something.  You used your hands to push your hair back out of your eyes, “...okay.”  You started...then fell quiet again.  He could hear you swallow the regret, the shame, the fear.  He watched as you struggled to put to words everything spinning around you.  “I don’t think I belong here.  At all.”

There were a million things Bakugou would have thought you could have said.  That...wasn’t one of them.  He had never thought of you not here.  What would that look like?

“I look at everyone here: Kirishima and Uraraka and Tsu and Deku...and I just can’t seem to find a place to put myself.  Among the rest of our class.”  His brows furrowed as you spoke.  He watched as your expression shifted with each word - angry and bitter and lost and upset.  “Like, you all are able to keep your heads held high, keep looking forward and never seem to let things drag you down.  I...I just don’t think I can do that.  So...”  You shrugged, swallowing harshly.  “Maybe I don’t deserve to be here if I can’t handle it...not like everyone else can.”

This wasn’t about the raid - that was just a catalyst.  It obviously struck a chord with you.  

“That’s stupid.”  

Another laugh.  This one tear filled but honest; and so, so bittersweet.  “Yeah.  Yeah, you’re absolutely right.  It’s pretty pathetic, huh?”

“No, you idiot.  It’s stupid because you’re wrong.”

You stared at him, mouth agape.  Then, in a second, your eyes narrowed, your lips thinned and your expression darkened.  He couldn’t help but feel the pride bubble in his chest:  You had realized you weren’t going to avoid this.  Not with him.  Not when he could help you.  He closed his eyes, figured it best to keep you out of his sight until he finished.  

“Look, you moron.  If you want to be angry or sad about whatever the hell happened back there, fine.  Do it.  But what good is wallowing in your own self pity if you’re not going to do anything about it?!”

Your voice shook as you spoke.  “Okay fine - then what should I do, Bakugou?”

His eyes snapped open, lips parted in surprise at the question.  There was an edge to your expression, daring him to answer.  Daring him to suggest something.  Blow it up?  Yell at it?  Fight it until it gives up?  But where would you start?  It wasn’t a real person - you couldn’t threaten it to back down.  Eyes scoured the floor for a response, searched desperately to find something - a strand of advice - to give you.  But he had nothing.  

“Yeah,”  You moved, pushing yourself off the couch.  You snatched your bag with such force it almost swung around and hit him in the face.  “That’s what I thought.  You don’t have an answer either.”

Shit.  Shit. He watched you as you skirted past his legs, intent on burying everything again.  If he let this go - let you go - you might actually do it.  You might actually leave UA - leave everyone in Class 1-A, leave your dream, leave...him. 

“It’s fine.”  You added, making your way towards the stairs.  “I’ll be fine.”

But he knew that was a lie.  Everything about this situation was a lie.  You wouldn’t be fine if he let you go upstairs, left you along with those thoughts of inadequacy, and if you kept falling lower and lower...?

“Hey.”  

You paused in front of the elevator...then pressed the button, it’s soft white glow sending panic down Bakugou’s spine.  The only thing he could see of you in the dark was the back of your head, the way your chin dipped just so lightly to your chest.  You weren’t going to respond if he didn’t do something.  He didn’t want this conversation to end - not like this.  What would All Might say?  What would Kirishima say?  What would Deku say?

What would you say?

“You never told me:  Why did you agree to go on that raid?”

There was a moment of pause before you turned and glanced over your shoulder at him.  There was a confused expression on your face, your eyes scanning him to try and figure out just what he was playing at.  “I told you why I wanted to be a hero.”  It was a challenge.  Stay and face this.  “Now tell me why you went on that stupid raid.”

“Don’t get too worked up about this.”  Mr. Aizawa - no, Eraserhead - had said.  “The Big Three are one thing:  They’re strong enough to hold their own out there with the Pros.”  He called you all out by name.  Asui, Uraraka, Kirishima and you.  “You didn’t volunteer for this and you’re not obligated to participate.  It’s your call.”

It had been your call.  Your decision.  The Pros wouldn’t have shoved you into a situation you weren’t ready for.  The four of you had known that it was not necessary for you to go above and beyond what you had already done.  It was going to be dangerous, and you needed to not only be physically capable, but mentally as well.  

You should have waited, weighed the odds, thought about it for a moment longer.  

Your call.  Your choice:  Save a little girl who was in danger or back down.  Be a Hero or refuse to answer the call.

Well...the choice was simple than wasn’t it?

You hadn’t been capable.  You screwed up.  Once again jumping deeper into a situation than you should have.  You weren’t like your friends.  

You weren’t like them at all.

“Mr. Ai- I mean, Eraserhead!  After everything we just heard, I can’t imagine not helping out, sir!”

Someone who could raise their head and keep it held high.  Who could look danger in the eye and refuse to back down.

“Yeah, if you’re going to let us be apart of this, I’d like to pitch in however I can!”

Who saw someone and danger and threw themselves into the line of fire.  Who reached out a hand and kept holding on, long past the last scrap of energy was gone. 

"If I can use my power to help that girl even a little bit, then count me in Eraserhead!”

They were heroes.  You weren’t like them.

You stood up, nodding earnestly.  Your look was stern, your eyes hard as you looked at Eraserhead.  You were equals - at least in this moment.  “Yeah,  heroes save people - so I’ll do my best to make sure that girl is safe!”

You could feel Bakugou’s eyes pick you apart and put you back together.  Looking at him made you sick, made you want to crawl into yourself and rot.  But...with a soft sigh, your eyes casted up, trying to keep the tears from falling again.  You had thought you had done all your crying.  God, his face in the dark was a slight comfort.  His eyes practically glowed in the low light of the common room.  His dark t-shirt hung around his shoulders, his hair was a wild mess, sticking up in every direction.  And he just watched you.  No malice, no rage, just...waiting.  

Waiting for your answer.  

Why did you agree to join the raid?

To save that little girl.  Because that’s what heroes do. 

But...

“After my fight with Deku, you sat with me.  You didn’t have to do that either. So why?”

Arms gripping your hoodie, squeezing you for dear life.  His whole body trembled under your touch.  Tears as he begged for forgiveness that you couldn’t give him.  But you wanted to - because it would mean his pain would be put at ease.  If you couldn’t give him what he needed, what he longed for, you would at least be there for a moment longer than the tears would fall.  You just needed him to know he wasn’t alone.  You needed Katsuki Bakugou to know you were there for him, no matter what.

“And with the League attack?  You weren’t with Kirishima and them.  You went off on your own, to try and save me.  Why?”

They wouldn’t see how hard he worked.  How much he wanted to be a hero.  And if they hurt him, if he refused and the villains hurt him?  If they took that away from him…?  All of his hopes and dreams?

No.  No, you weren’t going to let that happen.  

You had to bite you lip to keep it from shaking.  Bakugou was listing off all your fuck ups as if they mattered.  As if they were helping his case.  As if they were something you should be proud of.  You considered telling him, making him aware that even in those moments, you still failed:  you got knocked out during the raid, during the fight with the villains, and that you hadn’t done much besides give him a hug in the kitchen.  You weren’t doing much.

Deep breath, look away.  His face was too much.  It was too honest, trying to grab at you and hold you still.  He could almost convince you that you did something besides hinder those who had a better chance of being a Hero.

“You do half the shit you do because you’re a good person.  You want to help people.”  Movement caused you to glance his way.  He turned to sit back down on the couch.  “As stupid as it is, I guess it’s pretty admirable.”

‘Pretty admirable’?  He - Katsuki Bakugou - thought it was admirable.  You opened your mouth, but after a long moment of silence found you had nothing to say, so you closed it again.  You hated that even without speaking, you were losing this fight.  “So does everyone else.”  You replied weakly.  It didn’t make you special.  It didn’t make you any different.

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

“Than wouldn’t that mean you belong here with all the other losers looking to be a Hero to protect people?”

Ding!

Behind you, the elevator opened.  

A soft gasp escaped your chest.  So...that’s what he was doing.  Leave it up to him to talk you around into a circle before shoving your argument back into your face...no, he hadn’t been nearly as harsh as you had expected.  He was speaking so softly to you, being as gentle as he knew how - which granted, wasn’t much, but appreciated none the less.  One shouldn’t look a gift explosion in the mouth.  

You looked at the elevator over your shoulder, stared at it’s open doors.  

You let them shut.

For the first time since that raid, you smiled.  Really, honestly smiled.  You set your bag down against the wall.  The walk back to the couch was the lightest you had felt in a long while.  You sat down next to him, resting your hands on your knees and one by one, you tapped your fingers against your skin.  With a deep breath, you felt your shoulders relaxed.  You weren’t surprised he was able to help.  “I guess...technically...using that logic...you’re not wrong.”

Bakugou scoffed, closing his eyes and tossing his head back.  “Of course I’m not wrong.”

You chuckled, shaking your head.  “How could I have ever thought to argue with you? Truly a futile effort to begin with.”

His smirk was quick, a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth before he grunted and looked away.  The prickly exterior he generally used to conceal himself was growing back into place and you couldn’t help but laugh.  You had been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you almost forgot how much he made your heart skip.  As you looked over his profile, you realized that you were entirely thankful for Bakugou and not just in that moment.  You had been so stuck in your pit, sinking lower and lower that you didn’t think you’d ever get out of it.

But like everything, he broke the glass ceiling and shot through.  Only this time, he snatched you up and pulled your head to the surface.  Even if for a moment, you could breathe because he was holding your head above the water.  

You leaned over and bumped his shoulder with yours, nudging him warmly.  He ruined expectations again by waiting a moment before doing it back to you.  

He was so warm, his skin amazingly soft.  It lit your chest aflame and your cheeks grew pink - but you didn’t move.  The two of you leaned against each other but said nothing about it.  How did you find yourself here?  You had been close to him before but this was different in a way that didn’t seem to make any sort of sense.  And...you kind of like that it didn’t.  Because it didn’t have to.  You realized that sometimes, when it was just the two of you, as few as those “sometimes” may have been, you simply wanted it to just...be.  

You shouldn’t want to be so close to him, not now.  Would it be in poor taste?  Would he think less of you if he knew?  Did he know?  Did he feel the same way?  You were certain that if he looked over at you, looked into your eyes he would...at least see something.  You weren’t sure exactly what it was, but it was enough to cause your knees to knock and your chest to ache.  And you wondered if he would see how much your fingers longed to reach out and touch his body, draw him close and...  

But that didn’t matter.  Not now. 

You looked down at your hands.  If you...wanted to try...wanted to see if...this was something you could have, you would have to take the first leap.  Bakugou wasn’t going to do it.  He wasn’t going to be the one who dove head first.  But was now the perfect time?  Would there ever be a perfect time?  After having him strip your defenses, tear you down, build you back up - should you wait?

You spared another look, hoping that you might find confidence in his being.  

Your eyes met.  He was looking at you too.

No.  No, you weren’t waiting.  Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t someone you waited for.  If you were going to do this, see if he felt the same way you felt - all the crazy heart skips and lingering glances when the other wasn’t looking - you had to do this now.  

Gathering all your courage, you moved your hand and offered it to him.  His eyes tore away from your face then down at your open palm.  The universe held it’s breath, watched eagerly...as he slid his fingers between yours.  His calloused digits scratched at your skin lightly, his palms were a little clammy and...

Bakugou held you firm, grasping you tightly.  Desperate and scared and you remembered everything that lead you to this moment.

“That Bakugou kid likes you.”

Wild hair haloed in the setting sun peeking above the tops of overgrown trees.  Everyone around you disappears when his arms wrap around you.  He holds your hands, guiding the knife as he helps you chop.

“Out of all those losers, I was glad you were there.”

It felt like something was dragging you to him, tugging your body towards his.  He wasn’t stopping you, he wasn’t yelling or screaming or pushing you away.  He just watched, eyes narrowed and darkened under his hair.  Was he waiting to see what you would do?  Was he too scared to move on his own?  You reached out, gliding your fingers over his sandy blonde locks and brushing them out of the way so you could see his face.  Fingertips drifted down and over his cheek, trying to offer the same warmth he filled you with.  

Defiantly, a daring look in his eye, he pressed his cheek into your hand.  If you’re going to do this, then mean it.  Everything about him made you want to scream, drove you mad.  He always fought - and you saw now, that this whole time...he was fighting for you.  Fighting to let you know.  Had you been so entirely blind all this time?  

You wanted to say something, to let him know that you saw.  But words were wrong, thin, pointless and empty.  Nothing you could say would ever be enough to let him know how you felt.  So you would give all of you and hope that it was enough for him.

Without waiting another moment, you pressed your lips to his.  It was a deep and heavy action, one that he met with passion only he could muster.  You closed your eyes and lost yourself into his taste, the heat of his lips, his very presence.  It was a rush, one that sent you spinning - derailed all train of thought.  All that mattered was him.  All that lived in this universe was you and him.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you up and over him and you were happy to follow.  You didn’t dare break away, to lose the contact that you obviously both had been longing for.  Your fingers found their way into his hair, twisting and tangling.  Never once did he pull away - quite the opposite.  He met you, every press of your lips, every motion of want and desire, laid bare in front of both of you.  And as you felt his finger graze over the skin on your back, dipping under your dress shirt to set the nerves there on fire, you realized both of you were utter fools.

It’s an awful thing: knowing you’re not enough.  Wanting something so badly, but no matter how much you long for it, it still slips through your grasp.  Of knowing that nothing you could have done would have changed the outcome.

He should have stayed in his dorm.  He should have never looked at his phone.  He should have never told you about Bakugou.  

He should have never let you get so close.  

It was by chance he glanced at the window looking into the common room, hand poised in front of the door.  At first, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking at - two shadowed masses, one on top of the other.  But then, he saw your face.  His heart wrenched when you pulled away from Bakugou.  A scream locked in his throat the way you smiled at him, soft and loving.  He hated the look in your eyes as you ran your thumb over his lips, as he slid his fingers into your hair to pull you back for more. 

Something Shinsou couldn’t have.  Someone he wasn’t enough for.

He didn’t linger on the steps for too long.  He feared you would see him and then - then you would have to talk.  He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle that, not with Bakugou behind you.  

The walk back to the dorm was a long one and he was surprised he made it into his room without incident.  It was late enough though, most of his classmates were asleep and the rest had retired to their rooms.  No one knew he was gone.  His mind was utterly blank until the locked clicked shut.

He didn’t realize he had punched the wall until his hand pulled back, sliced open.  Blood pooled and ran down his arm.  But it wasn’t enough.  It didn’t stop him from replaying that scene in his head over and over again.  The way you two were looking at each other, the soft touches, gentle smiles...

He slumped to the floor and let out one pitiful sob.  

What was he supposed to do now?

Author’s Note:  I honestly watched Cats the 2019 musical and then wrote Shinsou’s part because I’ve been having a pretty good week honestly so I wasn’t in the headspace for honest disappointment.  

I just needed something to remind me that happiness is fleeting and something terrible and awful will usually come and destroy what you know and love most in this world.  Drag your joy through the mud until the only thing left is a shell of what once was.

...who let’s Hooper direct shit?

Anyway.  I do think I’m going to lead into a part 4 for this one.  I don’t know.  I’ll let you guys decide if you want something more lol since I’m interested in continuing it.  Especially given the newer chapters. 

Also eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, kissing scene.  First real one on this blog anyway and not a kiss mentioned in passing.  And look, it only took me a year or so to do it. :)  I’m a fantastic mod of this blog who gives people what they want and doesn’t focus on stupid shit in the slightest why are you guys here you should have left me on the street corner where I was standing

Tag List!  If you want to be added, let me know!

@snaspants​ | @purplebellybell | @sxlenced-xf-lxvers​ | 

[thatslikely]

Seeker Pt. 2 - D.M.

Seeker Part 2- Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (unspecified house but not Slytherin)

Warnings: None! Just a fluffy sequel :)

Word Count: 3.0k

A/N: You can find part 1 here if you haven’t read it already!  Sorry this took so long, I’ve just been trying to make sure its a worthy sequel.  I wanna thank everyone for over 150 notes on Part 1, I never expected such astounding support!  Also keep your eye out for the mini surprise at the end ;)  Also I would really love feedback since this is my first sequel, especially to my first ever fic.

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and Y/L/N is Your Last Name

----

Meet me at our spot tonight at 11.  I’ve missed you.

D.M.

You slid the perfectly-written crisp parchment back into the expensive black envelope it arrived in, to hide it from your nosy dorm-mates.  Draco’s owl perched patiently at the open window of your dorm, barely making a chirp. You handed the well-trained bird a small piece of chocolate, which was previously stowed away in your nightstand, before sitting down at your desk to pen Draco a response.   

The holiday break had been relaxing, especially since you got a long break from Quidditch practices.  You loved Quidditch, you dare say almost as much as Oliver Wood did, but your muscles were perpetually sore, much to your displeasure.

You hadn’t seen the Slytherin Seeker, who you now affectionately call your friend, since the day before break began, and you were desperate to see his handsome smile again.  You missed the glow of his hair in the moonlight, the ambitious and determined look in his eyes before a match, the soft touch of his hands as he held your shoulder or less frequently, your hand.

The line between friend and lover had always been blurred with him; often people accused him of being your boyfriend.  Some days he reluctantly denied it, but some he just gave you a charming wink as he grasped your hand firmly.

It would be idiotic to deny your abundant feelings for him.  At first, it was the subtle ways you’d pick up the little habits about him: how he fiddled with his rings when he was nervous, or how he always polished his broom every afternoon before a game or even the way he swiftly brushed his hand through his platinum blonde hair the moment he saw you walk towards him.

The blush that crept up on his alluring face every time you were near signalled that the feelings were thankfully mutual.  He was painfully obvious, as you were sure you were too, so it was only a matter of time before he’d ask you out on a date to Hogsmeade.   Hopefully, it will even be tonight.

The blonde’s owl had flown away by the time you realized that you had yet to jot him down an answer.  You could always send him an acknowledging wink at dinner since you always purposefully made sure to position yourself for a picture-perfect view of him in all his glory.

Dinner came and went.  The food was delicious per usual, you were constantly glancing at Draco from across the Great Hall, you chatted with your friends about the upcoming Potions test, which Draco would surely insist on helping you study for.  And of course, you sent him a playful wink as promised.

