#certainly one of the strangest birthdays I’ve had

[allisonreader]

She was surprised by what she saw when she woke up. Her childhood bedroom instead of her hospital bed with Jesse hovering nearby.

Her hands weren’t the aged ones that she was used to seeing but the firm smooth hands of her youth. This wasn’t what she had been expecting. Perhaps she hadn’t passed yet and was just dreaming…

Except it felt so real at the moment. Or could this be her perception of heaven to begin with? She really didn’t know.

Maybe if she closed her eyes for a few moments things would make more sense again.

She drifted off without meaning to. The next thing she knew was that she could feel someone sitting on the edge of her bed.

Jesse.

A cool cloth was place on her forehead. That didn’t make sense.

She slowly opened up her eyes only to find Nanna the one sitting on the edge of bed.

"Nanna?"

"Yes my dear. How are you feeling? Are you feeling a little bit better?"

"I- I don’t know… I had the strangest dream-"

"You’re still rather flush. You’ve been very sick my dear. A horrible way to spend your sixteenth birthday."

"Sixteen?"

"As of this past Wednesday. Your grandfather is rather upset at me that I won’t risk his health so that he could come in and wish you a happy birthday. I told him you were delirious enough to not notice and would understand once you were better. As well as that you’d be much happier knowing that he was keeping healthy. I know that you wouldn’t want him to get sick because of you. We’ll hold a party only once you’re feeling better and well rested."

Nanna rubbed her cheek.

"Do you think that you can try to eat something?"

She nodded carefully. Her mind spinning. Sixteen. How was she sixteen again?

She should be about Nanna’s age give or take a few years. If she was truly sixteen then Jesse hadn’t even officially started racing yet.

They hadn’t even met yet.

She still had school to finish.

Ruth would be alive at the moment… and had Nanna mentioned her grandfather? It was a lot to take in.

She hoped Jesse was doing alright. She wished she could see him. But if she was truly as sick as Nanna claimed, then she better focus on getting better first.

Would Jesse know her? Or would they be as strangers?

"Here you go Emily. Broth and a piece of toast. Hopefully that will sit well enough in your stomach."

"Where’s daddy?"

"At the offices. In a few weeks he’ll be going down to Georgia to see some of the tracks there."

"Do you think if I’ve recovered enough by then? Daddy would allow me to accompany him?"

"I think you’ll have to ask him, but I can’t see why not. Your grandfather might put up a bit of a fuss about it, but you can ignore him. I’ll be able to keep my husband busy."

"Nanna!"

"Mm, I dare say that you’re starting to sound much better my dear."

oOo

It was very odd being 16 again. Seeing Alex galavanting around and taking Bea to events again.

She wondered if things could change or if they had changed. She certainly didn’t remember having been so sick around her 16th birthday before.

She also couldn’t remember exactly which year her grandfather had passed. Certainly it was before this point? She shouldn’t complain about that though. Time with him was well spent.

Going to Georgia was something she was immensely looking forward to.

Hopefully she could at least catch a glimpse of Jesse.

She missed him so much. If things could change, then maybe they could meet so much earlier this time. Be together longer, maybe do something for Ruth…

Would he even know her?

xXx

He didn’t know what was going on. He was back in Georgia.

Feeling better than he had in decades. All his aches and pains were gone. His scars were gone and maybe most importantly, Ruth was alive. Seemingly less sick than she had been before at this time.

He didn’t understand how, but he was going to take it. Especially since both of their parents were alive?

The how was foreign to him. They weren’t even home currently.

Henry was home from college at the moment apparently and spending as much time with Joan he could get.

Things were topsy-turvy in what he knew.

He wasn’t even sure he should try racing, but it should hopefully put him in the path of Emily as long as that hadn’t changed.

He was going to risk it. Seeing the love of his life would be worth the risk of racing.

One that payed off better than expected. She was at the race with her father. Looking so very young, but then he’d look much the same.

Unlike his first race last time, this time he was pretty confident that he could do decent if not win the race again, if his skills had transferred along with his knowledge. He wasn’t the rookie he’d seem to be. He had his years of racing under his belt and the years as Lightning's crew chief as knowledge as well.

He wondered again since he was here, could Emily have also taken a similar journey. Only speaking with her would give him that answer.

This time when he heard his low odds of winning he just chuckled to himself. One day he might be the sure bet if he decided to race again. Which he just might have to.

Maybe he’d be able to avoid that race he wrecked in and have a longer racing career. Have a career to rival Weathers's maybe.

This race had to happen first.

He had forgotten over the years that Scott had loaned him a helmet this first race. It went about as well as it went the first time, though it was a bit less of a close race than it had been the first time.

If he had his Hornet, he’d have done better. It was enough to catch the attention of Edward Piston again though.

He and Emily had come up to him again much like last time, except this time he knew who Edward was from the beginning and he was much more interested in looking over a young Emily.

It would be rude to just stare at her, as much as he wanted to.

She didn’t seem to have quite the same problem and seemed to drink him in greedily. Her hands folded in front of her, one finger tapping her ring finger. He took that to mean that she was his wife, if he wasn’t misreading her.

He gave a similar motion and he saw her smile brighten.

He made sure to properly introduce himself and she made mention that she hoped to see him race again.

Well now he’d have to race, for her. Something he was more than willing to do. He had so much that he wanted to tell her.

That he had caused quite the stir in going back to Piston Cup. That here, in this slightly different world, both his parents were alive and Ruth didn’t seem as sick.

That would all have to wait until they had the chance to talk more in private.

xXx

Her Jesse was here. He recognized her.

She felt like she was floating on a cloud. Life could hardly be better. She couldn’t wait to see him again. Hopefully it wouldn’t take a year to do so.

She would do as much as her dad would allow her to with Piston Cup. She wanted to be as close to Jesse as she could be.

Maybe she should try racing this time.

She could probably get Nanna and her grandfather to persuade her dad to let her drive. That would probably surprise Jesse.

It would certainly be worth the look on his face. Even if she had to wait two years to do so.

She’d have to start working on that now to break him down. Maybe she’d start with telling her grandparents that she wanted to learn to drive first. They might be able to convince her dad easier than her.

"Nanna, I want to learn to drive."

"I think that’s a grand idea my dear. Isn’t that George? It’s very independent of her."

"It is. It reminds me of when you learned to drive there for a bit."

"It was a good skill at the time."

"Nanna? You know how to drive!?"

"I don’t know if you can call what I did driving dear. At least not by today’s standards. Automobiles were still quite novel when I tried to learn. It was a fun experiment, but I didn’t much care for the focus that was needed. I’d rather let others do my driving for me."

"That- almost seems out of character Nanna…"

"You would think that. Your grandmother would rather be able to talk and take in the scenery than have to focus on the road in front of her."

"There are more pleasant things to do than drive. But I see no reason that you shouldn’t learn if you want to Emily dear."

"We’ll talk to your father. I’m sure that’s your biggest concern."

"It is, thank you."

oOo

They did it.

Her grandparents managed to convince her dad to allow her to learn to drive.

Her biggest question now was how much did she remember from what Jesse taught her. Was she going to look too much like she knew what she was doing? Or would she be starting from scratch? She’d only know once she got behind the wheel.

Relearning to drive was easier than she remembered learning to be in the first place.

The teacher her father got for her was decent, but couldn’t compare to getting lessons from Jesse.

She missed him. Did he get his Hornet yet?

She should start writing him everything that she wanted to tell him. That way she wouldn’t forget anything that she wanted to tell him. Like how hard she was working to become a racer. Though she wanted that to be more of a surprise.

What was he doing now? Was he okay?

She begged her dad to let her come on any trips that might bring her near Jesse. And of course there were still the family trips to Radiator Springs as well.

Seeing Flo and some of the others so young again was refreshing. She was sure that she didn’t come off quite as spoiled or naive about life this time, though she was still quite sheltered at the moment, but she had lived a lot more life than she looked like she had.

She didn’t get the chance to see Jesse before he started racing again. But she certainly made sure that she was at as many races as she could be.

Using Alex as an excuse to get as close to Jesse as she could. One of the first times she went down she “got lost” just so she could run into Jesse.

"Excuse me? I think I got a little turned around. I was looking for my brother."

Jesse quickly turned to face her, trying to control the grin on his face at her blatant to him lie.

"Who’s your brother? I’m new to this myself, but maybe I can help."

"Alexander Piston."

"Miss Piston, it’s a pleasure to meet you again."

"Oh! You’re Mr. Hudson, from last year when daddy gave you his card. I am glad to see that you’ve decided to race this year."

They continued their conversation like that until they were away from the bustle and could speak frankly.

"I’ve missed you so much Em."

"I’ve missed you too."

"I wish I could kiss you, but if anyone saw us…"

"I know. Do you think we can write each other? I want to know everything that’s happened since I last saw you."