His silver eyes weren’t off you either.  He loved to admire the way your face morphed into a lively laugh or the soft, warm glow that bounced off your face, courtesy of thousands of floating candles overhead.  He loved everything about you, inside and out, and he was ready to show it.

By the time eleven rolled around, you were thoroughly prepared.  You ensured your hair was perfect and your outfit was warm but eye-catching.  You clasped a delicate hand-wrapped forest green box, which’s lid was held on with a beautiful piece of starlight-silver twine.

It was a tradition to get your friends presents upon returning from the snow-speckled break, and Draco would be no exception.  You were certain you would receive no gift in return, but you didn’t care.  Draco, for lack of a closer term, was your friend, so he was no exception to your tradition. 

----

Draco had definitely gone soft on you, and his fellow Slytherins didn’t fail to notice.  Every time he snuck out even a second past curfew to see you at the Owlery, or Astronomy Tower, or anywhere really, they’d crack some sort of joke at both his and yours’ expense.  

He had not only gone soft on you but perhaps the whole school, in a way.  He was less prone to impulsively hexing first years, instead opting for slightly rude remarks.  He was even a tad bit nicer to the Golden Trio. 

He was still smart and sharp as ever though, maybe even paying a little bit more attention in class, in case you needed help studying.  

One thing didn’t change about him though, and that was his attitude regarding Quidditch.  He was fierce and strong as ever, and there was no way he’d back down during a game, even for you.  Even when he wasn’t playing against you, he’d play extra competitively, in an attempt to both intimidate and impress you.

And whenever it was you on the broom and him in the stands, he always cheered for you as loud as his lungs allowed.  You always wondered why his voice was hoarse after you won a match the night before, not thinking that it was his yells that rang the loudest through the pitch.

----

The steps up to the Owlery were icy, just as you were afraid of.  Your knuckle was white from gripping the freezing stone rail up the endless steps.  Finally, though, you reached the top, unsurprised to see that Draco had beaten you up here.  He was always one step ahead, after all. 

“It’s felt like ages since I’ve seen you, Y/N.  How was your holidays?”  His face lightened at the sight of you peeking elegantly through the cracks of moonlight.  You looked as gorgeous as ever.

“It was wonderful!  I got a brand new Quidditch broom, so be prepared to eat my dust, Malfoy,” you said with a smirk.  Your hands rested suspiciously behind your back, carefully concealing Draco’s present. 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Y/L/N.  Remember, I won’t hesitate to push you off your broom, even if it kills you.”  Draco’s words, even the taunting ones, sounded like the most eloquent poetry to your love-struck heart.  

“Right back at you.  I actually practiced my shoving techniques every morning back home.  I bet I could push you off your broom 23 different ways if I really wanted to.”

Draco chuckled at your comment and you let your sarcastic expression fade into a genuine smile.  The blonde slowly inches even closer to you; your face is eventually so close to Draco’s that you can see every detail imprinted on his pale skin.  He accidentally brushes his ring ornamented hand against yours, causing your cheeks to become pink and warm, imitating the effects of sipping some freshly-steeped tea.   

“Well anyway, I have something for you.  For the holidays, you know.”  Draco pulls out a small black box from his matching black trousers with a charming smile.  His rings reflect the pale moonlight magnificently, and you catch yourself staring at the back of his hands.

You slowly accept the box from his hand, your hand half holding his as you take it.  You say quietly, “You didn’t have to get me a gift, Draco.”

 “I didn’t have to.  I wanted to, love.  I care about you, more than you’ll ever know.”  You felt the corners of your eyes prick with tears at his kind words.  Everything he said somehow managed to hit you directly in the heart.  

You carefully opened the inky-black box.  Draco looked down at you anticipatedly, a hopeful grin painting his face.

Laying perfectly inside of the box was a beautiful, ornate, and expensive silver serpent necklace, identical to the rings that he wore daily.  The glimmering eyes of the snake were magnificent, crystalline emeralds, which precisely matched the bold hue of Slytherin’s Quidditch robes.

Your eyes continued to grow misty; your hand that wasn’t admiring every microscopic detail of the necklace was covering your mouth in awe.  Draco’s lips quirked into a cocky smile at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself.  

Without hesitation, you clasped the necklace around your neck.  You couldn’t stop fiddling with it until Draco grabbed your hand, using the connection to pull your chest into his slowly.  He softly muttered, “I like you, more than you’ll ever know” before leaning in for a kiss.

Draco’s lips on yours were like nothing you’ve ever felt.  He felt magnetic.  You would never be able to let go of this moment, the way his hand cupped your cheek gently, the way your hand glided from his chest to his shoulder, pulling him impossibly closer.  You felt whole.  

When you finally pulled away, your electrified lips yearned to touch his’ again.  Instead of kissing him again though, you barely managed to squeak, “I like you, too.”

----

The next Quidditch match came by faster than you expected, and you were scrambling to prepare for your battle against the Slytherins once again.  Draco had been gloating all day about how much he and the team had improved since your previous game.  

“You may have gotten lucky last match, Y/L/N, but this time you’ll like a first-year learning how to fly next to me.  Do you think the gold of the Snitch will compliment my hair?”  Draco swept his hand through his perfectly-styled platinum blonde locks, a cocky expression unsurprisingly on his face.

“You won’t even have to worry about whether it matches your stupidly gorgeous head of hair or not since it’ll be me who gets it in the first place!”  You retorted, rolling your eyes at him instinctively.    

“Oh, really?” he asked flirtatiously, before giving you a small peck.  The sudden kiss caused you to become so flustered, that you couldn’t do anything but shut up; he grinned triumphantly at your reaction.

The game started not long after yet again another boastful interaction with Draco.  You hovered high above the ground on your new, polished broom, ready to beat your Slytherin ‘rival’ once more.

Draco could be seen across the field, cracking his knuckles in an attempt to look intimidating.  While his Quidditch record would ordinarily frighten a Seeker such as yourself, you knew the real Draco, and he didn’t scare you one bit.  

A booming “brooms up!” echoed through the pitch, and immediately you flew directly to the top of the pitch, looking down at the whizzing flashes of green like a cat peering attentively through a fishbowl.  

Draco soon joined you up at the top of the pitch, following your exact movements just as he had done before.  He spat, “Scared, Y/N?” almost identically to the last match.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you said with a knowing smile.  He playfully rolled his eyes at you, and the corners of his mouth raised to an adorable and goofy smile.  

“Remember, I won’t be going easy on you, even if things are different.  Just because I fancy you doesn’t-” he was quickly cut off by the shimmer of gold seen out of the corner of his eye.  His expensive and sleek black broom immediately flew him to the well-manicured grass that lined the ground of the pitch.

By the time you had caught up with the cocky Seeker, he was mere feet from the Snitch.  You quickly flew to his side so you two were parallel, both of your hands, which had been intertwined so many times before, now opposing each other in the battle for the elusive winged sphere.

It seemed the game that you and Draco had played against each other last time, which results you wished so desperately would repeat, was doomed to change.  He clashed his torso into yours harshly, in an attempt to throw you off.  

Instead of toppling off your broom, you tried to give him a taste of his own medicine; you felt your bones shake after jerking your body weight into him, but he looked as if he had only been hit with the force of a leaf languidly fluttering in the wind.

Draco emitted a snarl after you rammed into his side, but he was undaunted in his pursuit of the Snitch.  His pupils were practically glued to the medal-colored blur, which was darting rapidly in any direction it could.

You knew you couldn’t beat Draco this time.  At least, not like how you had been playing so far.  Your arm was too short, your broom too slow, so you used the last of what little energy you had within yourself to pelt all of yourself, including your heart, at him. 

Instead of colliding into your green-glad admirer as you intended, you were only met with the cold and terrifying emptiness of oxygen.  

The ground felt so close, your tongue could almost taste the metallic copper bite of blood.  You could vividly see the way your side would slam into the spiky grass like a ragdoll, your bloodied nostrils filling with the smells of grass and the morning sun. You could envision players draped in uniforms of clashing hues dashing to your pain-ridden body, ready to carry you to Madame Pomfrey. 

But due to Draco Malfoy, that horrifying situation remained trapped only within the confines of your mind.  

You never thought you could love Draco as much as you did right now.  

His arms were outstretched and strong as you landed into them, light as a feather.  The blonde strands of hair that clung to his forehead in sweat and the unwavering confident look in his eyes drew you closer to him unconsciously.  His biceps, which were nicely toned due to his years of Quidditch, set you gently in front of him on his broom.

He wrapped one of his arms securely around your chest, which soothed your increasingly rapid racing heart exponentially.  His other arm was held high above his head, valiantly boasting the Snitch that resided within his glove-covered hands.

The crowd that resided in the green and grey towers of the pitch were erupting with joy.  You were almost too shocked from your near-fall to roll your eyes at his huge display of cockiness and pride, keyword being almost.  You leaned your head against his chest, listening to the ego-boosted beating of his heart, a stark contrast from your own.

The final moments before the two of you drifted to the ground were spent with him cheering in pride, and you taking comfort from his compassionate embrace.  And maybe you were wafting in a bit of his pleasant-smelling cologne, too.

----

Your house’s common room looked dreary and deflated, comparable only to that of a seven-year-old’s birthday party- where nobody bothered to show up.  While everyone was sympathetic for you, you couldn’t help but sense a slight tinge of resentment hidden beneath every soft pat on the back or obligatory smile.  

The Slytherin common room, however, was filled to the brim with its cunning house-members.  Firewhiskey was flowing through the crowd like pouring rain after centuries of drought.  The music was pounding so loud that the intricate chandeliers hanging from the top of the dungeon were shaking violently along with the beat. 

Draco and his posse stood at the corner of the alcohol-drenched room, leaning against the signature green walls, away from the large mob of partiers that had accumulated in the center.  

While the Firewhiskey normally would have clouded the blonde’s head by now, tonight his mind was crystal-clear.  

He couldn’t get Y/N out of his head, and frankly, he didn’t want to.  He should be focused on how utterly heroic he was during the Quidditch match or his huge victory for Slytherin.  But instead, he thought about how you felt under his arm, how your head softly rested on his chest.  It felt like the final puzzle piece had been placed, his love and need for you cemented.

He wouldn’t be able to live without your embrace again, he was sure of that, but maybe he wouldn’t even be able to last five more minutes.

He muttered a quick, “I’ll be back,” to his surrounding house-mates before shoving his green half-full cup of Firewhiskey into one of their hands.  He walked confidently through the mob of intoxicated partiers towards the enchanted stone wall exit.  

His eyes darted around the corridor as he paced towards your common room.  You wouldn’t be found in your common room, however, for the sulking of your house-mates was too much to bear.  

You instead could be found seated at a desk in the library, channeling your pent-up guilt from your performance at the Quidditch match into vigorously studying for a Potions exam on Monday.  

Your beat-up textbook was littered with dog-eared pages and bookmarks scribbled with helpful messages; it lay open on the page for Amortentia.  Your hand gripped your quill tightly, carving notes onto your piece of parchment.  Your eyes were briskly darting from one word to the next.

You were so wrapped up in your work that you didn’t notice that Draco had taken a seat next to you, enraptured in your presence.  His elbow lay pressed on the desk, head in his hand.  Your concentration was broken with a clear of his throat, followed by, “Hey darling, what’re you doing?”

“I’m studying,” you said, before adding meekly, “for Potions.”

“Oh love, you know I could’ve helped you,” he said with a disappointed smile.  His eyebrows furrowed as he flipped through your notes, noticing you were writing about the infamous love potion.  You let the quill in your hand go, letting your hand melt under Draco’s large palm. 

In an attempt to cheer you up, he said, “You know, I have a hunch on what I would smell in Amortentia, want to know what it is?” you nodded, “tea, warm autumn’s breeze, and maybe the faint smell of sweaty Quidditch robes.”

You let out a small laugh, adorning your now-pink face with a genuine smile.  “You know what I would smell?  Expensive cologne, green apples, and maybe a bit of sweetness under a cold exterior.”

“I’m not sweet, but if I was it’d only be for you,” Draco said with a sarcastic grumble.  

You looked up at Draco, who simply let his eyes take in all of you, adoring every single angle of your body.  The loving look in his eyes was enough to make your heart explode; your legs felt like jelly and your heart was beating out of your chest so loudly, you were sure he could hear it.

And soon he could, as his body grew slowly closer and closer to yours.  You pressed your forehead against his’, his molten silver eyes piercing through your own.  

Finally, after moments of staring longingly at each other, you tugged his green and grey pin-striped tie in for a kiss.

----

(Bonus) Epilogue:

The Three Broomsticks was filled to the brim with students from the Wizarding School across the bend.  Tables were littered with half-drank glasses of butterbeer; a few students could be seen snogging in the back booths of the tavern.  

You sat across from Draco Malfoy, your amazing boyfriend, as he rambled endlessly about Potter.  You weren’t listening to a word about the famous Gryffindor, instead, you were watching the way his lips articulated every word that spilled from his mouth.

“Right, darling?” Draco asked expectantly.

You nodded supportively.  Draco, instead of looking satisfied, quizzically asked, “so you think I should poor my butterbeer all over your head?  I’d be happy to.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening.  You just look so good when you talk, I got distracted.”

“It’s fine, love.  Well, I’m glad we finally got to go to Hogsmeade together.”

“After three months too!  Why couldn’t you have taken me sooner?” you asked overdramatically, tugging on your bag full of sweets from Honeydukes.  

“I’m sorry, but I seem to recall it’s your fault.  Study, Quidditch, study, Quidditch, study, Quiddit-”

“Okay, okay.  I get it.  I’m just not as naturally smart as you, Mister Potions Master.”  You rolled your eyes as he grinned at his title.

“Do you only flatter me so I do your essays for you?  Because if so, I hate to admit it’s working.”  He tucked a loose piece of your hair out of your face and behind your ear tenderly.

“Oh, Draco.  You don’t need to know.”  You fiddled with the silver serpent necklace that hangs around your neck that had been kissed so many times.  

You were head over heels for Draco.  Luckily, you were all his, and you would be forever. 

[writerbyaccident]

Fallen into Fantasy: Part Two (Yandere Dragon Shifter! Dabi vs. Enji Todoroki x Reader)

Part One    Part Three   Part Four   Part Five   Part Six   Part Seven    Part Eight

You had never realized that shackles could be so beautiful.

Even in the dim light of the cave, they sparkled in ways that you had never seen before, a mix of gold, silver, and countless jewels that threatened to blind you if you gazed at them for too long. And yes, only the golden chain around your ankle anchored to the stone wall was a true shackle, but the rest might as well have been, for the way that they weighed you down. Dozens upon dozens of rings, bracelets, and necklaces had been placed on you, threatening to send you crashing to the floor underneath the strain. Enji though either didn’t notice or didn’t care, adding more and more jewelry onto you with the proud, self-satisfied look of someone who was taking excellent care of their most prized possession.

That was what you were, you supposed, a valued treasure for Enji to hoard. Despite the intrigue of you being from another world, at the end of the day you were simply a human, nowhere near powerful enough for a dragon shifter like your captor to consider treating like an equal. Rather than be frustrated or disappointed with your helplessness though, Enji relished it. He loved the feeling of holding your fragile body against his, loved being able to frighten you into behaving with just a hint of his claws. But most of all, he loved knowing that you would have been doomed in this world without him.

“Enji,” you said quietly, careful to use his given name as he preferred you to, as opposed to the title of Endeavor that the world knew him as. “Don’t you think that’s enough?”

His searing blue eyes narrowing down at you, Enji frowned at your presumption that you knew better than him. Although you flinched at his expression, you were grateful that he was currently in his human form, knowing that if he had been in his dragon form, your question would have been met with a huff of flames that, while never actually reaching you, would have come far too close for comfort.

“You are my mate,” Enji reminded you with a growl. “The mate of the dragon king. And therefore, you must be dressed as such.”

“You’re going hunting though, you won’t even see me.”

“Even while I am gone, I wish to know that you are properly adorned. We haven’t physically mated yet, so my claiming scent on you is weak. By honoring you by decorating you in the treasures of my hoard, I am showing the world that you are mine. And no one will dare to touch what is mine.”

“But surely no one is going to dare to sneak into your home,” you answered, knowing even after less than a week with Enji that it was always a good idea to play to his ego.

“Of course not,” he agreed. “But if another of my kind comes to see me on urgent business, I’d rather not have them think that they can taste what belongs to me. Unless you would prefer finally mating?” He asked the question with a hungry smirk, reaching out to caress your cheek with his enormous hand, slowing gliding it down your neck all the way to your hips, where he stroked your skin in soothing circles. Your eyes wide, you shook your head in silent desperation, wondering as he leaned down towards you if this would be the time that he wouldn’t listen to you.

“Well, until later then,” he murmured in your ear, brushing his lips against the crook of your neck. You stayed frozen until he moved away, though you didn’t dare look away from him. Smirking at the way you were gazing at him, Enji slipped off his signet ring, storing it away in his usual hiding spot for his hunting excursions. He began to walk away, only to turn back to you, nearly swallowing your hand with his own and softly kissing the inside of your wrist.

With that, Enji stalked off through the cave tunnel, growing even larger, wings unfurling, and scales appearing all over him. You watched the transformation in a mixture of wonder and horror, still not used to the change even after seeing it so many times already. By the time he turned the corner, Enji was once again the crimson dragon that you had first caught a glimpse of. A second later, you heard the telltale sound, almost like rhythmic thunderclaps, of him taking to the skies to hunt for the dinner you would share tonight.

As soon as you heard him leave, you sighed, letting your head rest against the stone wall and just staring up at the ceiling. You knew by now that he would be gone for hours, leaving you all alone with nothing to distract yourself with. His previous hunts had left you so starved for diversion that you had begun counting the jewels and coins strewn all over the floor just for something to do. Even that wasn’t enough to keep you from silently rejoicing each time Enji arrived back home though, as ashamed as you were to admit it. You couldn’t really help it though, not when the dragon shifter was the only company you had. He was the only other living creature you had spoken to since stumbling your way into this world, and while you might deny it to his face, Enji was right when he reminded you how helpless you were, how much you depended on him. Even without the shackle keeping you chained to the wall that would be true, considering that the cave you had been brought to was over halfway up a mountain. With the way he had been acting today though, you weren’t sure if him rushing back home was what you wanted.