"I’d like that. …. After you passed Em, I did end up getting dragged back into Piston Cup by a kid. Had a rocky start with him, but he was a good kid. You would have loved him… Sally sure did."

"She found her one then."

"Yep, a trouble maker for sure."

"Sounds familiar."

"We should probably get back before people start to wonder where we went."

"I know. I don’t want to though. How has Ruth been?"

"Great. She doesn’t seem as sick, Henry’s actually in college and playing baseball, and my parents are still alive."

"Oh Jesse that’s great news to hear. I’m so happy for you. My grandfather is still alive. It’s brilliant for Nanna. She’s even more vibrant with him living."

"Sounds like good news across the board."

She just nodded as they started back towards where Alex was.

"Perhaps I will see you around Miss Piston."

"Thank you Mr. Hudson for helping me find my brother. Good luck in the race today."

"Thank you." She couldn’t help but watch him walk away.

"Who was that Emily?" Alex asked.

"Oh, he is just a new racer who helped me find my way over here."

"Dad shouldn’t let you be down here."

She just rolled her eyes.

"I’m careful. I happen to find all of this extremely interesting. Maybe one day I’ll be out there racing as well."

"It’s a man’s sport Emily."

"I don’t see why women couldn’t race too."

"Dad won’t let you."

"Nanna and granddad got him to let me starting to learn to drive. I bet if he saw another woman racing he’d let me."

"He won’t let that happen."

"I guess we’ll have to wait and see."

oOo

They did start writing each other and trying to catch sight of each other as much as possible at the races.

That first year she had even managed to sit with Jesse’s mom and Ruth which was thrilling for her. To get to know the woman who would have been her mother-in-law and to get to know Ruth, Jesse’s twin who he loved so much.

This time she made sure that they properly introduced themselves. She and Ruth quickly became friends after sitting with each other a couple of times.

So she had started exchanging letters with Ruth as well.

Becoming friends with her was one of the best things that could have happened. She’d never had someone she could talk to like she could to Ruth, at least, not at this age before. She’d miss sitting with her once she started racing.

xXx

He was getting a little anxious that he hadn’t seen Emily yet. She had written that she would be at this race, but she hadn’t stopped by yet.

"Hey Hud, have you heard the latest news?"

" 'Bout what?"

"Sounds like Miss Piston is trying her hand at racing this season."

"What!?"

"It looks like there’s going to be two of them out there."

"I’d hold off judgment of Miss Piston for now. She might surprise you. Besides, she’s nothing like her brother."

He got raised eyebrows at that.

"How’d d'you know that?"

"We’ve spoken before."

"She’s a kid isn’t she?"

"I dunno…" he wasn’t going to admit that he knew exactly how old Emily was right now, nor the fact that he knew her birthday. That she was only about 18 right now and that he’s three years older than her. Now he really wanted to see her. Was she truly going to race?

"Can’t believe her father is actually letting her race. His precious little princess."

He held back an eye roll. Yes she grew up spoiled, but she wasn’t a brat like her brother, at least not currently. He couldn’t speak for before they met. He just wanted to see her.

oOo

All her nerves were firing at once. This was going to be a completely new experience for her.

Her grandparents promised they’d be in the crowd cheering her on.

She was confident in her driving skills. She didn’t know if she’d be winning any races soon, but at least she thought that she could still could compete against the others.

As long as she could beat her brother one day, that would be good enough.

Hopefully she’d be able to break into one of the groups of the racers, preferably Jesse’s so that they could actually spend time together.

Well, now was the time to get moving and maybe see Jesse before they started. She’d like to at least walk by and give Jesse a wave. He was expecting her today.

As she passed Jesse and everyone one around him, she gave them a wave that was much more confident than she felt. Though Jesse’s wave back did warm her to her toes.

She missed him so much. She was so tired of being parted from him. Maybe they could have a whirlwind romance this time and get married before the end of the year.

Not that it actually would be a whirlwind to them.

It would just be getting back into their marriage. Maybe this time with everything that had changed they’d be able to have kids this time. Not that she didn’t love him even though they hadn’t before.

It didn’t mean she still didn’t want them. Anything was possible, right?

[separatist-apologist]

Lost In Your Current

Wherever you stray, I'll follow

Summary: Arina hopes to never see the terrifying monster lurking beneath the waves again.

He won't stop until he's dragged her below.

beta'd by @iambutmortal & @the-lonelybarricade

Thank you for validating my worst impulses

TW: Drowning, iffy (but not dub-con) consent at the beginning, human men (as always)

Arina saw him the night of her nineteenth birthday. 

She’d fled the palace for the rocky cliffside overlooking the sea. Dress held in hand and sobbing breathlessly, she’d collapsed to the lowest edge where the spray just nearly touched. Some part of her had wanted to fling herself into that gray, opaque water where no one would ever see her again. Her father had announced she’d marry her greatest enemy–her kingdoms enemy. She was nineteen, he was twenty nine. 

When he’d come to her, adorned in black, his eyes had glittered. The last time she’d seen him, Arina had been nine years old. He had been nineteen. Sweeping her up against his chest, he’d whispered, I’ve always wanted you. 

The wind slid down her exposed back, drawing goosebumps in its wake. Arina had looked up from her knees where she hid her head. Just ahead, bobbing in the vicious waves, was a man. Arina froze for a moment, wondering how he’d gotten there. Only his head was above water, watching with the strangest amber colored eyes. They were so vibrant she could see them in the waning sunlight, stark against his pale skin.

Sweepingly high cheekbones and a full mouth gave that man a truly beautiful face. Chiseled but not rough, elegant but hardly delicate. His auburn hair was swept off his face casually, as if the water itself had pushed it back. Something about him made her want to creep closer and so she did.

“Do you need help?” she called, her voice trembling from her tears. 

He didn’t reply, coming closer just as she was. Arina was on the ledge, too far to touch him even as she extended her hand. Some strange spell had settled between them. He was still watching, so obviously curious, creeping closer and closer through dark, churning waves. 

“What happened to you?” she asked him when he was close enough to take her hand. “How did you get here?”

“What happened to you?” was his deep, rich reply. His voice was like music, enchanting and lovely and wrong. He smiled, revealing a row of pearly, pointed teeth. A hand shot from the water as she reared back, gilded in luminescent orange scales. She felt the wet pads of his fingers touch her palm, cool and a little slimy from wherever he’d been. As he came up, a row of those same orange spines ridged the length of his back, and on his neck were little slits.

She screamed, just narrowly avoiding being dragged into the water. He laughed, his voice ribboning through her chest and calling her back. Arina didn’t turn to see if it watched as she fled for the palace. She’d heard of creatures like him. 

Siren.

Mermaid.

Monster.

They were said to be beautiful, luring their prey into the water with their melodic voices before drowning them so far beneath the waves no light could penetrate before making them a meal. Arina certainly believed it after seeing that man…thing…whatever he was. He’d nearly dragged her into the water. What would he have done to her?

Still, that night when she climbed to her bedroom, still miserable over this new engagement, she’d looked out her window towards the sea.

And swore she saw those amber eyes reflecting in the moonlight.

Watching.

Whoever he was, he became a constant companion to her over the next few years. The palace was too far from the water for him to ever get close enough and yet Arina saw him on occasion if she got close enough. His eyes would peek above the water, revealing his silky red hair. He never raised his head high enough to speak and yet she knew her fear amused him. How long would he bide his time? She’d been certain if she stopped going to the beach he would eventually tire of this game and move on to easier prey.

Mere weeks before the scheduled start of the marriage, Arina found herself drawn back to the cliffside. It didn’t occur to her something—or someone—was calling her until she saw him bobbing in the waves, his head fully above water. He was singing, she realized. Arina plugged her ears and stumbled backwards, not daring to ask how he’d learned her name.

His once pleasant face contorted with fury when he realized she’d figured him out, that she was drowning him out. Arina screamed to keep him from penetrating the barrier of her fingers and he lunged again, his powerful arms grasping the edge of the cliff and hauling himself up. A long, powerful tail emerged from the water, larger and more terrifying than any drawing had ever shown. 

He was saying something to her, his voice drowned in the screaming and her fingers. Arina ran again, leaving him perched on the edge of the water. How fast could he move? Could he chase after her at all? 

After that, Arina didn’t dare even look at the water. Too aware of what hunted her, the impending marriage had become an afterthought. It wasn’t until her things were packed and a ship was bobbing outside the harbor that Arina realized the full scope of how bad things might get for her.

She begged and pleaded with her father. She’d do anything he asked, marry anyone else. Preferably someone inland, someone landlocked. There was no arguing. Arina was all but shoved out of the palace and dragged up the dock to the rocking, wooden ship that would carry her to her new home.

Standing on deck, Arina dared to peer into the water. She swore, lurking just beneath the waves, was the faintest shimmer of orange. She shuddered, sending a silent vow to the gods who watched her family, that she would do anything they asked of her if they saw her cross the sea safely. 