When Enji had first flew you back to his cave, you had been surprised to hear him say that he would officially mate with you only when you were ready. He certainly hadn’t been thinking about your consent when he had taken you in his talons and dragged you to his home against your will. You had said as much to him, only for Enji to patiently inform you that humans were just so delicate, so fragile, that you mate with you before you were ready would be far too dangerous. He didn’t want a broken shell of a mate, after all. But, you realized as you remembered the way he had kissed your neck and the soft skin of your wrist, Enji didn’t necessarily need your permission for him to decide that you were ready.

Your frenzied thoughts were interrupted though, as you heard the unmistakable sound of claws and scales scraping against stone. It couldn’t have been more than an hour since Enji had left, was he really back already? It didn’t take him very long to find enough food for you, but finding enough for himself was a different story, usually taking several hours. Perhaps he forgot something, or maybe he had gotten lucky. Whatever the reason, the roiling pit of emotion in your gut was mixed, one part of you glad that you weren’t alone anymore, and another part of you fearful that you would no longer be able to avoid what Enji wanted from you. But as the sound came closer, you realized that it didn’t sound quite like Enji. The footsteps, while still heavy enough to have the jewels and coins rattle across the floor, were lighter than your captor’s. And the raking of scales against the cave floor was somehow smoother than usual, less like the steady march of Enji and more like a slither. Curling up against the wall, you hoped was right when he said that being covered in items of his hoard would keep any other dragons from daring to touch you.

Any remaining hope you had that it was the devil you knew disappeared once and for all when the dragon came into view, his scorched black scales a far cry from Enji’s blood red ones. Although, you thought distantly as you watched from the corner of the vast cave, this dragon’s burning blue eyes were certainly similar. Said dragon didn’t even seem to notice you though, his eyes gazing only at the treasure filling the cave. As he slithered inside, you saw that even though he wasn’t as huge as Enji, more svelte than bulky, he was still very large. Though, honestly, considering that you had no frame of reference for what the average size of a dragon was, for all that you knew, this one could be considered extremely undersized.  Despite your lack of knowledge though, you were still pretty sure that dragons didn’t usually wear massive saddlebags on their backs.

But the reason for the saddlebag’s presence became clear soon enough, when the strange dragon made his way to a particularly large pile of jewels and began shoveling dragon-sized handfuls into his bag.

“He won’t even miss this stuff,” you heard the dragon mumble to himself. “Asshole doesn’t deserve this treasure anyway.”

Seeing that this stranger was hardly a loyal subject of the dragon king who had claimed you as his mate, you sat as still as you possibly could, hoping that he would leave without ever noticing you. When the dragon gave a sudden sniff and stiffened though, you knew that it was too late. He had caught your scent.

“Well, well, well,” the dragon chuckled, turning around quickly for something so large, “what do we have here? A pretty little human that the mighty dragon king Endeavor is saving for a midnight snack, one flavored with the scent of another world?” Pinned under the dragon’s piercing blue stare, you weren’t sure if it would be better for you to correct him or to stay silent. But he didn’t give you the chance to choose, not when he noticed the all of the jewelry that you were practically drowning in, jewelry that all bore Enji’s scent.

“Oh, not a meal at all then. A new little mate for his shithead majesty. I guess I can expect you to tell him exactly what happened while he was gone then.”

“Not at all,” you answered in a sudden moment of inspiration. “Go right ahead, I won’t tell him shit.”

“Oh really? And why should I believe you?” he scoffed.

“Because I’m hardly a fan of Enji,” you said, lifting up your shackle for the dragon to see.

“So he’s picked another less than willing mate,” the dragon growled. “That seems to be a habit with him.”

“Yeah, so, anything I can do to get back at him in some way, I’ll try.”

“A human after my own heart, and such a cute one too. I’m Dabi; what’s your name, sweetheart?”

Telling him your name, you pointed over towards the shining golden throne just a few yards away. “You know,” you told him, “if you really want to piss Enji off, pull off that sapphire on the head of the throne.”

Tilting his head in contemplation, searching for any sign of a lie or a trick in your eyes, Dabi bared his pointed teeth in what you assumed was supposed to be a smile before moving towards the throne, running his dark claws over it cautiously. When he finally deemed it safe, Dabi scratched at the sapphire, only to realize that his claws were too large and unwieldy for the task. Too curious now to just give up, Dabi shook off his draconian form, growing smaller, his wings retracting, and scales vanishing until he stood before you as a human. Even in this form, his scorched scales were still present, only now as wide-reaching burn scars covering his otherwise pale skin. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, you had to admit that Dabi made a handsome man. As if he could sense your thoughts, Dabi turned back to face you for a moment, winking at you with a smirk.

Once he successfully pulled out the sapphire, Dabi stayed silent for a moment, staring at the signet ring that had fallen into his hand. You were an extraordinary human, weren’t you? Dabi wasn’t impressed easily, but your move had left him with no choice. Chuckling to himself, he turned back around, stalking towards you with his long leather jacket flowing menacingly until he was towering over you, gazing at you with amusement and something darker in his eyes.

“Now that’s ballsy,” he grinned. “You’re certainly something, aren’t you?”

“I’d hope so,” you said, trying your best to smile back confidently at him. “Seeing how I’ve helped you out, what do you think about returning the favor?”

“Depends, what could a pampered little pet possibly want from me?”

“I want you to get me out of these shackles and fly me out of Enji’s territory,” you answered.

“That’s all? You don’t want me to help you find your way home?” Dabi asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I didn’t think you could help me with that. Can you?”

“I’m afraid not,” he sighed exaggeratedly. “I am more than happy, however, to get you out of the territory of a dragon so undeserving of you.”

With that, Dabi grasped the golden chain of your shackle, and a moment later, both his hand and the chain were wreathed in searing blue flames, melting the metal until it dripped onto the floor, freeing you from the cave wall. Nearly laughing in relief, you failed to notice the flash of greed in Dabi’s eyes as he stared you, the way he so tightly grasped your remaining chain.

“Thank you so much!” you gasped in wonder. “Do you think you could get rid of the rest of the chain and the shackle around my ankle?”

“I don’t have control that fine,” Dabi lied smoothly.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’m just glad to be able to move again.”

“I’m sure you are. Now we should get going, there’s no telling when Endeavor will be back.”

“Right,” you agreed. “You can just fly me to the forest east of here. That’s where I came into this world, so I might be able to find my way home from there.”

Rather than nod in understanding as you expected him to, Dabi simply scoffed coldly, reaching out to rest his hand on the back of your neck and pull you close, so that you were pushed up against his chest.

“Oh, but that wasn’t the deal, sweetheart. I said I’d fly you out of Endeavor’s territory, I didn’t say shit about where I’d take you instead.”

“What are you talking about? Where the hell are you going to take me?”

“You’re just far too fascinating to be wasted on Endeavor or on whatever backwater realm you came from. You need a real male to take care of you,” Dabi purred in your ear. “And I think I’m just the guy for the job.”

Before you could even attempt to run, Dabi was shifting back into his dragon form, his unwieldy claws wrapping around you tightly, leaving you without even an inch to move. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake as Enji, Dabi thought to himself, he wouldn’t leave you with even the slightest freedom, the slightest chance to escape. And so, Dabi ran out of the cave, leaping from the mountain ledge and unfurling his wings, flying away with you securely trapped in his claws.

           Whimpering, you closed your eyes so that you wouldn’t have to look at the fatal drop that awaited you if Dabi suddenly changed his mind, though that couldn’t block out the sensation of the wind whipping around you.

           “Take a good look, sweetheart, cause this is the last of the outside world you’re gonna see for a very long time,” Dabi roared above the wind. Before you could try to answer though, before you could even decide what kind of answer you wanted to give, another roar met your ears, one that sounded awfully familiar.

           Twisting around as best you could while grasped in Dabi’s claws, you spotted a familiar crimson mass flying towards you, growing exponentially larger by the second. Your current captor saw Enji too though, and as the dragon king dove for the thief who had dared to claim his most precious treasure as his own, Dabi swerved out of the way, taking advantage of his more lithe form, and called out behind him, “Careful, now, Endeavor. Another move like that and you might just hurt my mate.”

           “Give me my mate back now,” Enji thundered, “and I will let you live.”

           “Oh, but what’s even the point of living if I no longer have my mate?” Dabi laughed, gripping you even tighter as he flew lower, almost skimming the treetops of the forest.

           “This is your last warning!”

           “You think I give a shit about your warnings?” he yelled. “I never do, and I care about them even less when I’ve got such a beautiful little treasure to carry home.”

           At those words, all restraint that Enji had was broken, and he barreled into Dabi at full force. The loosening of Dabi’s claws was inevitable then, though he still roared in fury as soon as he felt you leave his grip. With the momentum pushing him and Enji away though, neither dragon was able to catch you as you fell towards the trees, your mind giving way to darkness.

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[thebiscuiteternal]

“Sacrificial” Sangyao ship, Nie Age Swap, Murder, Guilt and Grief, Nightmares, Future Necromancy. Warning for abuse because Jin Guangshan is a prick.

__________

It always starts the same, with the feeling of elegant, clever fingers combing through his hair and deftly separating tresses to begin weaving.

"You two watch each other's backs out there. Yao-di, make sure my hot head brother doesn't get himself stabbed."

He covers his mouth with his sleeve to hide a smile as Nie Mingjue, his braids already fixed, rolls his eyes at his older brother. "I don't need him to hide behind."

"That's exactly the attitude I mean, didi. Don't be so eager to pick fights."

"I'll be happy to help the young master watch his tongue," Meng Yao teases, earning a scowl from said young master and a snort of amusement from his sect leader.

"At this rate, I should be expecting any minute to receive word that you two burned down Langya," Nie Huaisang says dryly as he finishes fastening a guan around the already completed braids.

Before Meng Yao can mourn the loss of contact, he and Nie Mingjue both are swept into an embrace tighter than outsiders would think Nie Huaisang could possibly manage.

"Both of you better come back safely, understand?"

"Yes, mother hen," Nie Mingjue snipes as if he isn't perfectly content being trapped in the circle of his brother's arms.

"Brat," Nie Huaisang chides fondly and doesn't let either of them go before making his little brother gag and squirm with an overly messy kiss on the cheek.

Meng Yao can't help laughing at their antics, his heart aching with affection at being included in them.

He will miss this.

The goodbyes said, he and Nie Mingjue collect their things and head for the door to go join everyone else.

When his fingers touch the doorframe, his insides go cold in a sudden wash of fear.

Don't turn around, he wills himself, don't turn around, dontturnaround, dontturnaround-

His body acts without his permission.

In the true memory, his lover had simply given him a sad, affectionate smile and waved him on. Here and now, Nie Huaisang stands before him, ashen pale, eyes rolled back in his head, a shattered teacup at his feet.

The sect leader crumples as if someone cut the strings holding him up, and Meng Yao lunges forward to catch him before he can hit the floor.

"Why?"

The question is only a figment of his mind though it sounds like it comes from his lover, struggling for air he will never breathe again.

"What have you done?"

That question comes from Nie Mingjue, who stands in the doorway and stares at them in shock, then fury. "What have you done?!"

The last thing he sees is Baxia aimed for his neck.

---

Jin Guangyao jerks awake, a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream lodged in his throat. Every bit of him trembling, he sits up and rakes his hands through his hair in a desperate attempt to ground himself back in reality.

There are no braids, not even a crimp.

He is Jin Guangyao, not Meng Yao.

He is in Koi Tower, not the Unclean Realms.

He is dressed in the umbers and golds of a Jin, not the greens and silvers of a Nie.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his tongue to bleeding as he forces himself to acknowledge the last truth of his situation for yet another time.

That Nie Huaisang is dead by his hand.

---

He can't help the hiss of pain that escapes his mouth as he carefully paints makeup over the new bruise.

The new Sect Leader Nie may not have voiced any suspicions of him specifically, but it is clear that he believes Lanling Jin to have had a hand in his beloved brother's most untimely death.

Father is, of course, displeased.

Displeased that Nie Mingjue is not actually a mindless, easily controlled brute, that Nie Huaisang had managed to grind some measure of politics into that thick skull, but most of all by the fact that the man will not let the matter of his brother die as easily as his body had.

And when Father is displeased...

Jin Guangyao winces again when another bruise pulls, and his gaze is drawn to a small lacquered box carved with intricate mountains around its sides.

The rolled up scroll inside, barely wider than his palm, is one he had stolen from Nie Huaisang's room that night.

Or, not stolen. Simply claimed. The list of rules so carefully penned to the paper had been written for his sake, after all.

-"For once, I am quite serious, Yao-di. Before we take this even one more step, I need to know what you're okay with and what you aren't. I don't want to risk the possibility of hurting you, even just by accident."-

His hands clench on the dresser as he tears his eyes away from the dark wood and stares at the bruises he has yet to cover.

The longer he sits, the more the knots that have been steadily twining themselves in his heart and stomach tie tighter.

He can't help but laugh at himself because gods above, he is a fool.

He sacrificed a love freely given for a love dangled just out of reach, and in the end, he has nothing at all.

---

Of all people, it is Xue Yang that gives him a spark of hope, and not even intentionally. It's an idle comment tossed out in the midst of complaining about local corpses rotting too fast before he can get to them for his experiments.

"Doesn't the Nie sect use stone coffins instead of wood?"

"They do," Jin Guangyao murmurs without looking up from his notes.

And Qinghe is still half-frozen by winter, unlike the milder temperatures they have been experiencing in Lanling.

His heart begins to beat a little faster as the realization sinks in. It's... it's possible.

It's possible.

But there is the little nagging voice in the back of his mind that worries he will be too late. It has been over a moon since the funeral. What if-

He breathes in deep and braces himself.

He has to try.

"Change out of those clothes," he says as he gets up to begin putting their study materials away. "And gather what things you might need for a test run."

Xue Yang blinks at him, then a sharp, eager grin slinks across his mouth. "Yeah? What for?"

"We're going north."

[jasxier]

Indulgence

(I haven’t written anything in a while and suddenly this happens; you know how it is. A bit of hurt Jaskier never hurt anyone - except Jaskier. Lots of comfort and softies)

also on AO3 

The ballroom was just like every other ballroom Geralt has been. The chandelliers and golden sparkling glasses the guests were swinging around their fingers, spilling fine wine on the polished marble floor, the overwhelming smells of the roast and other delicacies these nobles cant't get enough of, the music, that bard who apparently if he would stop moving for a moment he would die on spot, the noise.

Oh, sweet Melitele, the noise. His ears were ringing, the voices, laughter, singing, instruments scratching the players' fingers mercilessly were unbearable. Now everyone was cheering as the musicians were performing a merry tune, too merry for Geralt's liking. Now it was the right time to make an unnoticed escape and so he looked around for a door leading as far away from the chaos as possible.

He wasn't one for festivities, never have been. The life of a Witcher would not allow these types of indulgence. Geralt himself knew that he would be happier and more satisfied sitting (alone) on the roots of an oak tree, watching (alone) as the leaves flirt with the light, playing hide and seek in the soft breathes of wind. Just him. Alone. Oh, and Roach, the horse.

His escape was easy and unnoticed, as planned. He didn't want to alert the host, who happened to be to mayor of this town and an old friend. Geralt had saved Miran's town from a Griffin attack and Miran has been so grateful to the Witcher, he has been sending him invitations to every festivity and happening in his town, practically begging for his presence and Geralt would politely refuse the otherwise tempting proposition. This time, however, Geralt couldn't resist as Miran himself invited him while the Witcher was passing by the town and had stopped to meet an old friend.

"My daughter is getting married, Geralt," he had said "come now, old friend, even you can't say no to an old man asking for a favour, it'll be fun."

"It'll be fun, he said," Geralt grunted as the music and the defeaning chatting and laughing noises slowly disappeared behind the closed door. He took a step and a long breath and leaned on the balcony railing overlooking the town, painted with a pink tint as the sun was going down. Geralt smiled to himself. Finally some peace and quiet. That only lasted for a few seconds.

A door got pushed open and slammed against the wall as a man stormed out and was desperately trying to free himself from his sweat soaked doublet. A lute was discarded beside him. Geralt raised an eyebrow at the still fighting-with-his-own-clothes man but curiosity (and a bit of pity) quickly turned into worry and a frown spread across his face. The young man didn't smell of alcohol as Geralt's first thought was but the strong scent of his distress and pain were too strong in the air to ignore him and leave him battle with his misery.

He slowly approached the man who was now free (Ah, finally!) of the damned doublet and sitting on his knees, fighting with the buttons of his shirt, swearing and hissing and wheezing, eyes shut painfully tight, face paler than the dead, lips dry and his fingers were violently shaking. Geralt took pity on the musician. Singing while carrying and playing a heavy ass intrument, such as the lute, having to swing and dance around the guests from one side of the ballroom to the other, keeping everyone entertained must be a hard job. Not that Geralt was paying close attention to the young bard during his performance, no.

"Let me" he said softly and kneeled in front of the man who was frantically working on the stubborn buttons of his now almost translucent shirt. He obeyed like it was the only option he had (it really was). His hands fell to his sides, limp and heavy as he groaned, letting his head fall on Geralt's shoulder, his forehead felt too hot on Geralt's skin. The Witcher - surprised by the blind trust the singer showed to him - stopped unbuttoning the shirt midway - why do these things have so many buttons, what the fuck - and shook the man's cold hands lightly.

"Hey" he placed his palm on the man's thigh and squeezed gently "you alright?"

"No?" came the breathy answer from the cold lips buried in Geralt's shoulder, too close to his exposed collar bone (he may have unbuttoned a few buttons of his own doublet and shirt earlier). Damn these formal clothes, he is starting to miss his armour.

"Right," the Witcher nodded three or five times, giving place and time to his brain to adjust to the unexpected situation. However, time runs faster for mortals, he realized as he felt the man's body going limp and his full weight burdening his shoulder and chest.