Arina was given a stateroom all to herself. Big enough to have its own lavatory and yet smaller than her fathers, she knew she shouldn’t complain. Still, she spent nearly all her time outside it until the sailors shoved her beneath deck, tired of her presence. She wasted time brushing out her long, sunlit blonde hair and removing the makeup from her golden brown skin. All the while, green eyes bounced towards that round window. She was careful to be sure it was locked.

And then she went to sleep.

For a full week, nothing happened. It was enough to lull her into a sense of safety. Maybe he was tired of the game. Perhaps he was bound to her shoreline. Every day on deck, Arina looked for any sign of the red haired monster that had been stalking her and every day she saw no sign of him. 

Other creatures made themselves known. Dolphins and a few playful whales. Fish of every color played just beneath the water as they sailed for warmer shores. The once churning gray had become glittering and clear. She watched the sailors jump in one lazy, hot afternoon. She would never have been allowed to join, given she was princess, and yet Arina was hopeful. She missed sitting in the sand, of feeling the salty spray against her face. While they swam and laughed, she’d watched above on deck, head resting on her arms. 

She wasn’t as careful as she’d been that night. Dressed in a thin nightdress, her hair unbound, Arina merely glanced at her window without checking. She hadn’t opened it once—why would it be unlocked? The rocking of the ship and sitting beneath the hot sun all day lulled her into sleep almost immediately.

Her dreams were of him. Smiling, with those vicious, pointed teeth. 

“You can’t hide from me, sweet princess,” his deep, melodic voice crooned. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

Sitting on the cliffside, this time when he lifted himself from the water, Arina was frozen in place. The muscles in his back shifted, his bare chest gleaming and slick from the water. Every inch of him was muscle—even that tail just behind seemed to be made of nothing else. It gleamed like liquid fire, the scales catching in the warm light overhead.

He was faster than she’d thought he would be, pulling himself forward until he was practically on top of her. She could feel the cold water seeping through her dress, pasting against her skin. He reached out a hand, caressing her face. 

Arina tried desperately to move, some part of her brain well aware this was only a dream. It felt real and yet if she could just wake up, wake up, wake up! It would all be over. The creature ran his nose over her cheek, nuzzling just behind his ear.

“You smell…” he whispered, his breath shockingly warm compared to the cool touch of the rest of him. “You’ll make a fine meal.”

She felt herself whimper as the dream shifted and morphed, melting from the cliffside of home to a dark, watery cave she could see very poorly in. Her head was pressed against something soft, her feet touching something wet, something too slick to be human skin. Scales.

Just as before, she tried to scream, to move, to do anything at all. She could only turn her head and catch those glinting amber eyes as cool hands pushed at her inner thighs, spreading her legs apart. She was barred to him, body obscenely spread. Arina could only breathe through her terror as he opened his mouth. She could hardly see what emerged but she could feel it. It was ridged and rough and impossibly warm given his hands were the temperature of the air around her, too cool to belong to a human. 

And yet when he slid that tongue between her legs, a jolt of arousal speared through her, filling her with undeniable heat. Trapped in her dream, unable to speak or move, Arina couldn’t beg him to stop. She didn’t think he would, if the guttural groan that escaped his throat was any indication. He merely drew her closer, her lower body scraping against what felt like rock, so he could continue his feast. 

It was wrong. His strangely long fingers, the spines that trailed down his neck before dipping back into the water where they’d meet the edge of his tail, even the little slits at his neck that let him breathe in the water were all reminders that this thing was an abomination. A monster. Filthy and disgusting and utterly hungry. She kept waiting for those teeth to pierce her skin, for him to feast on her flesh.

He merely licked at her skin, that rough, ridged tongue finding the hidden, sensitive nub of flesh hidden at the top of her cunt. The first time his tongue touched it had been an accident. Her hips had bucked against his mouth, apparently able to move if he pulled out that sensation. He’d paused, raising his head to look at her and then ever so slowly, dragged his tongue against it again. She couldn’t help herself, bound to the whims of this strange and uncomfortable dream. Her hips had jerked again. 

And again, and again, and again. He continued the slow touch, always watching with those careful eyes, as if he needed proof this was what she wanted. He dragged his tongue lower, licking the skin around her clit and though it felt good, she could remain still, could pretend she hated every second of this.

Because she should. Arina knew she should find no pleasure in being violated, even in a dream and yet when he slid his tongue back over her, she exhaled a breath, willing herself to desperately say anything. 

In her mind, she swore she’d beg him to let her go, to take his mouth off her. That she hated this, hated what he was doing. Yet so secretly she didn’t dare even admit it to herself, she was grateful the dream had rendered her mute. She’d never been touched by anyone like this and, if Arina was honest, was terrified of what her new husband planned to do with her once he’d signed that contract of marriage.

It was doubtful he’d spend any amount of time between her legs. Not like this, licking like it was his greatest passion in life. Arousal was pooling, making Arina wet, not because the creature atop her was dripping with water, but because her body was preparing for some new intrusion. One the creature offered when one of his fingers prodded softly against her body, sliding against the slick mess with fascination. 

Her body bowed off the rough surface when he pushed inside, still licking at her. He was watching again, trying to figure her out. What was the point of all this, she wanted to ask? Why go to all the trouble when he was merely going to drown her? Arina couldn’t speak, didn’t want to speak. He began thrusting that long finger, his lips sucking as she teetered towards the edge of the abyss. 

He pushed in a second finger, clearly excited. Thrusting rougher, he sped his mouth up to work her in tandem. Her skin was so sensitive she could scarcely stand the feel of the soft pillow against her cheek or the rock at her back. Building impossibly high, the only thing left was to fall.

Finally, Arina’s voice returned though her ability to move had not. “Please, sto—!” her words broke in a strangled, desperate scream, so loud it seemed to reverberate off the walls around her. She came near violently, her body spasming around him, drawing those fingers in deeper, fucking her harder. He pulled back all at once as Arina jerked upwards, panting roughly. 

A dream, she told herself, coming back to reality. There was no cave, no scales, no creature. Just her in her bed…dripping wet. The sheets, the blankets, her body were all covered in chilly water. She whipped her head towards the window, noting the puddles against the wood floors.

It was open.

Her night dress, pushed up over her hips, clung to her skin as she slipped from bed. Trembling, her legs still shaking from what she swore was just a very intense, very real dream, she walked to that circular window and peered out into the moonlit night.

Just beneath the window, watching with those amused, amber eyes, was the monster from her nightmares. 

She slammed the window shut.

And locked it tight.

Prince Jaxon extended the date of the wedding by a week. It was a practical choice given a storm had delayed them by an extra four days. There was no sign of the sea creature she suspected had crept into her room—a dream, she tried to tell herself—though this time Arina wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d let her leave. 

Jaxon’s palace was on the sea, practically overlooking it from a cliffside, and the room he’d given her was a straight drop into the rocky seashore below. For four straight nights, Arina stared out that window and four four straight nights, the monster stared back.

That fifth night came on the heels of a vicious fight. Jaxon had pushed into her room, demanding they consummate the marriage early and Arina had violently fought back. It had earned her a bruised cheek and a sensitive scalp from where he’d dragged her by the hair to her bed. She’d sobbed, pleading for him to stop.

A sharp knock at the door from her father was enough to end it though Jaxon could have ignored it, if he liked. Arina had flung open that window in the aftermath and climbed onto the ledge. She meant to hurl herself out, to let her body smash against the rocks where the men of the world couldn’t find her—couldn’t harm her. That creature in the distance had watched, coming closer and closer and she swore there was no amusement left in his gaze.

Only blazing, open hatred. 

It was enough to scare her back into the room, to close and lock the window. 

But it wasn’t enough to keep him away. She heard him scratching at the window that night, saw his face from where she hid under the blankets. How he’d scaled up the stone with that dragging fin, Arina never wanted to know. She didn’t sleep a wink as he rattled and pulled like he must have when she’d been on the ship. 

His face terrified her. Burning with rage, he might have been a living candle for all his fury. 

He didn’t make it inside, though it didn’t keep him from trying the night before her wedding, too. Arina didn’t know which scared her more—being stolen away by the sea monster or forced to marry Prince Jaxon. She decided that the monster might kill her quickly while Jaxon meant to do it slowly, over decades. He’d force children on her, would subject her to his every terrible whim, his every cruel desire.

And she knew, from the fact that he’d lusted after her as a little girl and how he’d been willing to have her by force, that there would be no happiness to be found in the marriage. Arina made it all the way down the aisle before she had that realization.

She turned, in front of his entire court, her entire family, and the gods themselves, and ran. Ran through the sanitized halls of the palace in that flowing white gown, twisting and turning until she exploded into the salty morning air. Jaxon was just behind her with a small contingent of guards, his sword drawn.

“Get back inside,” he ordered, stepping towards her. 

Arina skittered back, heels sinking in the spiky grass beneath her. At her back, the land dropped into nothing but vicious, jagged rocks and unforgiving water. She dared to look over her shoulder but no one was looking back. No creature was waiting. She could jump, she thought with some small measure of relief. Escape her torment. 

“I’m not going,” she said. He lunged and Arina stepped back just out of reach, teetering on that edge.

“There’s nowhere else, Arina,” he snapped, blue eyes flashing dangerously. “Get the fuck back in the palace or I’ll—”

A hand gripped her ankle and ripped, dragging a surprised scream from her lips. Jaxon’s surprise was the last thing Arina saw before her body hit the warm water. She twisted, fear twisting to horror when the face of the sea creature was grinning back at her. They were beneath the waves, his strong arm pinning her to his chest. She tried to push but he was swimming away from the shore so quickly she had to close her eyes against the onslaught of stinging sea water.

She beat at the solid wall of his chest, her lungs burning for air. He didn’t pause—he merely dove further and further. 

He was going to drown her. 

Her hitting became pleading. Air, she tried to communicate. 

He merely went lower still, until the sun was a mere prick in the distance. This was what she’d wanted, she reminded herself. It was terrible—painful, and yet it would be over soon. Why was she fighting him? Arina dropped her hands as her vision bloomed with spotty black. If he wanted to put her in a watery grave, at least she was free. 

Arina pressed her cheek against his chest and swallowed the last little gulp of air left in her aching, burning lungs. His grip softened ever so slightly, as if he recognized the fight was done.

He’d won.

Something soft touched her cheek but Arina didn’t care.

Darkness swept over her fully and she was gone.

Arina woke in shallow water. She’d been to this place before once, though she’d come in her dreams. It was brighter, illuminated by a skylight overhead that allowed bright sunlight to pour through the darkness. Arina pushed herself up on shaky hands, her dress weighing her down. Holding the hem of her now ruined gown in her hands, Arina stepped into dryer ground. It was smooth, likely worn away from the rising tide. Arina realized she was standing in a long abandoned, sunken palace when she found wide, broad stairs descending into the ocean below. 

Standing on a balcony that had likely once overlooked the very water she was now waist deep in, Arina wondered why the monster hadn’t killed her. Why bring her here? Was she a prisoner? She could see nothing but endless ocean and a dipping horizon in every direction. Glowing pink and orange light reflected off the placid water, filling her with a sense of unease. 

As if her thoughts had summoned him, the monster himself came swimming towards her lazily, pulling himself up against the railing to lean against it.

“Princess,” he murmured, that burning hatred replaced with the amusement she had become so used to. 

Heart hammering against her chest, Arina forced herself to speak. “Am I your prisoner?”

He smiled, revealing more teeth. “Hardly.”

He lifted himself from the water, propping his body on the railing as if he were sitting. Arina skittered backwards, falling into the water in her haste to escape him. Droplets splashed over her face as he laugh, a rich, booming sound that stole the remaining air from her lungs.

“You’re frightened of me?” he asked, one hand on his muscular chest. “When I rescued you from that monster?”

“Monster?” she spluttered as he plopped into the water to join her. Slithering closer, he reached out a broad hand to touch her cheekbone, still bruised from Jaxon’s rage. 

“I heard you scream,” he murmured, his face impossibly close. He smelled like salt and cool autumn air and sun washed apples. She shivered as the memory of his mouth slipped through her mind unbidden. “But when I came to rescue you, you locked me out.”

“And before?”

He smiled, dropping his hand to the water in favor of reclining back, his long tail flicking back and forth lazily. 

“Imagine, if you will, overhearing a tale of a princess so beautiful a man is willing to go to war for her.” His smile became feline. “I had to see for myself.”

“You…you followed him?”

He shrugged his naked, broad shoulders. 

“And then you tried to drown me—”

“Rescue you,” he corrected obnoxiously. 

“And on the ship?” she demanded, deciding to admit she knew that hadn’t been a dream. He didn’t even conceal his delight. 

“He was right,” her monster declared simply. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

“So you decided…”

He waited, circling around her body like a shark. “I decided…” he prompted, clearly enjoying himself. 

“To do…that,” she whispered, embarrassed. Sliding his hand over her shin, the monster chuckled.

“Eat your pussy, you mean? Yes, I decided it might be nice to show my mate she didn’t need to be so scared of me. I don’t think it worked. Perhaps I ought to have fucked you, too.”

“Your…mate?”

He laughed, pulling her down so she was sitting in the water with him. It took him very little effort to maneuver her into his lap and Arina, too curious to be scared, didn’t stop him. 

“I’ve been calling you,” he murmured, brushing strands of salt dried hair off her face. “Ever since I saw you.”

“A siren's song,” she insisted even as he shook his head.

“A mating call,” he replied, his breath deceptively warm given how cool his body was. “One you answered time and time again and yet…and yet you didn’t come to me.”

“I didn’t want you to drown me,” she replied, heart hammering in her chest. He laughed again, still touching her face. Tentatively, Arina reached behind him for the spines against his neck and back, touching the orange scales with trembling fingers. He shuddered, eyes practically rolling in the back of his head. 

“I’m not going to drown you,” he whispered huskily. “I only want to please you like before.”

“You scared me,” she told him even as he shook his head.

“You made a mess of my face,” he disagreed, drawing her further into the palace and into deeper water. It forced her to cling to his neck, to feel the smoothness of his cool skin and the glimmering scales that covered only parts of him. Beneath her, she could feel his powerful, swishing tail against her legs, rubbing between them purposefully, if she had to guess. 

“Look at me,” he demanded, one arm around her waist. Arina did, staring into the amber eyes that had haunted her for so long.

“Today, you’ll accept the bond between us,” he said, lowering his mouth so he spoke the words against her lips. 

“And tomorrow?” she dared to ask. He smiled, nipping her bottom lip with sharp teeth.

“Let me worry about tomorrow, hm?”

She meant to argue but the creature dropped his hold on her waist as his other hand slid into her cunt without warning or preamble. She gasped at the intrusion, swallowing hard. He kept his forehead against her own, thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles over her clit. 

“I don’t want this to change,” he told her, pumping two fingers in and out of her body. “I like this little nub of yours.”

“I…” stop him, her brain screamed. “What’s your name?”

“Eris,” he whispered, kissing just beneath her jaw. Soft, cool lips mingled against the warmth of his breath. 

“Eris,” she repeated, earning another shuddering breath from him. Free floating beneath that open skylight, Arina didn’t dare let herself think about what she was doing. It was obscene, so utterly wrong to let this monster touch her like this and yet some warring part of her thought he had rescued her. Rolling her hips against his hand drew another ragged moan from Eris’s lips and when she pressed forward and pressed her mouth against his, he went stiff against her. Even his tail stopped moving, his eyes open wide. 

Eris reached behind her and ripped the dress she wore clean down the middle. “Take it off,”  he ordered, not moving his mouth from hers. It was a strange kiss, the sensation making his ministrations between her legs all the more pleasurable. She was doing her best, helped by his own desperate hands. The dress floated away and Eris yanked her against him, still fucking her with his fingers. 

Something hard brushed against her abdomen. Arina looked down, peering through the crystalline water at the sight of not one, but two massively large cocks stacked atop each other. He let her, forehead bruising against her own, his breath ragged. Part of his tail had peeled out like fins to draw forth his erection, the appendages practically purple with need and tapered at the tips in a strange way. She didn’t know a lot about male anatomy but two seemed like one too many.

“Touch me,” he begged her, taking her hand and sliding it down his chest. Curiosity and arousal got the better of her. She curled her fingers around the pulsating base of the first one, pleased to find it was warm. He was so thick her fingers didn’t touch at the very bottom and as she moved up him, she found soft ridges ringed around the middle.

He was panting, eyes dark and dilated as he pushed her towards the smooth wall of the ruined palace. Pinning her between them. Eris finally kissed her back, careful not to scrape his pointed teeth against her sensitive lips. 

She moaned, the sound bouncing off the stone around them. He tasted exactly as he smelled, that rough, ridged tongue pushing into her mouth like another of his fingers were doing to her cunt. He was practically holding her with the force of his hand, fucking her roughly. His thumb rubbed steady, maddening circles over her clit until Arina was writhing against him, legs wrapped around his waist. She’d forgotten he was a creature of the water or utterly terrifying. 

In that moment, Eris was her salvation.

His mouth slid down her neck, free hand plucking at her nipples until Arina was all but begging him to keep going. All her objections from before melted into nothing. He curled those unnaturally long fingers and Arina screamed just like before, and this time he swallowed it with his mouth.

Eris withdrew his hands, pulling her closer towards his body until the cock she’d been holding was lined not just against her cunt, but her ass, too. She panted, fogged over with lust. 

“This will hurt for only a moment,” he whispered, rocking his body back and forth so she could get used to the push of those dueling cock heads. 