'"Right," he repeated and with a long sigh and a swift motion he picked both man and lute up and carried him all the way to his rented room at the town's inn.

The town streets were empty and the Inn looked abandoned as everyone was attending the festivities. "Good," Geralt thought and looked at the man's still form curled in his arms, face ashen, stray beads of sweat were rolling down his temple, damping his hair and brows. He was around his early thirties, a gentle face, long lashes painting shadows on his cheeks, "Good" he repeated out loud and walked up the stairs and in the room.

He gently placed him on the bed and unbuttoned the few remaining buttons of the sweat-soaked shirt and lifted it over the man's shoulders revealing a broad muscled chest covered with a thick layer of dark hair. Geralt used the shirt to dry the man's shoulders, chest and his sides before tossing it on the floor. He threw a few logs in the dying fire and turned to look at his guest with a frown. The bard hasn't stirred an inch. Geralt sat on the side of the bed and placed the flat of his hand on the man's forefead and pulled back a strand of damp hair. The chalk-white of his skin had turned pink and feverish, glowing a wam red under the light of the growing fire.

"Fever," he said to no one in particular "Must've been performing with it, the idiot" he smile at the realization: a professional. Geralt wasn't expecting anything less from Miran, his friend would have invited the best of musicians to perform at his daughter's wedding. However, the bard was not on his duty right now and that could cause a bad reputation around his name. Geralt stood up and with giving a last look at the young man's face he stormed out of the room.

*

Jaskier woke up from a hazy dream, shaking and he fluttered his eyelids, groaning painfully. He stirred and every joint and muscle in his body ached, particularly his feet and fingers. He buried his head against the pillow - wait, pillow? He looked around the unfamiliar room, blinking and shoved a hand in his tangled hair. With his eyes shut, he tried to remember the events of the past hours with little to no luck. A fume of panic begin to rise in his chest and he tried his best to swallowed it down. Again. No luck. He pushed his body up, supporting his weight on one hand but he felt weaker than a newborn baby and so, he collapsed on his side with a grunt.

The door of the room opened and the most stunning man Jaskier has ever seen came in, a worried look painting his handsome face. He closed the short space between him and the bed with long, confident strides. Jaskier was caught staring. He wouldn't admit it but he was staring. The stranger kneeled in front of him on eye level and - oh, sweet Melitele - his eyes were shining brighter than the finest gold, and a scar was resting on his eyebrow and all the way down to his cheekbone.

There comes a time in a poet's life where they find a source of unlimited inspiration. Something or someone to call their muse and it usually comes when least expected. However, there were other matters slightly more important than a poet's muse. 

"Where the fuck am I?" asked Jaskier and he barely recognised his own voice. Every single word came out in sharp gasps. The man looked at him with a frown and placed his hands on Jaskier's temple. Jaskier couldn't help but close his eyes and lean to the touch, mercifully cool against the heat of his own skin. He let a moan escape him and immediately came back to harsh reality, looking with embarrassment at the man who was smiling kindly. The bastard.

"It's alright, you passed out and I had to bring you here," he tilted his head and Jaskier noticed his chiselled jawline "I'm sorry," Geralt continued, "I had to take your shirt off, you see," he looked at his feet "it was soaked", my apologies, i would have asked but you were... unavailable"

"Don't apologize," Jaskier, completely unbothered by his own nudity, waved a hand in front of his face, regretting the action seconds later. He let his head hit hard against the soft pillow and closed his eyes

"I would be a better company if not for the fever dulling my spirits," he laughed and his lungs felt heavy "I'm Jaskier" he tried to immitate a bow as best as he could in this position.

"I know," the man said with a soft smile "Miran told me your name" he added and after seeing the confusion filling the bard's face he shifted and continued "After I brought you here I went back to inform the mayor about your current state," he paused "I knew you would be missed by your audience and I didn't want Milan to doubt your professionalism".

Jaskier, lowered his head and took a deep breath "I ruined everyone's night, didn't I?" he asked silently and look beneath his lashes at the man and for the first time he noticed a silver medalion with a wolf engraved on it, hanging from his chest and let out a soft gasp. The man was a fucking Witcher, he thought. Geralt followed Jaskier's eyes and sensed the young man's restlessness. He stood up and took a step back "this is usually the part where they run" he reminded himself. He turned his back at the man and threw a log in the hungry fire.

"Well," Jaskier took a sharp breath "aren't you gonna share your name with me?" he asked cheerfully ignoring the throbbing headache and the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach that was plaguing him all evening.

The Witcher turned around and looked at the bard surprised, most people don't pass this point. "Geralt of Rivia," he answered "and I'm a Witcher.. but you probably have noticed that already".

Jaskier moved and tried to sit up, clutching the sheets and squeezed his eyes tight, Geralt was by his side within seconds, helping him up gently. "Where do you think you're going, your fever has not subsided yet" he placed a hand on the small of Jaskier's neck, skin burning hot.

"Wanted to look at you closely," Jaskier breathed hard and swallowed even harder "Come closer then, i promise I won't bite" he frowned at his own silly line and nausea kicked his insides mercilessly. Geralt was there, kneeling by the side of the bed, he took the bard's hand in his and massaged his palm slowly with his thumb. Jaskier's breath hitched and he felt the pounding of his heart reaching his throat "Feels nice" he closed his eyes and for the second time that evening he let his head rest on Geralt's shoulder.

"Did you manage to get a good look at me, then?" Geralt asked quietly without letting go of the bard's hand.

"Oh, yes"

"I hope I didn't disappoint" his voice now barely a whisper.

Jaskier tipped his face up just enough to meet his "By Gods, no,"  he murmured and a faint smile lifted the corners of his lips "Quite the opposite" he added searching in the Witcher's eyes. What for? Anything.

Their gazes met and Jaskier felt the dizzy feeling growing in his belly, his body stiffened and felt cold sweat rolling down his nape. He instictively curled his fingers around Geralt's thumb and let his eyes close slowly.

"Let's get you laid down," he softly held him by the back of his neck and helped him lie down "before you pass out on me again". Jaskier's blush started spreading to his ears and neck and pinned his eyes to the wooden ceiling

"Yeah, sorry about that"  he paused "and thank you"

"Don't thank me, I did what anyone would do"

"No, not anyone," Jaskier protested "anyone would have thought of me as a pathetic bard who simply can't hold his liquor and would walk past me laughing," he turned his head with a pained expression that made Geralt's stomach twist a little "but you didn't, so, thank you, Geralt" the last were wrapped in a silent breath. Geralt felt the corners of his mouth rising and he drew the linen sheets up to Jaskier's chest, brushing the stubborn strands of hair away from his fever-ridden brow

"Now sleep"

"I just realized, I've been occupying your bed all this time" Jaskier muttered, feeling sleep already creeping over himself, slowly paralyzing him. Geralt chuckled and Jaskier could swear it was the best sound he ever heard

"Don't worry about it, sleep"

Jaskier was not one to give up easily "But you're paying for it" his voice was barely a mumble "I'll sleep on the floor"

Geralt could hardly muffle his laughter "That's just your fever talking, sleep" he repeated for the third time. Well, third time's a charm, it could actually work now. It didn't.

"Get on the bed," Jaskier patted blindly the free space beside him "there's plenty of room up here" he talked as if he was already on his fifth glass of wine, Geralt noticed and cursed the man's stubbornness, which he found endearing, if you ask him. He found endearing the way his guest's eyes were slowly  but steadily closing, like the sun sliding down behind the sea.

"You still there? Get .. on  ..bed" the bard's head lolled to one side and he was finally asleep. Geralt sighed (for the hundredth time that evening) and made himself comfortable on the floor next to the bed.

"We'll figure this out tomorrow"  he whispered and let sleep carry him over to the next morning.

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 10

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 10)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: So many questions, a few answers--and the identity of the assassin is revealed.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: CW for gore--please skip to the end for specific warnings that are spoilery.

This chapter may be garbage, but I've been STRUGGLING with this one (REWRITTEN FOURTEEN TIMES I AM NOT JOKING) so I'm posting it before I can change anything. The next one will come much sooner now that this ASSHOLE of a chapter is done.

If you've been waiting, I'm sorry and I love you. It's unbeta'd and uncooperative, so it's my fault if it sucks, but I WILL be making it up to you with a side story I'm now writing--Remile, anyone? >.> XD

Also, the content warning is for @elliot-orion​, 'cause it's a loving nod to a lovely hooman. We morbid nerds gotta stick together. They are just the literal best. <3

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

Lazari.

The word rattled around in twenty two year old Logan Berry's head the same way the word Necromata had in the empty skull of twelve year old Logan Crofter.

He was lucky, once again—to be alive, and to be supported. Lucky to have some of his memories, at least, to have his blood by his side...

His blood, and something more. Something that scared him and thrilled him and made him ache for the years and the empty hole in his head that kept him from it. Something that blotted out the world and turned the word into...something else.

Lazari. Lazari. Logan.

Lazari.

“Logan.”

There was a hand on his arm, breaking through the blood roaring in his ears and the dim haze that had fallen over his vision—not like the Loom of Memory, but something sick and frenetic and shaking.

...so this was what Virgil's panic attacks were like. Interesting.

The hand slid down to his wrist, then down further to mesh their fingers together.

There's something under the skin, itchy and trembling, and it makes Logan want to pull away because it's just too much...

The Green Man never lets him.

“...Roman?”

“That's right, Starlight. Just...hold on. Don't let go—not this time.”

Logan tightened his fingers in Roman's, trying to find a rhythm to get his breathing under control. It was more than just the panic and fear and confusion, his heart was racing and he couldn't breathe and his limbs were sore...he'd been running. Running away, running—towards?

Running through the tunnels, running through the dark, running away...

Roman's thumb ran along the side of Logan's index finger, slow strokes back and forth. Logan tried to time his breaths around each gentle sweep...and it helped, at least a little.

“I never have.” he managed to reply after a few minutes of just standing, clinging, breathing. “I never will.”

Roman's face was finally in focus again. Logan's chest felt raw, scraped by sandpaper and flayed by knives—he was tousled dark hair and  tanned skin and eyes of emerald, handsome and compassionate and so painfully kind, this prince, this king—

--and Logan loved him. He had loved him for so many years. Logan's mind had been stripped of the knowledge, but his heart was an open wound that knew, that remembered every second of that separation. It had clung, it had beat steady...it had waited for him.

“You did last time.” Roman pointed out with a sad smile. His free hand found his way into Logan's, leaving them standing there in one of the unused sewer tunnels, holding hands like besotted children as they stared into each other's eyes.

“You swore you wouldn't...and you let go.”

Logan shook his head. “No, I didn't. I was pulled away.”

“I...remember.”

Logan watched Roman frown at that, as if surprised by the knowledge of his own recollection—then watched the light in his eyes die a little.

“I can never forget.” he breathed, his eyes falling shut, lashes shimmering in the low light with the tears trying to escape. “The sound of your screams as you were dragged away...the door shutting, and how quiet everything got--”

“Why were we there?” Logan asked softly, stepping closer against his will. Everything in him was screaming for more, closer, all. He was starving for Roman, for his beauty and his smile and his laughter, for his wild optimism and boundless determination.

“Hmmm?”

“Why were we there? Why...why was I arrested? What did I hide?”

Roman opened his eyes, causing the tears to spill while his expression melted from pain to puzzlement. Logan reached up with hand, without letting Roman go, to wipe away one of the tear tracks with his thumb.

“What do you mean?”

“I remember being taken—my last glimpse of you. Before you grabbed me, I was hiding something.” Logan explained.

And that was...important somehow. He just couldn't put his finger on it...

Roman leaned into Logan's touch, shifting his grip so he could hold Logan's hand to his face, palm curled against Roman's cheek while he thought.

“I—I have trouble remembering.” he admitted softly. “We were looking for one of the Tomes. To...prove...”

Logan nodded. “I reconstructed a portion of that memory earlier—but something stopped me from finishing it. That was why I was so...confused when I left the Loom of Memory.”

Roman nodded. “I felt it. I couldn't see the memory, but when you were channeling from me, I...sensed what you were doing, and I tried to help. When you were thrown out of that trance, it felt—wrong. Painful.”

“But you can't remember?” Logan asked, something worming through his brain as he turned it over in his head. “That doesn't make sense. Why would...”

...he hung on until the grip on his collar finally yanked him out of the fourteen year old prince's grasp...

He stilled, something in the pit of his chest trembling.

“...I made sure of it.” he realized aloud.

“Made sure of what, Logan?”

Looking into Roman's eyes, Logan remembered that younger face, the desperation and fear, that glimpse of jewel green in the dark and that was all he wanted in the world before...before...

“When I was taken—I didn't let go, I was pulled away. I made sure of it.” he replied with more confidence.

Logan stared down at their remaining joined hand, lifting it up between them. He shifted his grip, unlinking their fingers until he had his wrapped around Roman's digits in a death grip. Roman's hand curled into it, clinging like he had that night.

When he'd been trying to drag Logan to safety.

The hand at his collar yanked, and Logan's fingers slid free, throbbing—

Only then did Logan feel the bite of the ring.

“What's this, Roman?”

Releasing his hand, Logan showed him the ring he was wearing—heavy silver, wrought with strange symbols that Logan did not understand anymore, but called to him in a way that made him think he'd known how to read them once upon a time. The ring was set with a stone blue as lapis lazuli and Patton's eyes, but rather than being flecked with gold, it was dotted red.

Roman stared at the ring on his hand, then at Logan, fear in his eyes.

“Remus.” he breathed. “He...he put it on me the night you were arrested. I was holding it, and he put it on me—Logan, why didn't I remember that? Why are there things I don't remember?...”

“Because I was wearing it.” he replied, running his thumb over the stone. Removing his other hand from Roman's cheek, Logan cradled Roman's hand between both of his and inspected the ring more closely. It was warm to the touch, and he felt a flare of power in his gut that terrified him. The ring was bespelled...

He'd been wearing it the night of his arrest—and Logan was still working the spell wrought into it.

“It's enchanted...I think the spell breaks if the wearer removes it.” Logan replied slowly, uncertainly. “I...I made sure I didn't take it off myself. You...you pulled it off my hand, I remember it wrenched my finger.”

He stared at the ring, then up at Roman again.

“I think...I think the fact that I never broke my connection to it means that it's spell is affecting both of us. Some spell affecting perception, or...memory.”

Roman gaped at him, then at the ring. Logan watched his brow furrow, then his jaw set with an anger he didn't recognize, but one that felt painfully familiar.

“Well then—let's see which it is.”

There was something Logan was missing...something about where they were standing...

Over Roman's shoulder, Logan spotted a steel ladder leading up.

He recognized this tunnel.

“Roman, no--”

Tugging out of Logan's grip, Roman removed the ring.

********** “...sorry, guys.”

“For the ninth time, Patton—it's okay.” Virgil soothed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I didn't even expect him to spook when you told him he was a Lazari. That's normally my job.”

“I'm assuming that's why the prince is hanging on you?” Janus replied dryly.

Virgil looked over his shoulder—and wrinkled his nose when his face smooshed into the side of Remus's, who had his arms cinched around Virgil's waist and his chin on Virgil's shoulder.

“Not really.” Remus chirped brightly. “Though that's a fair point—physical contact does wonders for anxiety. Nah, I'm just copping a feel is all.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil faced the other two again—and resisted the urge to lay his hands over the ones pressed to his stomach, to lean back into the solid line of warmth behind him that made everything feel smaller and quieter and safer. It was a larger, more intense version of the warmth that cradled him as he'd fallen into Logan, giving up his mind to expand his brother's...

It hadn't been that intense in a long time—coming back to himself was usually hard, shook him up, but...Remus helped. Weirdly. Sort of.

...fuck it: Virgil folded his arms across his chest, but leaned back into Remus and ignored him aggressively. Especially when he pretty much cuddled up to Virgil's back even harder.

“So how did this happen?” Virgil asked Janus and Patton instead. “Both Pat here and my brother—you said Patton's a Lazari?”

Patton shook his head. “Only Weavers can become Lazari—I'm a Herald! I was a Black Dog before I got my soul.”

Virgil blinked at that. “You are a Black Dog? You're nowhere near violent enough.”

Janus let out an abrupt laugh at that as he regarded Virgil with a raised eyebrow. “When you went through basic training, did your instructor warn you about gagging prisoners?”

“Yeah: not to do it alone. He told some story about a cannibal in the dungeons who took three of a private's fingers off.”

“Hmph.”

Virgil blinked, looking at the source of the huff—namely, the tiny curly haired cherub of a necromancer who was sort of...hugging Janus's bicep with both his arms, cheek pressed just below his shoulder with a petulant little pout on his round features.

“You...What? You...no. No, you did not--”

Patton huffed, holding onto Janus tighter as he straightened primly.

“He was mean to Logan.” he insisted. “And I didn't eat them, I spat them out and fed them to the rats. And that was just his fingers, he gave up his nose when he tried to kill Janus--”

“And this is why I had to arrange to make him Logan's cell mate very early on—sharp teeth when he's mad.” Janus sighed, all while casting Patton a look so warm and so infinitely luminous that it could only be called tender. “He was safer, and far less of a troublemaker, with companionship.”

Virgil's stomach turned dangerously, and as if he knew, one of Remus's hands pressed flat to Virgil's belly, like he was trying to steady him.

“Oh, Seven Hells...” Virgil groaned, shaking his head. “I can't—know what? Fuck it. I believe you, and I'm sufficiently terrified of the cannibalistic Black Dog.”

“Herald.” Patton protested. “And I did not eat his fingers! The tip of his nose was an accident, he shoved me after I bit him and I swallowed on reflex--”

“Can we please get back on topic?” Virgil protested.

“Oh, come on, toy soldier.” Remus laughed. “This is good stuff! If you weren't so cute and Pattycake there wasn't so gone on Lord Janus, I'd be checking out his ass right now!”

Virgil sputtered and blushed, trying to refocus on the conversation and not...the crap coming out of Remus's mouth. While he was currently a literal monkey on Virgil's back.

“So...that's how it's done? You...get a soul? But the Animata were the only ones who could give necromancers souls, and they don't exist anymore.”

“Actually...”