“It’s not going to fit,” she whispered when she felt the tapered head slide into her body.

“Relax,” he whispered, withdrawing. Arina did as she was told, clinging to his neck. She expected another gentle push as she ran her fingers over one of the flexible spines at his back.

Eris shoved, grunting his excitement while burying himself to the gills in her body. Arina’s back arched of its own accord, pain rippling through her. He’d warned her, hadn’t he? The stretch was practically unbearable, splitting her in half while he held her exactly there.

“Breathe,” he demanded, his voice strangled. It was too much all at once. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder while Eris very carefully dragged himself out, only to push back in.

Drawing another ragged breath, he held her hips against him, one hand returning to her clit to rub until those soft, slow thrusts became edged with pleasure. 

“That’s it,” he crooned when he felt her back arch again. “Get wet for me, mate.”

She moaned softly, his cocks rubbing against each other, separated only by the thinnest of skin. The original pain was fading into pleasure fast. Their mouths collided hungrily and Arina went back to stroking the spines along his neck, having learned it drew more pleasure. What else, she wondered, thighs clenched around his waist.

He moaned into her mouth, jerking his body frantically against her. Clinging to his frame, Arina arched her neck when he began licking at the hollow desperately, sucking at the pulse point as she writhed against him. His body felt impossibly good, cool and wet and warm all at once.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, jerking again. Strong arms pinned her against him, his cocks still buried deep in her body. Arina was so brusingly close that when he jerked again, she came apart, pussy convulsing against him. He groaned, scraping his teeth along her neck. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe as she came in wave after wave of seemingly endless pleasure. 

All destroyed when those teeth sank into her neck. Arina spasmed against him, unable to move as blood stained the water around them. Her eyes flew open, panic flooding her system. Eris was pulling her down the wall until the water covered her head.

“No–”

She was submerged before she could finish her protest. He watched, holding her so tight that no amount of struggling could help her. She flailed out her legs but the wall behind her kept her from pulling off him. He wasn’t done with her, amber eyes watching her carefully.

The salt in the water stung violently against the wound, flooding into her body like a raging, vengeful tide. Arina’s lungs burned and yet no matter how hard she struggled to get to the surface, Eris held her just beneath.

“Breathe,” he said, his voice clearer in the water somehow. Deeper, richer, lovelier. “Take a breath, mate.”

“I can’t,” she replied without thinking. Water filled her mouth but instead of choking her, air filled her greedy lungs. He smiled, reaching for her face. 

“Perfect,” he said with such obvious pleasure. His body was moving again, thrusting back into her like he hadn’t just rearranged her anatomy. And Arina, who should have cared, felt relief. She wouldn’t be forced to go back, wouldn’t one day have to rejoin her family or the prince or that wretched half-life she’d been living.

She reached for him again, kissing him roughly. Holding his hand in her face, she found him more beautiful than before. Something warm was twining through her, a cord tied at the end of her rib.

“You take my cocks so well,” he praised, pulling her further into the water. “My mate was born to fuck my cocks.”

She moaned in response, half reveling in the silky feel of the water against her bare, still aroused skin. 

“Do you know why there are two of them?” he continued, words punctuated by thrust after vicious thrust. “So I can keep my mate filled, just the way she likes. Isn’t that right, Arina?”

She whined, nails scraping down his chest. Everything felt heightened, better somehow. Like a million small touches against her skin, kissing over her breasts, her pussy, her ass. 

Eris continued his onslaught, dragging her back up to that precipice despite her aching, sore body. This time, moments before Arina broke apart in climax, she slid her fingers over the spines at his neck. Eris jerked, slamming himself so deep she whimpered. Soft waves rippled around them, marking their combined orgasm tangibly. Arina clung to him, kissing at his jaw just above the gills that let him breathe. 

Eris removed himself gingerly from her body, those once rigidly hard appendages flopping down, still weeping fluid. He let her watch the little flap close itself back up, the lines smoothing until it seemed as if his tail was utterly unbroken.

It was wrong, that this was her first question and yet kicking her legs to keep herself from sinking, she asked, “Am I going to get a tail, too?”

“Yes,” he replied, reaching for her. “It will be different…you’ll have your legs, too. The magic lets you switch between the two.”

“Not you, though?”

Head pressed against her temple, Eris nodded. “I was born this way. Our young, too, will be born with tails. Only their mother will walk on land.”

She didn’t argue with him, not with that thread in her chest keeping her close to him. Not when living in the water felt like a literal dream compared to the nightmare she’d nearly been forced into. Holding his face, she almost laughed at her own memories and how badly he’d once scared her. 

“I want to give you a gift,” he added, rubbing his hand up and down her back.”

“Oh? What is it?”

Eris grinned.

“Come with me.”

She’d been missing for a moment by the time he saw her. Eyes peeking from the water, Arina was careful when she emerged to let her hair hang about her neck. Jaxon paused on the overlooking ledge, eyes wide.

“Arina?” he called. The murky overhead sky and the threatening storm kept him from seeing what lurked just beneath the surface. Eris swam in circles, his hands sliding up and down her golden tail. She swallowed against the pleasure of her mate's touch, well aware he wasn’t trying to arouse her, but merely steady her. His own tail twined against her own, a reassuring gesture. 

“Jaxon,” she breathed, trying so hard to sound as if she felt relief and not giddy excitement. 

 “How…how did you survive?” he asked, creeping closer. All she had to do was extend her hand and when he took it, drag him in. Just like Eris tried to do the very first time they met. He, of course, had been trying to make her his wife.

Arina was trying to drown Jaxon. 

“I washed up on an island just off shore,” she lied. A practiced lie, she reflected as she drew in an ugly breath of air. Now that she could breathe underwater, every minute spent above the surface was misery. How Eris managed it long enough to eat her out was still a mystery. Arina was already squirming, desperate to escape. 

“Help me,” she added, extending her hand. “Please.”

Jaxon leaned down, taking her hand. Only then, too late, did he see the golden scales ringing around her wrist and snaking up her middle finger and arm. Gilding her, just as Eris had once been. Arina smiled, revealing newly sharpened teeth as she yanked him into the water. Jaxon came flailing down and was so wonderfully greeted by a smiling, feral Eris. 

“Prince,” he crooned, wrapping one of his broad hands around Jaxon’s neck. Arina had told him the stories she believed, of how creatures like him dragged their prey so deep no light could penetrate. Eris had sworn to give this to her as a gift. 

Arina grabbed Jaxon by his arm, pulling him down, down, down as he struggled. Eris was too pleased, so happy for this revenge.

“You hurt my mate,” he told Jaxon, his face so utterly terrifying the darker the water became. “You should have known I’d be looking for you.”

Jaxon whimpered a wordless plea, thrashing desperately. Arina said nothing at all, even when he turned those watery, salt burned eyes on her. Hair floating around her half naked body, Arina stared back without remorse. What would he have done, had she married him? Just as bad. 

Only slower. 

It was Eris who brought him back to the surface once he was dead, leaving him on the sand for the others to find. Arina watched from her perch, reaching for him when he was close enough to touch. Eris glanced over his shoulder while Arina pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I would have given you a string of pearls,” he murmured, pushing them both back out into the open ocean. “You’re certain that’s the only mating gift you want?”

“Positive,” she agreed. “The rest is merely a fresh start.”

He hummed his approval, muscular hands sliding down her tail. The only time Arina swapped for legs was when they decided to fuck—she had no interest on ever walking on land again. She reclined back against her bare chest, reveling in the feeling of his sharp teeth scraping against her shoulder. 

“We can drown as many humans as you like,” he told her with a sweet kiss. Arina let him drag her back beneath the water, well aware they wouldn’t make it back to their sunken palace before he was buried back inside her. Prince of his own people, of that palace, and everything that lay below and yet to Arina, he was only Eris. Her salvation. 

“You’re too sweet,” she crooned, mouth slanting over his. 

Eris’s grin was utterly feral and edged with danger. “Only for you, mate.”

Arina felt the same.

[misstyless]

as someone who shipped sambucky since civil war, I feel like I have to recommend the best pre-tfatws sambucky fics I've read on ao3

double back by flowermasters

Sam gets stuck in a time loop. In 1943.

Things could be worse, but they could certainly be better.

quick time by flowermasters

He’s never bought Sam a drink in any of the other loops—all ten of them, now. Maybe he should’ve tried that earlier.

Companion to double back.

Thanks by TheHedgehogSong

He opens the door to find Sam standing on the other side. "Me and the others are going to watch some movies in the living area if you're interested." Sam says by way of greeting.

"Steve ask you to keep an eye on me?"

"Yep." Sam replies simply. "So if you could come and sit with us it would make my job a lot easier."

"You're so charming." Bucky deadpans and Sam smiles at him.

"Hey when I'm putting on the charm you'll know." Sam says and jerks his head in the direction of the living area. "Come on, otherwise Clint will start the movie without us and if I miss the start I'm going to be pissed." With that Sam walks away. Bucky watches him for a moment before trailing after him – he guesses there's worst ways to spend the day.

Marriage Counseling for the Inept and Oblivious by ToriCeratops

Or: How Steve Rogers likes to play matchmaker for his infuriating best friends.

my love language is annoying the shit out of you by desastrista

There's a lot of nuances of human romance that Vision doesn't understand, but he thinks he can see what is developing between Sam and Bucky. Even if no one else does.

semi-cataclysmic events by wilsonsnest

It took time travel for Steve to figure his shit out, so Bucky doesn’t think he’s doing too bad.

feat. Old!Steve, Cap!Sam and Pining!Bucky

Flesh And Bones by asgardianthot

in a world where people bond with their soulmates through physical pain, living in the same compound makes the search much easier (or it should, if they weren't so damn stubborn)

When I'm With You (i'm who i want to be) by theappleppielifestyle

Threat, his mind says, but Sam Wilson makes him feel the opposite a threat makes him feel, like he's safer than he has been in seventy years.

Honey, Til I Die You'll Have Me Too by Ithinkwehaveanemergency

Five of Bucky's Friday nights in the months following the battle of Upstate New York.

“You stayed for me?” Sam's voice is a whisper. His eyes are more open and vulnerable than Bucky has ever seen.

“Eh.” Bucky smirks, trying to escape the heaviness of the conversation. “Mostly didn't wanna go back to an era where I wasn't an honorary citizen of Wakanda. God, I love that place .”

three words that became hard to say by suzukiblu

“I wanna step out with Wilson,” Bucky says, audibly traumatized. Steve blinks again, and lowers the shield.

“Uh,” he says. “Come again?”

I just couldn't say it out loud. by ashers_kiss

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes?” Bucky tries.

Are you both courting? by daredeviltrash

Gamora and Mantis asks bird boy and metal arm guy if they're dating. hilarity and sad stuff ensues.

farmhouse by Tazmaster

"You know, I think I'd want a farmhouse."

"A what?" Sam turns to look at him, slightly annoyed. This was the first thing Bucky has said in the past hour and a half they've been cramped in this god forsaken car. He had a knack for impulsively voicing his dumb thoughts at the worst times, but whenever you wanted to know what was actually going on in that head of his, he'd never say.

They were staking out the front gate of a large mansion, very much not a farmhouse. It was mind numbingly boring, being stuck in a beetle with absolutely nothing else to do than stare at the gaudy gates of some rich asshole.

"A farmhouse," Bucky repeats nonchalantly, "If we ever get out of this business, or you know, live long enough to retire maybe--- I want a farmhouse. With a lot of animals."

---

Bucky keeps talking about a farmhouse and it drives Sam crazy, that is until he finally asks why.

These Walls are Shakin' with My Heartbeat by Ithinkwehaveanemergency

“Well now I need to know.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Please, enlighten me. Explain why an eighteen year old is so invested in our non-existent sexual relationship.”

“She’s almost twenty. You were at her nineteenth birthday party.” Bucky frowns at Sam, disappointed.

Or

Sam tries to process Shuri's inappropriate suggestion that he should have sex with Bucky, and Bucky won't stop eating his fucking pizza.

6PM/8PM by captainafroelf

Sam gets a call from a world away.

If I'm the Last One Standing, I Would Want to Watch it Burn With You by Ithinkwehaveanemergency

Just before the final fight in Infinity War, Sam and Bucky have a moment.

Or

My canon compliant explanation for why Sam and Bucky are so cozy and content with what happened in Endgame.

Just an illusion by Llixale

Bucky and Sam are back from the Soul stone, unaware that they shared more than the experience of being snapped.

The Simple Life by through_shadows_falling

One year since the Accords, and Steve asks Sam to check up on Bucky in Wakanda. Sam agrees, but the man he finds is the not the man he expected...though that's not exactly a bad thing.

Bucky is a peaceful goat farmer who enjoys the simple life, and who happens to be attractive as hell.

Sam is so freaking screwed.

Takes place between Civil War and Infinity War Part 1.

Alone, With You by cruxcantare

Sam's pretty sure they're dead. Bucky disagrees. But whatever this is, it isn't living.

warm blood (feels good, i can't control it anymore) by notcaycepollard

Sam's just chilling watching TV one evening when Bucky comes in and stares at him silently for a minute or two before sitting down on the couch. He's pretty close to Sam.

Okay, he's really close to Sam. Like, Sam would be using the word 'cuddling' if it wasn't so bizarre.

"What," he says, carefully not looking at Bucky, and Bucky huffs a sigh.

"Steve's not here," he says as if it's obvious. "Don't make it weird. Just- shut up."

Unexpected Houseguest by faeryn

When Sam comes across Bucky in the strangest of places, his first instincts are to run, and to call Steve. He does neither, and in doing so manages to form a strange bond with the Soviet assassin who once tried to kill him. Bucky is broken, a shell of his former self, and Sam wants nothing more than to help return him to himself. But can he maintain a respectable and responsible distance from the man, despite how Bucky draws him in, in order to help him? Or will he falter, and shatter all the progress he has made by giving in to his own desires?

The Multiverse of the Falcon and the Winter Soldier by OhHelloFandoms123

Sam and Bucky find themselves trapped in alternate realities of their lives due to Dr Strange, they have to find out how to get back to their reality.

or

“How come in every fucking universe we’re married?” Sam said, looking around the place, raising his arms in anger and confusion.

“I’m not sure, maybe it’s trying to tell us something.” Bucky replied, shuffling his feet, looking at the ground.

a couple more fics that I remembered later

[kuroopaisen]

10:31 pm || miya osamu

➵ osamu won’t stop making his damn onigiri. 

wc: 1400

warnings: gn!reader, the slightest bit suggestive  

a/n: @starrysamu i’ll be honest, it’s a while since i’ve written something and been happy with it. but i wanted to give you something on your birthday to say thank you for being so lovely to me :( (i know i’m technically late but shhh...) you’ve been so kind to me, and i can’t thank you enough for all the light you’ve brought into my life (both intentionally and inadvertently). and i know i’m not the only one -- you’ve brought life and laughter to so many people’s lives, and i just want you to know how loved and appreciated you are. this was originally planned as a fluffvember piece dedicated to you but Stuff Happened and it never got written and try as i might, this was the most i could drag together in celebration for remy day. i’m so sorry i couldn’t do more, but regardless i hope you had the best day possible :( i adore you

“Osamu,” you huff, butting his arm with your head.

He ignores you.

“Osamu,” you whine, a little louder this time.

He continues to ignore you, moulding a rice ball with both hands.

You duck down and pop back up between his arms.

Osamu bites back a smile this time, but once again – he ignores you.

You know he’s doing it on purpose. He’s not like his brother; he doesn’t get so lost in what he’s doing that he completely loses track of his surroundings. No, he’s doing this to wind you up. Because you’ve made it too obvious that you want his attention.

Although, you don’t usually have to fight for it.

He’s not the kind of guy to spend a lot of his free time ‘doing’ things. Time at home is time to relax. If he wants to play around with recipes, then he’ll just stay an extra hour at work. If he needs to work off some steam, he’ll go to the gym. Time at home is time to relax – or, more aptly put, time to annoy you.

But sometimes, Osamu’ll be consumed by a relentless urge to create. All he wants to do is make new combinations of ingredients, stuffing his onigiri full of stuff that you wouldn’t possibly think would go together. But Osamu seems to have a sixth sense for this sort of thing; even the strangest sounding combinations end up being surprisingly satisfying.

You’re not about to complain about this quirk of his. You’re his trusty taste-tester, the lab rat for all his new creations. That’s quite the honour – one of the benefits of being part of Osamu’s life. The whole ‘having a professional chef prepare you dinner every night’ is also pretty good.

(You joked, once, that the only reason you kept him around was because he was just so damn good at cooking.

He’d been so genuinely pouty about it that for a moment it felt like you were talking to his brother).

But tonight, that stroke of creativity had hit at nine in the evening. And honestly, you can only eat so much rice.

He’s been at it for the past hour or so, throwing together this and that while a gentle Spotify playlist provides ambient noise. It’s the sort of music you’d listen to in an attempt to wind down – something that’s certainly not doing much for your fatigue.

“I’m tired,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. He’s warm, like he always is. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to sleep as soundly as you do with him next to you. He’s too much of a fixture in your life now. Too much of a comfort.

Osamu chuckles, his thumbs smoothing languid circles over your waist. “It’s only ten at night.”

“I know,” you whine, lifting your head up to look at him.

Frankly, he should be glad you’re tired this early. Kita’s always chided you for your erratic sleep schedule, and Osamu’s been given a talk or two about how he should be looking after you better.