Virgil glared back at Remus. “What the hell do you know, you walking trash can?”

“Oh—you say the sweetest things!” Remus cooed, reaching up to boop the tip of Virgil's nose before grabbing onto him again.

“Seriously, Remus...”

The warning note in Virgil's voice clearly did something, because Remus finally sobered and lost some of that manic gleam in his eye. Instead, the green eyes he shared with his brother glinted more like blades carved of pure emerald: razor sharp, precise, and deadly.

“My big brother's a half-twin who got hung up on a necromancer. I did some digging.” he admitted. The nasal whine in Remus's voice softened as he spoke, turning his tone into something smooth and impossible to ignore: biting enough to catch the ear, pleasant enough to make listening enjoyable.

“In the few records we have of Zero—the first year of the time cycle we use now—there are documented mentions of the Animata. You have to lie, cheat, steal, and fuck to see those volumes of the Tomes, even if you're a member of the royal family, but luckily I'm good at all four of those things!”

“So the Animata are real?”

“Very. We just know them by a different name now.”

“What name?”

“...that's what I'm not sure of.”

“I am.”

Virgil looked to Janus sharply. “How?”

Janus glared at him, then Remus...then slid a look at Patton, who snuggled closer and nodded in encouragement.

“Animata is a word from the language of the dragons.” Janus finally admitted. “Even drakes are born knowing how to speak it. The word means 'life giver.' However, according to my mother, it was also the root of a pejorative—a slur directed at the entire race due to the crimes of one. A slur that means 'death giver.'”

He paused, then looked Virgil square in the eye.

“The slur was necromata.”

“What the actual fuck are you talking about?” Virgil asked—no, wheezed...no, something else, because he wasn't sure he had enough breath for that.

“I'm talking about the fact that your people never needed to be controlled, Virgil. You were—are the life givers. You animate the dead—give back life that was taken, remember the forgotten, grant warning to the condemned so they can meet their end without regret. The power your people possess is a gift granted you by the Fates, one the Animator turned his back on.”

“How do you know any of this? Who is your mother that she knows--”

“My mother was the Dragon Witch of Kolar!”

Virgil's mouth snapped shut as silence fell. For a long moment, he couldn't bring himself to speak as he thought about all the Festivals of the Forgotten past, of his grandmother's grave that Grandpap visited every week, and the one nameless child's grave in the celebratory fields, forbidding anyone to touch it for literal years...

“What'm I missing, toy soldier?” Remus murmured in his ear, making Virgil shiver reflexively—and also bringing him back to the present.

Oh, nothing. Virgil wanted to say. Only I think that Lord Janus, captain of the royal guard and the assassin's corps is my dead uncle, that's all.

Instead, Virgil just shook his head and sagged into Remus a little more, letting his steady warmth stave off the panic attack he could feel coming on.

“Then...what about the race of twin souls?” he finally croaked, dismissing the subject.

“There's no race.” Patton replied after a moment before looking up at Janus with an expression so soft, he half expected the drake to transform into a baby duckling. “Just...well...soulmates. In that they have two souls, and one of them belongs to us. Janny gave me mine.”

“You're a twin soul?” Virgil asked incredulously.

Janus raised an eyebrow. “I'm a drake—half human, half dragon? The duality is more than just tragic backstory, sweetie.”

Virgil tried not to think about the implications of that 'tragic backstory'--then his blood ran cold as he twisted to look Remus in the eye.

“You weren't hiding Roman because of his extra soul.” he breathed. “You were hiding the fact that he gave it away.”

“An extra soul? He—what?” Janus sputtered.

“King Thomas Roman II isn't a conduit, he's a twin soul. The princes are half-twins, split between the cusp of days.” Virgil explained. “When twins are born on two separate days, they get two different souls—not the one they were supposed to be linked to. It means that--”

“One twin gets a normal soul, the other gets two, his and the one his brother should have had—and the power of a completely unsullied soul is the kind of power that can easily ensure someone is mistaken for a conduit.” Janus realized aloud, cursing. “This is not the kind of thing you hide from the captain of the guard! How did that even happen, anyway?”

“Because Roman doesn't know.”

Virgil watched Remus's face as he spoke, strangely shaken by the look of regret on his features.

“What do you mean he doesn't know?” Janus protested. “That's not something that's easy to hide.”

“...unless he doesn't remember.”

Patton's sweet, gentle voice piped up, and Virgil watched as he left Janus's side to step closer, his eyes on Remus.

“He doesn't, does he?” he asked softly. “That's how Janny didn't know. That's--”

Patton was cut off by a distant cry of alarm that sounded suspiciously like...

Remus's arms tightened around Virgil. “Roman.”

Virgil looked to Janus, who was already staring in the direction of the voice. Looking to Virgil, he nodded in silent understanding.

The king was in trouble, and Logan was with him.

Janus swept his cape back, glancing at Patton. “Darling?”

Patton nodded, features screwed up in determination...

...and before their eyes, the diminutive young necromancer had melted, reshaped itself, until a hound roughly half Janus's height stood befor them, with a sleek, coal black coat and eyes that glowed bright, cheerful sky blue.

Patton's nose hit the ground like a shot, sniffing and snuffling before he whined and took off at a trot.

********** “Loganberry!”

A few turns down the tunnels led them towards a steel ladder leading up to a hatch that led somewhere into the lower levels of the palace. Just a few feet away from it, a prone figure was on the ground, unconscious.

By the time Virgil reached his side, Logan was sitting up, rubbing his face.

“Get him up.” Janus ordered. “We need to get you all to the king's chambers for safety's sake.”

Virgil nodded, facing Logan—Logan, who was staring at the steel ladder like it was some kind of phantom.

“Logan...where's Roman?” Virgil asked softly.

Something crossed Logan's features, an emotion so painfully intense Virgil couldn't quite identify it—then went cold and dead with an emotion Virgil knew very well.

One that could easily be mistaken for neutral in its total absence of feeling, but with the subtle curl of Logan's lip, Virgil could easily identify as pure, undiluted rage.

“The king has been taken.” Logan declared, rising to his feet and stalking towards the ladder.

“By who?” Remus asked, startling Virgil with the fact that he was directly behind him with Virgil never realizing he was there.

“The assassin.” Logan replied—just as he began climbing the ladder.

“Logan, get down here!” Janus snapped.

“You'll want to join me, Lord Janus—this leads to the dungeons. Please instruct Patton to resume his human form.”

Virgil could hear a snuffle somewhere behind him, but he was unable to tear his focus from Logan as he ascended the ladder. There was something about his voice, that look on his face, something that was making Virgil's chest tight and his ears buzz with a funny droning sound...

He followed Logan up the ladder.

At the top, Logan was there to help him up, grabbing his hand to steady him as he emerged in the middle of a dungeon hallway. The pair of them did the same for Remus, Janus, and a Patton now in human form.

“...this is the barricaded section.” Janus realized as he straightened, dusting himself off before turning to Patton. “This portion of the dungeons was shut down eight years ago.”

“Correct.” Logan replied, facing the four men and gesturing down the hall. “There is an office down the hall--”

The buzzing in Virgil's ears grew louder, and the world started to get a little washed out on the edges—sort of gray and blurry.

“This is where you were taken.” he wheezed, feeling a line of heat at his back when he started to sway.

Logan nodded, then turned away from them and knelt beside the open sewer hole. He thought Logan was going to slide the cover back in place, but then watched him reach inside. Only then did Virgil realize the hole had some kind of channel around the edge, slim but deep, possibly for some kind of drainage component that was never put in.

Logan reached into it, fished around, then pulled out a slim bundle wrapped in a faded, careworn child's coat.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Logan's shoulders slumped.

“Roman is still alive.” he sighed to himself, distracted and not quite soft enough to keep from being heard. “He never found it.”

Virgil felt his knees buckle. Arms wound around his waist again, and some of the gray edges in his vision cleared a little.

“You...you...Lo, you have...”

Logan replaced the sewer cover and stood, facing Virgil with a neutral, but softer look.

“My memory back, yes.” Logan replied. “It's a long story, but its restoration is the very reason Roman was taken from me. The assassin has him—that is why you should be here, Lord Janus--”

“Try uncle.” Virgil muttered—however, Logan heard him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ma'am-Ma'am was his mother, so he's Geni's brother.”

“Just how old do you fuckers get?” Remus huffed behind Virgil.

“The life expectancy of the average Necromata is about a hundred and twenty years—but the dragon blood in the Crofter family tree means we get triple that.” Virgil muttered as Logan regarded Janus with new interest. “My geni was born, not hatched, and they didn't meet Pari until they were a hundred and forty.”

“How do you know the assassin was the one that took the king, Logan?” Patton asked from his place at Janus's side.

“Because he tried to kill me when I was nine.” As quickly as possible, Logan relayed his memory of how he first met Roman, resuscitated after being found nearly drowned in a river.

“He is also the one who arrested me—and the one who just broke out of the dungeons.” Logan finished. “That is why I brought you all up here, Lord Janus. And this...”

Logan stopped to unwrap his precious bundle, revealing a small, leatherbound volume.

“...will prove his guilt, as well as provide us a means to stop him.”

“Logan...who is the asassin?”

Logan's features paled then, bright blue eyes dulling with remembered horror.

When he spoke, Remus's arms around Virgil tightened, and Virgil distantly heard Patton choke out a strangled noise that might have been a sob that echoed the sudden lump that was making it hard for Virgil to breathe.”

“The man you arrested yesterday, Lord Janus—the assassin is Colonel Mori.”

* * * * Specific CW for gore: mentions of cannibalism, both in general and specific--erring on the side of caution with graphic depictions of it, mostly discussing the details of a bitey little manpuppy being bitey. And a manpuppy. XD

[valwrite]

leap frog; daveed diggs

masterlist.

summary: rafael casal can’t keep a secret. (read the sequels: hopscotch, hide & seek.)

warnings: possible second hand embarrassment, fluff, mentions of murder, cursing

fic type: drabble

word count: 2366

author’s note:  ahaha, i hate myself for writing this but i also love it, gn. feedback is appreciated! oh, and if i don’t reply to a comment or something, it’s just cause i’m dumb as shit and haven’t figured out how tf to do that yet 🥰

It was official. Y/N L/N was going to murder Rafael Casal.

And, boy, would she make sure it looked like an accident.

The man was a nuisance, a mad man, a big mouthed buffoon. And the reason she now had to avoid one Daveed Diggs at all costs from here on out. Considering Rafael lived just one door down from her made this a challenge, as Daveed had a habit of treating the other man's apartment as a second home.

The trouble began two weeks prior, when, after a miserable night out, Y/N had stumbled into the building elevator, feet aching to get out of her heels and breasts desperate to be freed from their confinement. Before she'd had the chance to press her floor button, a hand slid between the closing doors and in stepped Rafael Casal. The two exchanged glances and greetings before riding up to their shared floor in a comfortable and welcomed silence. Had this exchange taken place three months before, perhaps Y/N would have felt a lot more awkward and intimidated by her attractive neighbor. However, things had changed between them ever since they'd become friends. She'd tag along on nights out with his friends (who'd seamlessly welcomed her in as one of their own) and he'd come round for dinner every time he so much as smelt her cooking from next door. The elevator had reopened and the hallway they shared came into view. That was when Rafa made the proposal she'd end up regretting: “Do you wanna come in for a few drinks?”

She'd accepted because, well, it was free alcohol. The fact that his company was anything but bad was just an added bonus. A few drinks turned into many, even some shots finding their way into the mix of things, as she and Rafa talked the night away: she shared details of the horrible blind date she'd been set up on that evening while he ranted about how insufferably boring Daveed had been, claiming the man hadn't brightened up the whole night after hearing Y/N would not be in attendance at their get-together. She was sure her cheeks had turned as red as they'd felt when Rafa made that revelation.

The real mistake came towards the end of their drinking session and, really, neither of them knew how to explain how or why they wound up locking lips. What they did know was the following: it was a meaningless kiss, both of them laughed right after and it had been the most uncomfortable kiss either of the two had shared in their adult lives. Kissing him, Y/N would later realize, wasn't the problem though. It was what the kiss had unearthed.

“Oh my god, you have the hots for Diggs?!”

In three months of friendship, Y/N had learned three fundamental things about Rafael Casal:  he preferred pancakes over waffles, friendship with him was a package deal that included Daveed Diggs and, lastly, Rafael Casal was the biggest gossip in town.

Any secret, any hook up, any scandal. You name it and it was almost a guarantee that, not only did Rafa know about it but he was the source of it all. So, having him become aware on the fact she had a massive crush on his best friend? Yeah, there was no chance in hell Y/N could ever speak to Daveed again without self-combusting in embarrassment.

Now, back to present times, where Y/N finds herself tiptoeing around her own apartment, anything capable of making noise switched off and her own breathing being the only sound in the living space. Five minutes had passed since Daveed had last knocked at her door, saying nothing but her name yet still managing to put her on edge.

The logical part of her brain told her to open the door, because the poor guy was probably just confused as to why she had suddenly started ignoring his texts and stopped hanging with him and Rafa while they watched the Warriors play. The rest of her brain told her to stay put, wait it out and, once she was sure Diggs had left the building, grab the participation trophy she'd been given back in elementary school and use it to go beat Rafael's ass.

Operation: Avoid Double D was working, much to her own surprise, and she'd even started to feel a little impressed with herself when- thud! - a noise came from her balcony. The door of it lay wide open, much like the book she'd been reading out there before Daveed had come knocking, but the curtains were drawn shut, gently moving with the breeze from outside. Like a scene from a cheesy horror movie, she approached the balcony with caution, reached out to draw the curtain aside and gasped at the sight of Daveed comfortably sat in her chair, skimming through her book- a very, very worn out copy of Emma by Jane Austen - and sipping on her iced tea.

“I... How... What...” There wasn't a coherent sentence to be found in Y/N's brain. “Why are you on my balcony?”

“Well,” Daveed snapped her book shut and discarded it on to the small table next to him, all the while smiling innocently up at her. “I knocked on the door and you didn't answer.”

“So you figured breaking and entering was the only solution?!”

“Hey, hey, there was no breaking involved. Just, y'know, entering.” He stood up, reminding her of how much taller he was. “You're the one that left your balcony door open to the world, I just took advantage of that and jumped over from Rafa's.”

Y/N couldn't help but turn her back on him to gaze over at Rafael's own balcony. A fresh batch of laundry had been sat out to dry on it and Y/N noticed how the only plant Rafa owned had now died, nothing left but a dried up mess in it's place. She then thought of the space between the two balconies and, more importantly, the space beneath them both. Granted, she wasn't living in some top floor luxury apartment but she imagined a seven story drop was nothing short of unpleasant. Yet there was Daveed, all smiles and charms, having just jumped over the space as if it were nothing but some innocent, childish game of leap frog. She both wanted to scold him for being so reckless and praise him for being so brave.

Until she remembered the fact she was supposed to be avoiding him and this, clearly, was ruining any of her attempts.

“What do you need so badly from me that it compelled you to do something as stupid as that?” It seemed to be that scolding was the option she'd chosen.

“Answers.” Oh god no. That's it, time to eBay a body bag and a fake passport.

“Answers to what exactly?” When she was a child, Y/N had always tried to play coy to avoid confrontation. It appeared to be she hadn't changed much with age.

“Do you have any of those blueberry muffins left?” Okay, that was not where she thought this conversation was going. “Rafa ran out of the batch you made him and he's too afraid to ask you for more, since you demanded payment last time, so he sent me over here to charm two muffins out of your pantry.”

“You're in luck. I made some last night.” They could have every last piece of food in her kitchen for all she cared, so long as that were the only thing Daveed wanted from her. Though, she was still contemplating manslaughter when it came to Rafa considering he'd sent over Daveed, knowing fine well why she was steering clear of the man. He was shameless in his meddling.

“So,” Daveed's voice and footsteps followed behind her into the apartment as she desperately aimed for the kitchen area. “how come you didn't answer the door earlier?”

“I was, uh,” I was trying to avoid you because I want nothing more than to bake muffins with you and have you nakedly recite poetry to me and that's an issue because we're friends and you don't even think about me that way. “Shower. I was showering.”

“You hair's not wet.”

“Never heard of a hair dryer? Jeez old man, catch up.” At this point, her hands were clammy from her own nervous sweat but she'd pulled out the tray of muffins and shoved the lot of them over to him. All she had to do was get him out of her apartment, then things would be fine. “Here you go, thanks for stopping by. See you later.”

“Wow, wow, wow! Calm down, girl!” Did he have to smile at her like that? “Why're you trying to get rid of me? I asked for two muffins, Y/N, not the whole batch.”

“Just take them, I forgot that I don't really like blueberries anyways.” If there was an Olympic sport for colossal idiots, she'd have won gold, silver and bronze.

“You didn't answer my question,” Daveed took one step forward and she took one step back, internally screaming as she felt her back bump against the counter. “why're you trying to get rid of me?”

“I'm not!”

“Okay then, why haven't you been answering my texts or calls?”

“Because I lost my phone.”

“The same phone that I saw on your coffee table?”

“You found it! My hero!” The body bag was no longer going to be used on Rafa, she was pretty sure she was one more comment away from dying of embarrassment.

“Y/N.” When had Daveed gotten so close to her? And why did he have to say her name like that? Her hand gripped on to the surface behind her and she gulped, struggling to maintain eye contact with him.

“Daveed.” She replied lamely, just begging that he'd turn around, grab the tray of muffins and leave.

“What's really up?” His words were softer and more serious, much like the look in his eyes. “You won't answer your phone, you haven't watched the recent games with us, you won't answer the door to me. I just... Look, if I done something or said something that made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry. I really miss you though, so does Rafa. So if there's anything I can do to fix whatever I did, just tell me. I'll do it. Anything.”

And now, ladies and gentleman, please buckle your seat-belts and get ready for take off, destination: Guilt Trip.

“No. Fuck, Daveed, no. You didn't do anything. Trust me, it's all my fault. I'm really sorry.” The words tumbled out of her quickly whilst her eyes fixated themselves with staring down at her nervous hands. “I know that Rafa told you and, just, I'm really sorry. I promise, I'm trying to get rid of them, it's why I've sort of been avoiding you. I don't want to ruin our friendship.”

“Rafa told me... what? Who are you trying to get rid of?”

“Wait,” Oh sweet hypothetical baby Jesus, had Rafael Casal not spilled the beans? Did he really not know? “he didn't tell you?”

“I'm confused.” Daveed said, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he continued to gaze down at her. “Was he supposed to tell me something? Wait, did he make a move on you or something? Cause I'll put him in his place if I have to.”

“Technically we made a move on each other.” The words flew out of her before she could stop it and she noticed immediately how his face contorted into a frown. “Not in that way! It was just a drunk kiss that we both regretted.”

“And he was supposed to tell me about it?”

“Huh? No! Ugh, look Daveed,” She'd already made a fool of herself enough, she may as well just round it all off with the mother of all embarrassments. Go big or go home, right? And, well, she was technically already home and with nowhere else to go. “I like you. Like, the way a bee likes honey or the way a dog likes a bone. A lot. But I get it, you don't like me and that's chill but would you please just give me the time and space to sort myself out and get over it so we can go back to being friends?”

“But I don't wanna be friends with you, Y/N.” Well done, idiot. So much for honesty being the best policy. “I mean, I don't know how I feel about being compared to honey or a bone but I do know how I feel about you. I think you're smart and beautiful, and stubborn and kind of a dork. And I really like it, you. I really like you.”

“Oh.” Oh? Oh?! Fucking oh!? That's all you can say to that. She couldn't stand living in her own head-space.

“I'm gonna ignore the fact that you and Rafa made out or whatever and just get straight to the point of asking you on a date. Tomorrow night, seven pm. Wear something easy to move around in.” Gentle fingers tilted Y/N's head up by her chin, forcing her to stare into his eyes. They were warm and welcoming, like chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven and melting with love. “Who knows, maybe by the end of the night you'll finally get a good kiss from a Bay Boy.”

“Why would Rafa kiss me at the end of our date?” At least she could still joke among the shock. “And you more or less just demanded I go on a date with you. No questions were made.”

“If demanding is what it takes,” He leaned down, his mouth hovering dangerously close to hers. “then so be it.”

Where she'd expected a kiss, she found nothing but empty space and the sight of Daveed picking two muffins out of the tray. Wide eyed and honestly a little confused about what events had just transpired in her kitchen, she watched as he finally headed for her door, suddenly not enjoying the thought of him leaving as much as before.

“Oh, and Y/N?” He was halfway out of her apartment, grinning back at her. “Rafa did tell me, I just wanted to hear you say it yourself.”

He slammed the door shut on the sound of Y/N cursing out the very man that was Rafael Casal.

[webgeekist]

I woke last night, and the beast had been there before me.  She placed my hand over your throat.  I’m not sure if she’s graced me with a warning, or if I stopped her before she could take you, but I can’t allow her to try again.  I can’t let her take you, too.

—

Jamie wasn’t surprised when she received the invitation.  The children may not remember her well, perhaps a passing memory as their uncle’s old friend, but he would have been sure to grant an opportunity in Flora’s wedding for a reassurance that they were thriving and happy, for a chance to see them again, even if they could hardly remember her.  And, perhaps most, for the opportunity to see what her wife’s sacrifice had provided his family, and that it, maybe, it was worth something.

The pain wasn’t in the invitation.  It was in the knowledge that Miles and Flora wouldn’t remember the very reason the invitation had been so important.  The children didn’t remember Dani at all.

Owen called her to ask if she would make it out.  He more than Henry was aware of what the past seven years had done, the significance of Flora’s chosen wedding date, entirely coincidental, and what attending any wedding at all might stir.  It had been but days after Vermont had granted the two of them some pseudo-legal way of putting their five year marriage to paper when Viola finally took Dani, when Dani had finally lost the battle to bear even her own weight, and the loss of that life had left Jamie sunk into the dirt, tending only to her plants.  For a while, Owen tried to keep tabs on her, knowing himself what it was like to grieve so deeply, but Jamie had shut him out after a while with the rest of the world.  Their calls were short, more of a welfare check than a conversation.

She didn’t want to go, if she were being honest, but she didn’t tell Owen that.  She suspected he didn’t have to hear it.  Hiding in grief was something they had both been good at, in their times.  So it again came as no surprise when, arriving late to the rehearsal dinner as she did, mid-toast to a girl at the head of the table who remembered him far better than the silver-haired new arrival at the very end, Owen stopped speaking.  What went through his mind as she took her seat was anyone’s guess, but Jamie thought in that moment that fear might have passed over his face.  She was aware of how time had changed her.  She paid it little care.  Time spent looking in reflections was time spent looking for something other than her own.

Reflections were things that traveled with her, but Jamie had searched for seven long years.  She was terrified of the idea that Dani would come home, find the apartment they shared empty, and never come back again.  She filled every basin with water as she went, begging the Lady of the Lake to follow her across a vast and wide country, an ocean and more removed from her home in the inky waters at Bly.

It was nice to see Flora so happy.  Jamie might not have stayed for the whole affair at all if the girl’s face didn’t seem so familiar in her love, and it allowed her to remember what that felt like.  It’s not that the memories faded.  It’s not that she didn’t keep them close.  It’s that in her grief and her emptiness, she imagined she knew what Dani felt like as the last of her days approached — there, but not.  Going through the motions of life without ever really feeling any of it.

She was so sure Dani had never meant to leave her so broken, understood why she had let Viola finally have control.  In the last weeks, she was so, so tired.  Jamie had tried so hard to bear both their weights, but the last of it— the heaviest of it— was beyond her, though she had tried with her whole heart.

Dani would never let her.

Into the night, she was surprised that she lingered.  Seated by a warm fireplace, listening to the stories she had missed in Flora’s life, smiling at stories about the adventures she and her soon-to-be-husband had already been on, blissfully unaware of the harrowing tale she had already participated in.

And then, they spoke of ghosts, and that was a subject that Jamie for all her quiet during the evening was particularly well versed in.

Owen and Henry looked briefly horrified, but...maybe this was why she came.  Maybe the opportunity to tell Flora the story of how she had been granted the opportunity to fall so in love was exactly why she was there.

They were surely afraid she would tell this story, and Flora would remember, but Jamie would never disturb her hard-won happiness.  She would tell the story, change some names around, but leave the indelible message of the tragic tale intact.

And as she told it, she found the remembering pleasant.  Not that she relished telling the story of Hannah Grose’s tragic end, of Owen’s sorrow, or of Henry’s near-death.  She wished as she told the tale that she could change any detail of Dani’s fate at all, but her memory had not been granted the gift of the weathering of time.  She remembered it all as print on the pages of her mind, solid as stone for the rest of her days.

The hour when she finished was late, but she could not regret the telling.  Something inside her felt lighter, as if the story itself had been her own personal beast in the jungle, and telling it had somehow exorcised it.

Owen was the one to usher away her gathered audience, wishing perhaps to stave off too many questions.  She’d been careful to obscure so many details, but the possibility always remained — and Jamie had risked — that one of the children would remember the name she finally gave to the au pair at the end of her story.

Dani.  It was a name they once knew, and had long forgotten.  But Jamie could never, and if they had nothing of the woman who gave them a chance at the happy ending their elders would never have, the children would have this story and Dani’s name.

Jamie hadn’t known what to expect of the gathered crowd’s reactions, but Flora’s simple statement later had been right in a way she had never considered.

Love stories and ghost stories were the same things.  

Their story — their wedding gift to Flora, in a way — was the only way she could keep Dani alive past her own memory, living in more than the moments that were silly or dumb, or made her cry, and that she kept close and dear in her waking mind and in her dreams.

She stayed past when she expected to be able to bear, through the ceremony and into the reception, lighter and happier than she had been in years, and felt a warmth she couldn’t explain.  Something was easier, comfortable, present.  Maybe, Jamie reasoned, she was simply gratified that the little girl she and Dani had once known had grown up into a magnificent young woman, in love and loving, and at peace.

Something of that peace was her own now, a part of whatever the rest of Jamie’s story would be.

The water in the tub was warm and fresh, and in the basin, it stood clean and clear.  Jamie searched those reflections for her lover one last time.  This was her routine.  She would prepare, dress in silk and make herself as pretty as someone sleeping might care to be, and she would sleep by the door opened just a crack.  Sometimes in waking, the remnants of her dream would linger, and she would be fooled into thinking someone was in the room with her.

She smiled softly as she settled into her chair, wishing it were so, and drifted into sleep.

—

“Here’s the thing.  You’re my best friend, and the love of my life.”  Dani’s face was so open in that moment, shining in soft light, the glint of gold held aloft in Jamie’s hand, surrounded by their tiny kitchen and every fledgling plant they cared for.  This was her favorite memory, her best part.  She would live in this moment forever, if she could.

“And I don’t know how much time we have left.  But whatever it is, I want to spend it with you.”

So precious little.  So very much.  What ended up being so many years at the time would have felt like an eternity, but Jamie had lived past the ends of infinity, and been left alone in the dark.

She was so reluctant to break the script of this precious memory, having clung so tightly to it in its exact form for years to preserve it.  She’d always been afraid that saying something else, anything else, would begin an inevitable end.  

All memory fades, eventually.  She had tried so, so hard to make sure Dani’s never would.

“I want this.  So, so much.  All I want with you, Dani, is more time.  We deserved so much more time.”

The woman in her dream paused, and smiled so wide Jamie was left confused for a moment.  Their proposal had been so emotional, so filled with watery gazes and happy tears.  This smile was different, but Dani’s eyes were no less watery.

And blue.  Both of them, the blue she remembered from when they first met.

“I’ve been waiting so long for you to finally say that.”

For a long moment, Jamie simply stared, but she couldn’t bear it any longer.  They crashed forward, embracing each other desperately as they had at the lake so many years ago, and the woman in her arms was so warm, so real that Jamie had difficulty believing that she was dreaming anymore.

“I’ve always been here, Jamie,” the lilt of her voice fluttered across the gardener’s heart, just as her fingers and her warm touch did the same.  “Because you have loved me, I will always be here.  And because I loved you, you’re always with me.”

—-

When she woke, the sun had just begun to make its way across the sky.  She was groggy, still a little tired but….happy.  And warm.

Warm that radiated from a single point on her shoulder.

She turned, as she so often did after waking, as she so often hoped in the space between sleep and full consciousness to catch a glimpse of something she longed for, and when the hand lifting from her shoulder, its ring finger bearing a band that matched her own, came into view her breath caught.

“Dani…”

The morning light was so soft, and Dani looked somehow more ethereal than any Bly ghost had.  Faded, but her face was bright and clear, her blue eyes shone with unshed tears, as beautiful as the day they had met.

“I’m here, Jamie.”  The sound of her name carried on Dani’s trembling voice nearly sent her to tears, but she refused.  She wanted — needed — to see clearly.

“You’ve come back to me.”

She smiled.  “I never left.”

“But I’ve missed you.  So, so much.”

“You held to our memories so tightly, Jamie.  You clung to them like letting them go meant letting me go.  I’ve been here, waiting in your dreams.  But you needed to remember.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?  Why did you let me cling to them?”

Dani toted her head.  “You carried so much of my burden in life, Jamie.  This was the last.  We were so lucky to have each other for so many days, but we always knew why our time in life together would be short.  That was always our gift for Flora, and in telling our story, you’ve finally delivered it.”

She could feel the truth of those words in the telling.  She’d somehow known all along.  It was why she was all the way out there to begin with.

But with the lightness, a sudden emptiness.  As if she’d forgotten the hole in her heart, she was suddenly reminded by the clenching of it.

Jamie’s tears finally broke.  “How long must I continue without you?”

A watery, ghostly gaze might have broken, as well.  It was hard to tell between tears.

“Would you like company?”

“What?”

“Would you like company?  While you wait?”

Jamie hesitated only a moment before she asked her final question, her whole heart in it.  “Can you stay with me?”

Dani smiled sweetly, but continued to fade in the rising light.  “One night at a time, Love.  We’ll take it one night at a time.  But after that, I promise Jamie, we’ll have forever.  And in the between, remember my note.  Remember what I said.”

Dani faded finally, the daylight taking her, and Jamie was left immediately longing for the next night to come.

But the words in Dani’s final note, suddenly, meant so much more than it had before, and she knew she could make it between the dreams alone, just a little longer.

—

I woke last night, and the beast had been there before me.  She placed my hand over your throat.  I’m not sure if she’s graced me with a warning, or if I stopped her before she could take you, but I can’t allow her to try again.  I can’t let her take you, too.

But I swear to you, Jamie, I will remember.  I will remember your face and your warmth and your heart for as long as you live, and longer.  I will not let time weather what we were to just the shape of it.  What we had is made of stronger stuff than that.

I loved you completely, Jamie.  And you loved me the same.

Live, for the both of us.

[ruddcatha]

You Owe Me

Now on Ao3 and FFN!

Inuyasha Taisho was in a bind.  Literally.  Somehow, he had gotten himself tangled into the string of what Kagome had called “fairy lights” that she wanted decorating her balcony, and he was not sure how he would undo this without damaging the lights.  He tried to follow the wire to see where he had gotten so tangled up, and soon found the problem.  

His long silver hair had gotten wrapped around a few of the bulbs, and as he had moved and twisted the string to plot out its placement, it had gotten more and more tangled.  He eyed the mass, weighing his options.  If he destroyed the lights, Kagome would be mad at him.  If he cut his hair, Kagome would be mad at him.  Two puppy ears at the top of his head folded downwards, he knew this was one of those ‘lose-lose’ scenarios.

A soft giggle pulled his attention away from the dilemma of his hair and the lights, and his golden eyes saw the girl leaning against the sliding door to the balcony.

Kagome Higurashi.  His goddess.

They both attended the University of Tokyo and had met when their respective roommates had begun dating. At first it had been awkward between them, they often seemed to act as Sango and Miroku’s chaperones, but over time they had grown closer.  He had been there for her when her ex-boyfriend Hojo had broken up with her to study in America, she had been there when he and his former girlfriend Kikyo had parted ways.  

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he had fallen hopelessly in love with the raven-haired girl during the last three years.  Over time she had become the one he wanted to share everything with, the funny stories, the ranting over a fucked-up group project.  He hadn’t even realized it until that summer. They had both had internships, and the group had not been able to get together as much. He quickly realized that as great as the internship was, the summer had felt empty because she wasn’t there to share it with.  Oh, he had talked with her on the phone, but he hadn’t been able to see her reactions, the twinkle in her sapphire eyes. Now, every time he thought about life after their senior year of college, every single scenario had Kagome there with him.

He just… hadn’t worked up the courage to ask her out. 

Which is why he was there, playing the good friend, helping her get her first solo apartment exactly right.  He had helped her pack up everything from her apartment with Sango earlier that day and unload it at the new apartment.  Sango and Miroku had gotten engaged over the summer break and had officially moved in together, and Kagome had decided to live off campus for her senior year.  She had looked so adorable when she told him about it, all her plans for it now that she didn’t have to follow the dormitory rules.  He hadn’t realized she had asked him for help until he heard her squeal of “THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU.”  

He was glad she hadn’t invited Koga to help too.  The wolf demon had been around more and more after he had worked with Kagome in her summer internship.  It drove Inuyasha nuts seeing the wolf around, to see Kagome smile at him.  Inuyasha wanted to be the one to make her smile, but if the wolf made her happy, he wouldn’t stand in the way.

Much.

Kagome was trying desperately to get her giggles under control.  She knew the knot was probably painful, but he looked so gorgeously adorable with the slight pout on his face that he had when he was lost in thought.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

She said as she walked to his side, reaching out to take the mass from him.  “I have a better vantage point.” When she heard his soft “Keh” she started the slow process of working out the knot. 

Well, it shouldn’t have been quite so slow, but she would take any opportunity to be close to him that she could.  She had really missed him over the summer, their respective internships had made opportunities to see their friends few and far between.  They had spoken on the phone almost every day, but it hadn’t been the same as seeing him.  

Her hand caressed the strands of his hair as she gently tried to unwind the strands from the lights.  His hair was always so soft, and she loved the feel of it against her skin.  She had dreamt of that feeling, among other things, way more than she should have over the past few years.  With a soft sigh, she managed to separate his hair from the lights, smiling when he turned to her with gratitude. 

Her breath caught in her chest at their proximity, his golden eyes never ceased to captivate her, and she could feel herself falling into the deep honey gaze. 

She wished she had the courage to tell him how she felt, but she was a coward.  She didn’t want to risk losing his friendship by making him uncomfortable.  She had never seen him going out on any dates after things had ended with Kikyo, she was sure he was still pining for her, waiting for an opportunity to resume their relationship.

Not that she had dated anyone since Hojo, but realistically, she hadn’t found anyone that compared to Inuyasha.  She knew she was being foolish, but she didn’t want to date anyone that she knew wouldn’t measure up to him.  She knew who and what she wanted; it was just… she couldn’t let him know. 

She forced herself to turn away and move back into the apartment, if she had stayed near him, she knew she would have done something stupid… like try to kiss him. 

She had tortured herself all day by having him help her move everything and then stay to help set up the apartment.  It was just, he felt so right being there, even when he was putting up her fairy lights (lord he had scoffed at that when she told him what she wanted).  This was her first space that was all her own, and he was the only one that she wanted in there, helping her arrange it and putting together furniture.  In a small way she could say it made it ‘theirs’ and not just hers.

But that was only wishful thinking.  

“Hey Kags?” She heard Inuyasha ask from the balcony, making her turn to look back.  Her mouth watered looking at him, he was so damn gorgeous it wasn’t even fair.  Maybe it was better that nothing happened between them, she was sure he would ruin her for any other guy.

“Yeah Yash?” she made herself respond, she found that she had to fight to keep her voice even.

“Your ‘fairy lights’ are up, what do you want me to do next?”

She pointed to a box in the living room, grinning when he growled.

“You had to go and get shit from Ikea, didn’t you? You know it’s a bitch to put together.” He scoffed as he walked over to take in the boxed entertainment center. 

“It was cheap.”  She gave a small shrug.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “And you want me to… what? Put it together for you?”