“Osamu,” you huff, pouring all your menace into that one word.

It’s not very effective.

“Hm?” He sounds amused more than anything.

“Please come to bed.”

A familiar grin crosses his face. “Want me that bad, huh?”

You butt his chest with enough force to knock him backwards. “Shut up.”

He’s not wrong, but it’s certainly not what’s on your mind right now. And he knows that.

“Ah, so you’re not denying it,” he grins. Stupid relentless Osamu.

You punch him in the stomach with what might just be the world’s weakest fist.

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” Osamu chuckles, shaking his head.

You pout up at him, doing your best to look as pitiful as possible.

“You can’t fool me,” he grins.

It’s true. Osamu knows you well; some would say too well. But that’s what you get, being romantically involved for so long. And while he may know you well enough to save himself the burden of feeling guilty in the face of your faux misery, you also have a carefully catalogued library of every lame and embarrassing thing he’s ever said.

It’s a fair enough trade.

One song ends and another begins.

It’s similar in style to the one before – a soft tune, an indistinct voice crooning over the music, a soothing yet bittersweet tone underlying the tune.

Osamu stills, a strange tenderness melting over his face. He slips one arm around your waist, making sure that his hand stays away from your shirt. It’s still covered in the gelatinous residue of the rice.

“Didn’t this play at your sister’s wedding?” He asks softly.

You nod. He remembers that? Hell, it’d taken you a moment to rifle through your (admittedly hazy) memories of that event to try and recall if this song had even been on the playlist.

Osamu reaches for one of your hands, lacing his sticky fingers with yours. You open your mouth to protest, but before you can his other hand slips round to hold your waist.

“But my shirt,” you whine, well-aware that you’re going to have to change it before going to bed. Unless you wanted gritty bits of dried rice to work its way onto your sheets, of course.

“Just borrow one of mine,” Osamu mumbles, leaning forward and kissing your forehead.

Your lips are free, but it feels like he’s sealed them shut.

Osamu isn’t a man of many words. But he is a man of gentle touches, quiet moments, little affections you might miss if you’re not watching closely enough.

He pulls you towards him, taking a step away from the kitchen countertop. You almost stumble as you let him lead you in the sway of the music. He’s a bit off beat, but he’s never been very good at keeping to one. You remember having to learn ballroom dancing in P.E.; for all his innate talent at volleyball, Osamu has none for dancing.

If he cares about that, he makes no indication. He just holds you close to him, fingers digging into your waist gently as he moves. You lean into him, resting your cheek against his chest.

The song ambles on, an offbeat soundtrack to this tiny tenderness.

You pull your head back and look up to him.

He’s smiling.

It’s not his usual smile, that lazy, sardonic half-smirk. It’s gentle, fond, loving. It’s a smile you don’t get to see often – and one you certainly don’t get to see in public. But it’s another tiny sign that he loves you; a sign that he trusts you with all his vulnerability, even if he can’t put it into words.

He leans in and you wonder if he’s going to kiss you.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear.

“What about the mess?” You ask, turning to look at the kitchen as if he hadn’t just made your heart race.

There’s rice everywhere, wrapped in seaweed and in bowls and in flecks all over the counter. You’re sure you’ve never seen this much rice before in your whole entire life – and you’ve cooked for Osamu’s high school volleyball team before.

“I’ll deal with it in the morning,” Osamu says, totally unbothered.

“But ants,” you pout, eyes anxiously scanning the wide variety of perishables strewn over the kitchen. Something’s going to go off by the morning. And that isn’t even accounting for the hoard of uneaten onigiri stacked up in a Tupperware container.

“It’ll be fine,” Osamu shrugs, tugging you out of the kitchen.

“No, it won’t!”

“We haven’t had ants yet.”

“You still shouldn’t leave food out overnight—”

Osamu chuckles, sealing your lips with a kiss. It’s not just any kiss, either; he kisses you exactly how you like to be kissed, in the way that always makes you tick. Unfortunately, it’s an effective way of shutting you up.

Stupid Osamu and his underhanded tricks. He knows just what makes you tick, just how to get under your skin.

But being known is a part of being loved. It means having every little thing about you tucked neatly in someone else’s memory, regardless of if you want it to be or not. Words barely matter. In most cases, they don’t.

It’s a fact you just have to come to terms with.

Osamu already has.

[skellebonez]

It's MY birthday and if as a gift from me to myself I get to go "hey @strange-lace and @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off you inspired this" then I GET TO DO THAT! You both know what you did with Spider Monkie AU. The fact that I was given VenomPeach by Lace and I am posting VenomPeach that I've been working on for a few days is just. Very amusing to me right now.

Spider Queen didn’t know if she was still an evil genius… or if she had just played herself like a 10 yuan kazoo.

What she did know was that she was on Mount Huaguao. In a forest. With Sun Wukong.

Who was very shirtless.

And pulling trees out of the ground with his sheer strength.

When she'd heard the odd noises that she now recognized as the creaking of tree roots being ripped up she was far too curious not to investigate. After all, this was Mount Huaguo. Whatever it was that was making that sound had to be something that Sun Wukong himself could handle.

She just hadn't expected it to be Sun Wukong making it.

Now she stood at the edge of what was clearly a carefully planned out clearing, an almost perfect circle with am opening to a rough but well loved dirt pathway that lead to the beach entrance that MK and his friends usually took to arrive.

"What’s all this?" She finally asked, stepping out from between the trees and slightly startling the Monkey King in the process. "It's not exactly time for spring cleaning."

"Queenie!" Wukong said, tossing the tree he was currently holding over his shoulder like it was as light as a twig. The motion made a shiver run down Spider Queen's spine, but she wasn't sure if that was because it was horrifying to revel in such sheer strength or just... incredible to behold (it was the later most certainly). "How are you feeling? Did your walk go alright?"

The question brought a smile to her face, the softness and earnestness in which he asked if making it equally soft on her lips. He was so... attentive to her. Not being overly intrusive in checking in on her or pushing her to take it easy with her healing burn scars or her weakened legs after everything that has happened, but also making sure to know if she ever needed anything whenever he could.

How she never realized how much care this immortal being was hiding behind all his bravado for all those centuries she may never know.

"It did, right up until I heard the strangest noise," she said, nodding her head down to the ground. "And it looks like I found my source. Again, what's all this?"

“UH, it’s for you?” Wukong said with a chuckle, gesturing to the field he’d made with his... arms. Very strong arms. All six of them.

Hence the lack of shirt. They don't really make those for people with six arms and any they made would just take far too long to put on.

Spider Queen could only look at him in confusion, one brow raised as she took in the flatter landscape before them.

“... thank you?” She attempted, sounding just as confused as she felt. “But I don’t know what I’d need an empty field for.”

“Well it isn’t exactly... you know, done yet,” the tall spider-monkey hybrid said with a laugh that was as bright as the sun shining off the metal on his outfit. “I built my house myself, actually. And it’s pretty small. Barely fits the two of us, really, with all the monkeys and I know you get lonely and I was thinking I could... build somewhere for your spider crew to actually stay?”

"What?" Spider Queen froze in her assessment of the field, head snapping back over and up at the other in surprise.

"The lab and stuff we have here already is great, but there's nowhere for them to stay and they just keep coming here every day and that takes a lot of time and fuel. And they can't stay at everyone else's places forever!" Wukong said with a laugh, somehow both light and bright and deep and hearty at the same time. "Well. Huntsman probably could stay at Sandy's forever, given the right incentive, but I know he misses spending as much time with you as he used to. Syntax is driving Pigsy and Tang up the wall with his experimenting, tough, and Goliath..."

The Monkey King paused himself, shrugging a bit.

"He really likes it here. And I'm pretty sure some of my court took a liking to him when he last visited. I can't say no to the guy, he's a sweetheart."

"Heh, I had trouble saying no to him too," Spider Queen admitted with a flush of her cheeks.

Truth be told... she missed her trio pretty bad some days. Ever since they'd lost their home in the lair, partly due to the Lady Bone Demon and partly due to bad memories that it brought up now, they'd been scattered a bit more than she would have liked. There was plenty of space on the island, but it wasn’t hers to give to them. It had been generous enough for Wukong to give her a place to stay and offer them free passage onto the island whenever they desired to see them, but he was right.

His house was far too small for the two of them and her trio.

Even if they now freed up some space by... sharing... sleeping quarters.

Spider Queen flushed a deeper color at that thought, still getting used to the fact that she and the man who had once been her greatest enemy now slept in the same room. On opposite sides of the same room but still.

She flushed deeper when she realized she had been staring at him and he was looking at her with an odd flush to his own cheeks.

"Well!" She cleared her throat, gesturing to the field as she stepped further into it to survey the Monkey King's hard work. "We should get planning then. Goliath is certain to want a little place to watch the nature outside, Huntsman will want someplace quiet and probably sound proof so he can sleep properly Syntax, and Syntax will want a smaller laboratory so he could take his work with him..."