Kagome bit her bottom lip, and Inuyasha bit back a groan.  He wanted to nibble that lip so badly, but he… he couldn’t.  Kagome looked up at him from under her lashes with a pleading expression.  He groaned.

“Don’t... don’t give me that puppy dog face Kagome, you know I can’t say no to that.”  Kagome’s face broke out in a brilliant smile.

“Well, you did say I wasn’t allowed to use any of the tools didn’t you Yash?” She teased as she moved to pass him.  

His hand reached out to snag her wrist before she could move too far, and when she turned mere inches separated them.  Both froze for a moment, sapphire and gold eyes locked together, before they both backed away with blushes forming on their cheeks.   

“Keh… Alright, but you gotta order pizza for dinner, I don’t work for free.” He stammered, trying to defuse the tension in the room.  There was no way he had seen desire in Kagome’s eyes in that moment… was there?

Kagome dashed to the bedroom under the guise of getting her phone.  She… god… that was… that one moment had rattled her more than she had thought possible.  For a second, she thought… she almost imagined… that he wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted to kiss him.  She shook her head, trying to force those thoughts of her mind.  She quickly called their favorite pizza shop to order two meat lover pizzas to be delivered, thankfully she and Inuyasha both liked the same type of pizza (she would have to snag her slices early).

She stayed in the bedroom, unpacking clothes, and linens to avoid going to the living room and the unknown tension between her and Inuyasha.

Yes, she was a coward. 

Inuyasha was cursing a blue streak as he attempted to put together the entertainment center.  It gave him something to focus his frustration on, he had almost fucked up.  The need to kiss Kagome had been so strong, if she hadn’t pulled away when she had, he probably would have… fuck.  It was obvious that he was at risk of ruining their friendship, she had fled as soon as she could and was staying as far away as she could.  He could hear her, hiding in the bedroom.  His ears dropped, maybe he should ask Sango to come over so it wouldn’t be so awkward between them anymore. 

The sound of the doorbell pulled him out of his thoughts.  He hoped it was the pizza, maybe food would...

“Hey Mutt Face, how are you doing?”

So much for the universe hearing him and cutting him some slack.  Inuyasha stepped back to let Koga into the room.  He didn’t have a problem with Koga, per se.  It was his obvious interest in Kagome that bugged him.  Come to think of it, why was the wolf there?

“Yash was that the pizz… Koga?” Kagome came out of the bedroom, surprise evident in her voice.

“Hey Kagome.” Koga smiled as he saw her.  Inuyasha felt his heart break a little when Kagome gave a small smile back.

“Wha... what are you doing here Koga?” Inuyasha watched the wolf intently, he wanted to know the answer to Kagome’s question too.

“Can’t I want to see if I can help my girl with her move?”  Inuyasha seethed internally at the response.  That ‘my girl’ comment had sent pain through his heart; he had lost her before he ever had her.

“Koga, we’ve been over this, I am not your girl.” Inuyasha’s ears perked, maybe there was still a chance.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying right?” Koga grinned at her.  “But I am serious about seeing if you needed help with the move.”

Kagome paused for a moment, Koga was a nice guy, but his obvious pursuit of her made her uncomfortable.  She had been trying to get him to understand that she didn’t like him in a romantic sense, but he always made comments like that, especially if Inuyasha was around.  But at the same time, she knew it would be rude to refuse his offer.  She sighed, Inuyasha was not going to like this.

“Thanks Koga, I appreciate that.  The dining table still needs to be constructed if you want to work on that. That’s the last thing I was going to have Yash do.”  

Koga followed Kagome to the last box and began to work on it while she returned to the bedroom.  A few minutes later she came running out, her cell phone against her ear.

“Yeah, it’s fine, I will head over now, thanks… No, it’s no problem at all.”  She assured the person on the other end of the line.  She shot the boys an apologetic glance.

“That was the pizza parlor.  Their delivery driver got a flat tire, so I have to go pick up the pizzas.  Will you guys be ok for a few minutes?”

Inuyasha grunted softly, he wasn’t thrilled with being left alone with the wolf, but he wasn’t going to object.

“Don’t worry Kagome.” Koga said with a smile. “I promise not to kill the mutt while you are out.”  Inuyasha’s snarl caused Koga to burst out laughing.  “I’m serious, we will be fine.”  

With a last glance at Inuyasha, Kagome ran out the door.

Koga and Inuyasha worked in silence for a few moments.  They had an unspoken competition going between them, who could put together more of their project without looking at the directions than the other.  It was going about as well as could be expected.  With a glare at Koga, Inuyasha pulled the instructions over, determined to make sure that HIS piece of furniture was perfect for Kagome.

“You know I envy you.” Koga’s voice surprised Inuyasha.

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Inuyasha snarled back.

“You and Kagome.”

“Keh.  There’s nothing between me and Kagome.” Inuyasha said, a sour expression on his face.

“You don’t even see it do you?” Koga asked, surprise colored his voice.

“Look wolf, what game are you trying to pull?” Inuyasha snapped, he had no clue what game Koga was playing but he was not amused by it.

“You don’t.  Son of a bitch, you have no clue.”

Inuyasha growled.  “What the fuck are you talking about.”

“First answer one question.  Do you like her?”

Inuyasha glared at Koga.  

“No offense wolf, we don’t really know each other, why would I answer a question like that?”

Koga smiled softly before turning back to finish the table.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” he said softly.

“Look Koga, can you please just tell me what the fuck you are going on about?” Inuyasha was quickly reaching the end of his patience with the other demon.

“Did you know you are all she talks about?” Koga’s soft statement broke through Inuyasha’s irritation.  The wolf chuckled at the shell-shocked expression on Inuyasha’s face.

“Yeah, as I said, you have no clue.”  Koga let out a tortured laugh.

“She is one hell of a woman, if I were you, I would snap her up before some other guy comes and takes her from you.”

That broke through Inuyasha’s daze.

“She’s not a possession to be taken you jackass.  She’s… She’s Kagome. And she isn’t mine to lose” Inuyasha said sadly, his ears lowering.

“That’s where you are wrong.” Koga said back.  “Anyone who spends more than 10 minutes around her can tell you that.”

Inuyasha was dumbstruck.  It… it couldn’t be.  The wolf had to be lying.

“Keh.  Then why are you here?”

Koga broke out into a smirk. “Can’t blame a guy for trying can ya?  Besides, I’ve seen you two dancing around each other, and it's making her miserable.” 

“Again, why the hell are you here then?”

Koga looked Inuyasha dead in the eye before continuing. 

“Someone needed to pull your head out of your ass and tell you to man up or get out of the way.  Personally, I would prefer it if you got out of the way, but that’s not what she wants.  So, man the fuck up.”

Inuyasha was stunned.  He… what…. Wait… could she…

The door opened and Kagome walked in carrying the pizzas just as Koga finished setting up the table.  She set the boxes down on the counter and turned to Inuyasha, still sitting on the floor, his eyes unfocused.

“Koga, what happened?” Kagome asked, turning to look at her friend. 

Koga shook his head. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”  He glanced down at his watch and looked out the window to see the sunset. “Hey, I gotta go, I’m glad I was able to help.” 

Koga gave Kagome a quick hug, turning down her offer of pizza as he made his way out of the apartment.  When he reached the door, he turned back to Inuyasha.

“Think about what I said mutt.”  Koga closed the door behind him as he left.

“Yash?” Kagome questioned as she handed him a paper plate with a slice of pizza.  “What was that about.”

“Keh.” Inuyasha’s cheeks turned pink.  “Just the wolf being stupid.”

The two pizzas were soon completely devoured.  Kagome had tried to prod Inuyasha to learn what Koga had meant, but the hanyou seemed lost in thought and wouldn’t respond.  When she finished her pizza, Kagome moved to sit next to him, her knee touching his, one hand absentmindedly playing with the ends of his hair, which did not escape Inuyasha’s notice.  

‘Could the wolf be right?’ he thought to himself. 

Kagome’s gasp drew him out of his thoughts, though his mind blanked when she placed a hand on his knee when she suddenly stood.  He watched her dash out to the balcony just as the last bit of sunlight faded under the horizon.  

“Yash, come out here!” Kagome giggled as she spoke.  With a raised eyebrow he moved to join her on the dark balcony.

“Look!” She could barely contain her excitement as she flipped the switch for the outdoor outlet.

Those damn fairy lights twinkled, making it appear the balcony was floating among the stars. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?”  

Inuyasha could not take his eyes off her.  Kagome looked almost ethereal in that moment, and she completely took his breath away.  Kagome turned to look at him, concerned that he had not answered her question. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw how he was looking at her, and she felt hope soar.  This time she hadn’t imagined it, he looked at her as if she were the most precious thing in the universe.  

“Yash?” She whispered, pulling him out of his trance. He took a hesitant step towards her, one hand moving to her cheek as his thumb stroked her skin.

“You are so gorgeous Kagome.” Inuyasha’s voice was so soft she barely heard him.  “I have to know, even if it fucks things up, what would you say if I asked if I could kiss you?”

Kagome’s heart suddenly soared.  

“I… I would… I would say please do.” Her voice broke with the weight of her emotions at the words.  

Inuyasha moved to cradle her cheeks with his hands before he slowly lowered down, waiting to give her the opportunity to change her mind, before sealing his mouth to hers.

It wasn’t what she had imagined it would be.  It was so much MORE.  The kiss spoke of promises, dreams, goals, and above all, a future.  

Inuyasha broke the kiss and moved back just enough for his golden gaze to capture her dazed sapphire eyes.  There, among the twinkling lights, he asked her the most beautiful words she had heard.

“Kagome Higurashi, will you be my girlfriend?”

She reached up to place a hand at the back of his neck, gently tugging to lower him to her again.  

“I thought you would never ask.” she whispered against his lips, before fusing her mouth with his.

---------

Two years later, Kagome and Inuyasha sat at the head of the table, their friends and loved ones with them at their rehearsal dinner.  The next morning, they would be making their vows in front of her family shrine. Inuyasha looked across the room and caught Koga’s eye, the two had become close friends and Inuyasha had asked Koga to be part of the wedding.  After all, if he hadn’t told Inuyasha to get his head out of his ass and man up, he wouldn’t be here, about to marry his goddess.

He owed the damn wolf.

Wall of tags: @neutronstarchild​ @willowandfog​ @cstormsinukagblog​ @cstorm86​ @sailorbabydoll92​ @hnnwnchstr​ @lavendertwilight89​ @smmahamazing​ @sistasecbhere​ @disgruntledbeast​ @fawn-eyed-girl​ @i-dream-of-soup

[essays-for-breakfast]

Tales of the Past

Kiane Week Day Three: Innocence

Note: Since the identity of King’s and Diane’s child is still a mystery, I simply incorporated Ivy from my other story, Conquest of the Past, into this. You don’t have to read that one to understand this one shot. Please enjoy.

Doesn’t time fly?

One day the Holy War scourged the lands of Britannia, a threat to all life and all light, and the next King kissed Diane and sealed their unending bond through the marriage he had dreamed of for so long.

One day he held his newborn daughter in his arms, mesmerized by every breath she took, and the next she talked in full sentences and outran him in a race to the silver springs and back home.

Life hurried past so quickly, it never stopped for King to catch up, and before he knew, his daughter would grow up to go her own way. Even his increased life span as Fairy King didn’t allow for enough time to appreciate all these precious moments, to savor all the talks and all the embraces and all the kisses before time placed the veil of forgetfulness over them. But life always had a new gift in store to repay the bittersweet taste on King’s tongue when his mind drifted to the inevitable end. A simple walk, a simple conversation, a simple smile – he never needed more.

Few things these days filled King with the same warmth as when he watched his daughter play. Ivy hopped across the root-infested earth of the Fairy King’s Forest, in pursuit of a butterfly. Unlike her mother, she took a liking to bugs and critters of all kind, maybe more so than to the Fairies around her.

His thoughts circled around her in lazy turns, like ponderous bees in the summer heat, and so he nearly missed the low-hanging sycamore branch in Ivy’s path.

“Ivy, be careful or you will…” She craned her neck towards King but didn’t bother to slow her steps. Her temple crashed against the branch, and she went down. “… or you will bump your head!”

King pushed his wings to their limits and raced to where Ivy lay in the grass. But she sat herself back up before he reached her, and a sigh slipped his lips.

Ivy rubbed her head. “That branch wasn’t there last week. Do I have to die now?”

“Don’t say such silly things, you won’t die. Not on my watch.”

King flicked his fingers, and Chastifol manifested by his side, enwrapped by a golden aura. Another turn of his hand later, the Spirit Spear transformed into the translucent dome of its eight form. Ivy gaped and giggled as the pollen of the Sacred Tree healed her wound and replenished her energy. The cramp between King’s shoulders disappeared, and he allowed himself three additional breaths surrounded by the scent of flowers and the transient sound of windchimes. But, although he had plenty of magical energy to spare, the excessive use of Pollen Garden remained a lavish act.

“Everything alright now?” King asked as the gold-patterned walls disintegrated.

Ivy nodded. “It doesn’t hurt one bit! I thought I was done for.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. I promised you that, don’t you remember? But I’m afraid that the branch above us was there last week as well. You are growing too fast.”

“And soon I will be twice as tall as you! Do you think I will be as tall as mommy one day?”

“Maybe. But I hope you take your time with growing up. Just a little bit, for my sake.”

“I don’t like being so tall anyway. Every time Lance comes over to visit, I feel like he is getting smaller. Hitting his head with a ball becomes so much harder when the target’s so tiny.”

King opted for a serious expression, but the round violet eyes of his daughter melted any steel in his voice. “Ivy, you’re not supposed to hit him.”

“Why? He always gets back to his feet the next second. He’s a sore loser, it’s not my fault he can’t admit that I’m the better thrower.”

“I just don’t want you to do something you will regret later on. You are incredibly strong, and looking at your mother, I think you will become even stronger. But strength can be used for the wrong reasons. In a moment of carelessness, strength can become a weapon to hurt others, including people you care about. I fought your uncle once because I was blinded by loss and thoughts of betrayal. I wanted to hurt him. And I did. And he wasn’t the only one I hurt. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

Ivy crossed her arms. “But you’re not a fighter. I’ve never seen you so much as argue with someone. Not even with uncle Ban, even though he tells terrible jokes and talks too much when he is drinking that weird stuff in the glass bottles with the unseemly pictures.”

“You’d be surprised by how many battles your mother and I have fought. Come on. Let me show you something.”

Ivy straightened and climbed back to her feet – the last time King had offered her a hand, the attempt had ended in a dislocated shoulder on his part and a stream of sobs and apologies on Ivy’s part. After throwing the branch in her path a final death glare, Ivy caught up with King, and together they navigated the maze of tree trunks and broom bushes. The pathless forest allowed for uncounted places to hide and get lost beneath the dense canopy. But King knew every stone and every plant, could differentiate sections of the vast woodland by the sound of its leaves and the unique scents of morels or honey agarics. The energy of the forest was an ever-changing pattern that gave him a better understanding of where his wings carried him than any map. And so, he found the clearing overgrown with sweet woodruff in a matter of minutes.

Ivy pulled in a sharp breath. Amidst the greenery lay a war hammer of thirty feet length. The sun reflected from the bronze head. Despite a lack of recent polish, neither weather nor plant life had touched the Sacred Treasure; Gideon looked the same as on the day Diane had placed it here.

Ivy ran over and put her hands around the hilt. But she only managed to nudge the pommel from the ground. The head remained glued to its resting spot.

“What is this?” she asked and puffed when her next battle against Gideon’s weight proved fruitless. “It must weigh more than you and me combined!”

King smiled. “A lot more. This is your mother’s Sacred Treasure. She wielded it in the New Holy War.”

“No way. Mom fought in a war? And you were with her? Did you win?”

“Yes, we won. We won battles against knights and Demons, and even the foulest creature of all them all, the Demon King himself.”

Ivy abandoned her assault on Gideon long enough to gawk at King. “You mean you and mom were heroes? You took responsibility for all the many people out there and protected them?”

“Not us two alone, no. We had friends to rely on. Your uncle Ban, the Captain, and Gowther among many more. You remember them, don’t you? It’s important to have friends you can trust. So, next time you play catch with Lancelot, maybe try to be a little more careful. If you’re both nice to each other, your bond will eventually reward you, maybe in a way you never expected.”

“Yeah, sure, as long as he admits that I’m the better thrower. What else happened during the war? The people must admire you very much for saving them.”

“I believe they did. Some still do. But I never fought to gain their favor. If anything, I felt a little uncomfortable with all the parties they threw to honor the Seven Deadly Sins. There was a lot of gratefulness, some of these people gained a freedom they never knew before the war. And without the war on the horizon, the Seven Deadly Sins might have never been assembled, and Diane and I might have never reunited. Most likely she would have found someone else, maybe not the Captain, but someone who would have been willing and eager to give her the love she deserves. It’s easy to say that all fighting is bad, and I will be the first to admit that the Holy War claimed far more victims because we as a group of knights did not always stand united. But at the same time, I’m glad I can’t turn back the clock. Because otherwise, we wouldn’t have had you.”

King stroked Ivy’s soft, reddish-brown locks. She leaned into the touch, even went so far as to wrap her arms around him.

No, King would never want to turn back time and risk the life he had now, the happy ending he and Diane had fought for. But if the Sacred Tree or another god had offered him the chance to stop the clocks and hold onto today forevermore, he might have accepted.

One day, before he knew it, Ivy would be grown up, and the sweet innocence of her childhood would run through his fingers no matter how desperately he begged the flow to stop. Another war might plague the lands. Another tyrant might escape the ashes, another creature sent from Purgatory or a realm beyond the world he knew. Ivy might have to take up arms to protect what she loved, just like her parents before her.

King listened to the soft breaths of his daughter and blinked away the veil of tears. “Try not to grow up too fast. Will you do that for me?”

“Okay, dad. But I will first have to ask mom if she agrees.”

A chuckle rocked King’s torso, and the grey clouds of the future backed away to gift him with another day in the sun. “Please do that. I wouldn’t want to enrage her with another one of my selfish ideas. She could drop a mountain on top of me. And I’m afraid she doesn’t need Gideon for that. How about we go back to her right away? I miss her, don’t you?”

“Very. I wanna ask her more about the war. I bet she was a super-amazing fighter if she could lift this hammer. And while we go back, I could catch another butterfly as a gift for her!”

King made a face and produced a series of undefinable sounds. “Maybe… we could look for – er – something else to surprise her with? Flowers for example. Everyone likes flowers.”

“But they’re so boring to catch! They can’t even run away!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll try to come up with something on the way home. How about some wild berries?”

“That’s not very creative. And once mom has eaten them, she’ll have nothing left to remember the gift.”

“A mushroom that looks like a face maybe?”

“How boring!”

Side by side and engrossed in a discussion loud enough to scare away swarms of song birds, father and daughter walked back home, to Diane. By the end of their journey, they had found not a single idea they could agree upon. Diane nevertheless embraced both of them with a smile and a remark of how heavy Ivy was getting.

And as she gave King a casual kiss, he stopped the clocks and held onto this moment forevermore.

[duskowithapen]

Day Seven: Hurt/Comfort

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier, Jaskier and Ciri Friendship

I’ll Come Back (When You Call Me)

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction

Ciri had always looked forward to Julien’s visits.

He had first appeared at court when she was four. Her grandmother hadn’t been pleased. She almost had Julien imprisoned when he’d walked into the castle, worried about that witcher showing up. Even though no one was meant to talk about it around her, Ciri knew even then that that witcher was going to show up one day and steal her away.

But Grandmother didn’t imprison Julien. He had said something to her – Remember your roots, Calanthe of Cintra, and that who watered them – and it made her mouth go tight and small. They’d moved to Grandmother’s private rooms then, so Ciri didn’t know what was said, but by the end of it, she had a new music tutor.

He came every winter. After the first snows, he would appear in court – Ciri could never convince him to tell her how he did it – armed only with his lute and a song. His very presence seemed to warm the castle better than a raging bonfire, and when he left (a week before the end of winter proper), it was like he took all that warmth with him.

Julien would always bring gifts for her, little trinkets from across the Continent. A small notebook, perfect to hide under her pillow, decorated with a snarling lioness. A posy of pressed flowers, and seeds so that she might grow them herself in spring. A bracelet of woven threads, silver and blue and green, from Skellige. But during her 8th winter, after the passing of her mother, Julien gave her a most precious gift.

They had just finished her lesson for the day. Julien had convinced her bodyguard (a stern woman named Beatrice, who slipped her sweet meats and patted her head when she had nightmares) to let them practise on the battlements, in a little used area. Julien always took every opportunity to enjoy the brisk winter breeze. He never wore anything but a light cloak over his doublet, but never seemed cold. Indeed, when she cuddled close to his side after pushing away his lute, the very air around her seemed warmer.

“Dear one,” He began slowly, “I have a gift for you.”

“Another one?” She asked, looking up, “But you already gave me a gift.” It was a beautiful pin for her hair, made of gold and deep red stone, carved and twisted into the shape of a bird taking flight. Grandmother had a pinched look on her face when she saw it but approved of Ciri wearing it with her bright red dress at the feast tonight.

“Well, yes, but this is a different gift. A special gift.” He tugged something out of his pocket, wrapped in a piece of black velvet. “Here.”

Inside was a simple necklace. On the silver chain was a tear drop shaped glass pendant. Trapped inside the pendant was a tiny piece of something red. Ciri squinted to see it through the curved glass. “What is it?”

Julien laughed and took the pendant back, swinging it around her neck a moment later. The chain was long enough for the pendant to hide under her dress. “It’s a very special necklace, Cirilla.”

The use of her full name made her stop playing with the tiny tear drop and look up again. Julien rarely used her full name – always dear one, or little one, or little lioness. “How special?”

“The special-ist.” He whispered. “I want you to always wear this Cirilla – never take it off.” When she went to protest, Julien shook his head. “No, I’ve already spoken to the Queen about this and she agreed. I need you to promise me that you’ll never take this off. Ever.”

“But why?” She was becoming scared now. Julien was meant to be nice and funny and happy, always smiling and playing his lute, writing silly songs to make her laugh and pretty lullabies to help her sleep. He wasn’t meant to be serious.

“Because Destiny can be rough, dear one, and it doesn’t care who it hurts as long as things go its way. I want to make sure that, no matter what happens, you’ll be safe.” Julien said. He tapped at the tear drop she was still holding, making it ring like crystal. “This pendant means that you’re under my protection. It has a little piece of me in it – if you’re ever in trouble, I want you to hold it and call my name. No matter where I am, I’ll hear you and come to your side.”

“Julien?” She asked. Bringing the pendant closer to her face, she could just see how the red scrap was flat and kinda fluffy, skinny on one end and wide on the other. After a moment of twisting it back and forth, she could see a kind of shine on it, like it had been coated in gold dust. It looked a little bit like… “A feather?”

He huffed and tapped her nose. “Yes, a feather. And…” here, Julien looked almost sad. “I’m going to tell you something you can’t tell anyone else. If your Grandmother knew I told you, I might not be able to come back.”

Ciri immediately grabbed onto the arm still wrapped around her waist. “No! I promise I won’t tell – you can’t go away forever!”

“I’ll never truly leave you little one, I promise,” Julien squeezed her back, “But your Grandmother doesn’t like my true name, even if she knows it, so you can’t tell her.”

“Okay. What’s your true name?”

And then he leaned closer. When he whispered it into her ear, she felt the pendant in her hands heat up.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier.

Jaskier.

“JASKIER!” Ciri screamed, hands pressed against Geralt’s side. “Oh please, Jaskier, I need your help, please!” She scrambled for one, desperate moment for her pendant – the pendant she’d never taken off in the five years she’d owned it. “JASKIER!”

Underneath her, Geralt groaned and tossed his head. “J-jask…?”

“It’s going to be okay Geralt, you’re going to be okay.” She rambled. In the back of her head, she heard the voice of her Grandmother berating her – a ruler is always composed Cirilla. “We just need – Jaskier, where are you?!”

It had been Nilfgaard, it was always Nilfgaard – always trying to take the people precious to her – but she wasn’t going to let them succeed.

“JASKIER!”

She had only just found Geralt, and now she was going to lose him. They hadn’t even been looking for her – they were a scouting party (and in the back of her mind, she thanked the Elders that it was just a scouting party) who had stumbled into their path. Geralt had dealt with them all, but he hadn’t come out of it unscathed. No man may equal a witcher, but thirty men on horses came close.

It was all her fault. If they hadn’t been looking for her, if Geralt hadn’t come and found her, if she hadn’t ridden away with Roach instead of standing her ground and fighting like the queen she was meant to be --

“Not your fault, little lioness,” A voice gasped out behind her, “And Geralt won’t be leaving you any time soon.”

She spun around, hand falling from the now bloody pendant to her dagger (Julien’s gift for her tenth winter) to see the man himself standing there. A bright red doublet sat loosely on his shoulders. There were dark shadows under his eyes. His skin was pale and stretched over his cheekbones. Soot was streaked across his forehead and coated his hands, stained his breeches and shirt. His hair was lank and sweaty. He wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Jaskier!” Citi went to run to him – to leap into his arms like she had done very time he came to court – but a groan drew her attention back to the situation at hand. “Jaskier, Geralt’s hurt!”

He stumbled forward and fell to his knees at her side. When his hands hovered over the largest wound, they shivered. That, out of everything, unnerved her the most. They had always been steady.

“We need to move him.” Jaskier said after a moment. “We’re too exposed here.” With a grunt, he pulled Geralt into a sitting position. He glanced up at her. “Do you mind grabbing some bandages out of Roach’s saddlebags? Once we’ve stopped the bleeding, we can get out of here.”

As if in protest, Geralt shifted and squinted, a sliver of amber between pale eyelids. “Jas-Jaskier? What are you…?”

Jaskier smiled, but it was small and thin, not reaching his eyes. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, dear witcher. Ciri darling, Roach?”

Ciri hadn’t even noticed the horse, still standing where she’d left her in the mad dash to get to Geralt’s side. Her flanks were streaked with sweat. While she soothed her, unknotting the reins from where they’d fallen around the saddle, Jaskier wrapped bandages around the worst of Geralt’s wounds. Several cuts snuck through gaps in his armour, a large gash up one thigh where a fallen soldier (fallen, but not dead) had tried to hamstring him but missed, a slice over his eyebrow dripping blood down his forehead and into his hair. When the wound across his stomach – the largest and most life threatening – immediately bled through the bandage, the bard pulled off his doublet and used it as extra padding, binding it to the witcher with his own weapons’ belt. At least, Ciri thought hysterically, you can’t see the blood through all the red anyway.

Geralt moaned and slumped forward at one strong tug of the bandage, pressing his nose against Jaskier’s shoulder. “Jask – you’re – why’re you… Ciri, where…” His eyes were open wider now, but unseeing.

Ignoring him, the bard hook one arm under Geralt’s and the other around his hips. “Alright, up you get.” With a grunt, Geralt was on his feet for all of a second before slumping against Jaskier’s chest. Bright blue eyes turned to her. “Mind bringing Roach a little closer, dear one?”

Getting Geralt onto the horse was an ordeal. It involved a lot of swearing (which Jaskier asked her, breathlessly, to never repeat in Geralt’s hearing) and pain, given how Geralt keened as his injured leg was guided into the stirrups. Ciri shuddered. She never wanted to hear that noise again.

Once Geralt was more or less in the saddle, slumped over Roach’s neck in the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, Jaskier held his arms out to her. “Alright dear one, your turn.”

“What?”

“Someone needs to ride with Geralt to make sure he doesn’t fall off.” Brushing away her protests – Jaskier looked like he needed a ride more than she did and he didn’t have shoes – he swung her onto the back of the saddle.

With a click of his tongue, they were off. Ciri didn’t know where they were going nor did she particularly care. She was more worried about the new wounds she could see on Geralt’s back, and Jaskier, who was stumbling as he ran beside Roach deeper into the forest.

“Ju-Jaskier… what happened to you?” Asking that first question opened the gates to more, and Ciri was helpless to stop the words from falling out of her mouth. “How did you get here so fast – why are you covered in soot – you look so tired – are you hurt – where are your shoes –”

“Dear one,” Jaskier began, cutting her off, “It’s a very long story. Right now, I just want to get away from those soldiers and somewhere I can treat Geralt’s wounds.” He refused to look up at her. His hand on Roach’s reins was white knuckled. Even as she watched, his grip grew tighter.

The skin split.

Ciri cried out, shocking Geralt into consciousness, looking around as much as he could against Roach’s neck. “Ciri, what – where –”

Jaskier looked down at his hand, where dull red (and gold?) was flaring from the split in his knuckles, and sighed. He reached up in between strides, patting her leg with his healthy hand. “It’s okay little one, nothing that can be worried about right now.” His hand moved to Geralt then, rubbing at the fingers that tangled in Roach’s mane. “Not much longer, dear heart. Almost there.”

There seemed to be a small clearing near a stream that bubbled merrily as Jaskier helped Ciri down from the saddle. She caught his hurt hand before he could pull away and ran her thumb over the cut.

She flinched.

It felt… soft? Like feathers.

Jasker pulled his hand away and pressed it against her face. “I’ll answer all your questions when you’re safe, little one.” Her murmured.

Ciri nodded unhappily. She could only watch as he reached up towards Roach’s saddle. She expected him to pull Geralt own, maybe try to wake him up first to make the dismount easier, but all he did was pull out an empty water skin.

“Jaskier, what –”

“Shhh!” Ciri flinched at the harsh hiss, and Jaskier looked at her apologetically. “Sorry little one, but I need to concentrate. Remember, questions once you’re safe.”

At her confirming nod, Jaskier quickly filled the skin before returning to her side. He took a deep breath. From the depths of his chest came a low hum. It seemed to vibrate through the air into her bones. It reminded her a little of her own… powers, that chaos that ran through her veins. But it wasn’t intimidating, it was almost warm. No, it was warm! The air hadn’t been very cold to begin with, but now Ciri was starting to sweat. Jaskier’s humming grew in pitch, rising and falling within the higher octaves till it was more like a trill, or a whistle, and Ciri started. She recognised that tune! Jaskier had sung it to her when she got sick one winter! He had spent the night by her side, giving her water and laying cool cloths over her forehead, and when she’d woken up that morning, she’d felt a lot better. He’d serenaded her over breakfast, a ditty in celebration of your health, he’d called it.

Then she noticed – Jaskier didn’t have her lute.

The bard, still humming, held the water skin near his face.

Ciri stared.

Crystalline tears were running down his face. Looking closer, she could tell that the tears were actually crystal, with facets and everything, solidifying the second they escaped his half open eyes. When they dropped into the water skin, they chimed. Her fingers scrambled for her necklace. Ciri’s eyes flickered from the still falling tears to the pendant. It’s been smoothed, but it’s still the same shape… she stepped closer, pressing against Jaskier’s side. His humming didn’t falter, but a smile flickered across his lips as he glanced down. The red and gold feathers emerging from his wound, and the tiny scrap of red in her necklace… Jaskier’s feathers were much duller, almost dusty, but still…

The humming trailed off, but the heat remained. Jaskier sighed and lowered the water skin. He looked even more drawn now, with pale blue veins visible up his neck. His body wracked with shivers.

Ciri wrapped her arms around his waist with a cry. “Jaskier, are you okay?” Obviously he isn’t, she berated herself as soon as the words left her lips, people don’t just shake like they’ve got the auge!

Jaskier didn’t answer, instead swirling the water skin around. She expected to hear the chimes of the tears hitting the side, but there was nothing but the swoosh of water. “Help me give this to Geralt,” He said after a moment. His voice was hoarse.

Help, it turned out, involved Ciri being put back onto Roach and helping lean Geralt into an upright position. Under Jaskier’s direction, she carefully helped the witcher drink about half the water before leaning him back down. The rest apparently was for her.

“Drink some of that – it’ll help.”

She held it to her lips, but hesitated. “Shouldn’t you drink some?”

Jaskier shook his head with a mirthless smile. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t work on me.”

The water tasted fresh and cool, like it had just come from the courtyard well in the middle of winter. It warmed her up from the inside, bringing relief to the pains she didn’t even know she had – an ache in her legs from the harsh riding, a couple of bruises from the invasion that hadn’t quite healed yet…

When Jaskier reached up to take it back, his sleeve slid down. The skin up his forearm split. More of those feathers – faded red and dull gold and browning orange, like leaves in the middle of Autumn – emerged from the torn skin, rustling a little in the breeze. He met her concerned gaze. “Don’t worry about it, little lioness. I’ll be alright.”

Any protests Ciri was planning was derailed by Geralt’s groan. He shot upright in the saddle, almost knocking her off if it wasn’t for Jaskier’s supportive hand. “Where – Ciri, where are –” He swung his head from side to side, breathing deep, before hunching over his stomach.

Ciri pressed her hands against his shoulders. “I’m right here Geralt. We’re with Jaskier, he helped us!”

“Jaskier…?” Geralt looked up – slowly this time – and turned to meet the bards’ eyes. His hand reached back to take hers. Jaskier, she noticed, had tucked his hurt arm behind his back.

“Geralt.” He said with a nod. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you with my presence, but I swore to protect Cirilla, and she asked me to help you.” His voice was cold and distance in a way she’d never heard.

Geralt flinched. “Jaskier, how do you know Ciri?” This close, Ciri could see how the scrapes on his back had stopped bleeding. Wiping away the half-dried blood, she saw a wound that was steadily shrinking.

His smile was thin. “You are not the only one bound to this Destiny, Geralt. I didn’t think it fair for your Child Surprise to bear the punishment for other’s actions.” Jaskier shook his head. “Anyway, we need to be going. I assume you’re headed towards Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt nodded slowly. “It’s the only place Nilfgaard won’t find her. Jaskier, why –”

“So you need to get there fast.” Jaskier didn’t seem inclined to let Geralt get a word out – indeed, he barely seemed to care for the witcher. Very different from how he acted when Geralt was unconscious, Ciri noted.

“Yes, but I can’t find Yen –“

“Yennifer was involved in the Battle at Sodden Hill. She’s not up to portalling anyone anywhere, if that’s what you’re going to suggest.”

“Is she alive?”

At the desperation in Geralt’s voice, Jaskier softened. “She’s alive Geralt. Hurt, tired, weak and pissed off, but alive.”

Geralt slumped a little in relief. His wound didn’t seem to be hurting him as much anymore. Something that he was quick to notice, running a hand over the doublet still wrapped around his middle. “Jaskier, how did you find us? I wasn’t – I wasn’t expecting to survive that.”

“I wasn’t exactly going to give you a choice,” Jaskier’s voice became cold again, “You have a responsibility now Geralt, and I’m not going to let you shirk it like you have for the past thirteen years.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but he shuddered before he could. There was a faint sound, like tearing fabric, but when Jaskier hunched over, his shirt was intact. Barely. The fabric at his shoulders and ribs stretched, and something red pressed at it from the inside. A tiny feather was snatched up before it could hit the ground.

“What is going on?” Geralt sounded like he was a moment away from getting off Roach and making Jaskier explain.

“No time.” Jaskier said shortly. “Geralt, I need you to imagine the keep. Hold the image as tightly in your mind as you can.”

“Not until you explain!”

“NO!” The sound Jaskier made wasn’t human, high pitched like a screech. It blew back Ciri’s hair in a wave of warmth. The tear up Jaskier’s arm lengthened, more feathers pushing at the shirt. Geralt had finally noticed.

“Jas—”

“CAN YOU SEE THE KEEP?!” His voice was inhumanely scratchy, and while he wasn’t speaking loudly, there was a definite force to his words.

When Geralt nodded mutely, Jaskier reached up and placed a hand in theirs. “Keep that image in your mind, dear heart,” Jaskier whispered, “And if you ever trusted me – ever thought of me as more than an annoyance – please, don’t let go.”

There was a whoosh, like the sound of a water fall, or the rush of fire consuming new fuel, and then all Ciri could feel was a comforting, all consuming warmth, and all she could see was a world of red, gold and orange.