Spider Queen trailed off, not noticing that as she started pacing that Wukong was watching her with a soft smile on his face.

That is, until she almost tripped on an upturned root and she found herself caught in all six of those arms she had been watching before she face planted into the ground.

"Maybe it's a bit too dangerous for pacing around as you think," he said as she was pulled against his chest. He was soft against her back, and despite the added hulk due to his transformation that softness was not all fur, voice rumbling through her as he held her protectively close. "Even if you look really cute when you do that..."

The last bit had been muttered so softly that she was certain that he hadn't realized she could hear him.

Before she could react she was airborne, carefully but skillfully tossed up on that she would land to sit on his shoulder with a hand held firmly around (around!) her waist to keep her safely seated.

"Besides, you can get a better vantage point from up here."

And indeed she could.

She could also hide the raging blush overtaking her face that almost made her stutter her words out as she went over the ideas she had for her family's new home.

Home...

She couldn't help but smile at the sound of that.

[tardistimes]

Perplexing Presents

Summary: There was a box underneath the wrapping and you pulled the lid off. Nestled inside was a pendant made of polish stone, looped around a fine gold chain. Dangling it from the end of your finger, you admired the way it caught the light, setting off shades of blue which painted your skin. “This is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you get it?” The Master wasn’t ready to disclose that type of information yet, so O carefully answered, “Covent Garden.”

For @imthedoctorlove's birthday. Sorry it's a bit belated!

Series: The Master's Maniacal Misadventures Part 5

Word Count: 6365

AO3 link here.

“What’s this?” You asked curiously, looking at the box before you – wrapped in violet paper and tied with lilac coloured ribbon.

“A present.” O stated sardonically. “You open it.”

Rolling your eyes, you assured him you were familiar with the concept. “But it’s not my birthday or anything. So what’s the occasion?”

“Just saw it and thought of you.” He shrugged.

Intrigue building, you tugged at the ribbon and prised apart the paper. You were slightly bewildered O had got you anything, it was only over the last month you had started to consider him a friend. Until C had partnered you on a job, you’d only seen each other at briefings or around the department. He seemed like most analysts. Cautious, intelligent and prone to bouts of smugness. There was something more to O, however. What, you weren’t sure yet, however you couldn’t deny how pleased you were with the current arrangement. He made for an interesting partner.

His gift left you hopeful that your interest was reciprocated.

You were careful not to rip the wrapping, finding the colour too beautiful to tear.

O tutted at you impatiently. “Open it!”

“I’m saving the paper.” You retorted, going even slower just for badness.

There was a box underneath the wrapping and you pulled the lid off. Nestled inside was a pendant made of polish stone, looped around a fine gold chain. Dangling it from the end of your finger, you admired the way it caught the light, setting off shades of blue which painted your skin.

“This is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you get it?”

The Master wasn’t ready to disclose that type of information yet, so O carefully answered, “Covent Garden.”

Grinning up at him, you offered it over. Frowning, he accepted the piece – thinking you were rejecting it – until you turned on your toes and pulled your hair up.

Stepping close, O looped the chain around your neck and secured the clasp, his fingers brushing gently against you. The pendant settled just below the hollow of your throat, a chill from the metal inlay offering a pleasant weight against your suddenly warm skin.

“Thank you.” You said, ducking your head as you moved away.

“You’re welcome.” O smirked. He noticed the slight blush on the nape of your neck before your hair dropped back in place and was happy to secure his desired outcome. “I hope you like it.”

You assured him, “I love it. I can’t believe you found it at Covent Garden. It’s so unusual. Thank you so much.”

“It was nothing. I’m just glad you liked it.”

Looking up at his innocent expression, you had to take a deep breath before redirecting your attention to the work at hand. C had personally requested the report you were both working on, and you didn’t dare keep him waiting. Luckily, O thought along the same lines.

“Come on. I booked one of the conference rooms so we can spread out while we work.”

Following him, you waited until his back was turned to lift your hand to the pendant again.

* * *

On his last day at MI6, you found another present in your office. It was wrapped in the same shades of purple but, unlike the first time, O wasn’t waiting eagerly by your side to see your reaction to his gift. You hesitated, wondering if you should wait for him before opening it.

Heading into the bullpen, you asked one of your colleagues, “Have you seen O anywhere?”

E dropped her voice conspiratorially, “I heard C had him clear out his desk this morning.”

You felt the bottom drop from your stomach.

“What?” You exclaimed, certain you had misheard.

“I know. Apparently, he and C had an argument this morning.”

“Has he left already?”

“G said he saw security accompany O out the building.” She caught sight of your distressed expression and added, “Sorry.”

“That’s… that’s okay. I’m just surprised is all.”

“Right.”

Returning to your office, you shut the door and picked up the gift O had left you. Did he know it was his last day, was that why he gave it to you? Or was it a spontaneous act, like the pendant? The one you wore every day. When O had noted it, you shrugged, making up some excuse that it was the only piece you owned suitable for work. In reality, you never took it off; not even at home. It gave hope to the blooming crush you didn’t like to acknowledge and certainly didn’t want him to know about, which is why you tried to act nonchalant whenever he mentioned the gift.

Unwrapping the present, you found another box; slightly larger than the first one he had given you. Expecting another piece of jewellery, you were surprised to find a pair of gloves. They were made with beautifully quilted plum velvet, lined with black fur. They would replace your lost pair perfectly – the ones you had bemoaned to O about last week – and you eagerly slipped them on. If he were with you, you would have clapped your hands happily but, on your own, the gloves were quickly tugged off.

Tracing your fingers over the pair, you were once again touched by the offering. Unlike the first time, however, you couldn’t use it to bolster your affection for O. He had left without a word and, after fruitlessly rooting through the wrapping, you saw there was no note to get in touch. Your friendship was confined to the walls of the office and, with that bond broken, there was no way to get in touch with him. You didn’t even know his real name.

Slumping in your office chair, you reached up to twist the pendant between your fingers. For a split second, you were tempted to pull it off and sever the bond from both ends. The memory of O placing it around your neck however made you keep it on.

You might never see him again, but at least you had something to remember him by.

* * *

The jump with O made your head spin and stomach convulse so violently that, for a split second, you thought you might vomit, but then a strong hand pushed you into a chair and everything settled.

“What the…”

“Vortex Manipulator.” He huffed. “Primitive but effective. If you’re going to vomit, do it in the sink.”

You glanced up at him with bleary eyes.

“I was going to say what the fuck.”

He smiled back, a wide manic grin, unlike anything you had seen before. Part of you wanted to cower at the sight yet it was impossible not to see O in his features.

O wouldn’t hurt you.

“You know the Doctor?”

“I’m her best enemy.” He restated. “Keep up. You’re usually better than this.”

“Excuse me for being somewhat blindsided.” You complained, the events of the last two days cycling rapidly through your mind. After a normal morning at work, the Doctor crashed through your office, talking rapidly to the group accompanying her about an old friend only known as O. She became excited as you revealed your shared connection to the man, interrogating you on your past work together and what you knew of his current activities. The next thing you knew you were in a box that was larger on the inside, hurtling through space and arriving in the middle of nowhere, only to find O waiting for you.

Except he wasn’t O.

“What did you say your name was again?”

“The Master.”

“No, but seriously.” You implored, “Who are you?”

Spreading his arms, he gestured towards the TARDIS console which had materialised amidst his shack since your last visit. “You really need me to spell it out? I thought you were better.”

Not caring for his derisive tone, you bit back. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m having trouble accepting the fact that my former colleague, who – call me crazy for thinking so – I’d always presumed was human, is, in fact, an alien. Who, like the Doctor, can travel through space. Something I only found out was possible two days ago…”

“I told you about the Doctor before.”

Letting out an exasperated breath, you didn’t acknowledge his remark.

“…And now, on top of that insanity, you just killed four people.”

He grinned enthusiastically. “Impressed?”

“No!”

His amusement was not diminished.

“You’ll come around. Besides, the Doctor’s not dead. Not yet at least. She’s with the Kasaavins.”

“What are you planning to do? I guess you’re not done.”

“We’ve barely begun. Now,” O clapped his hands together, “I have a meeting. Stay in your room, I don’t need you getting in my way. And try not to get lost.”

“How would I get lost? You only have three rooms and I’ve been in them all already.”

Somehow his grin widened, teeth bared and sharp.

Backing away, bewildered by the man before you and eager to be nowhere near him, you retreated from the main room. Opening a door that should have led into the only bedroom, you instead found a dauntingly long corridor. Its walls were coated in unrelenting metal from which the harsh lights above gleamed over the edges.

You glanced over your shoulder at the homey shack and the Master whose eyes bored into yours.

“Fourth door on your right.” He instructed before turning back to the central console.

Doors of different varieties broke up the space at random intervals, and you counted them out as you hesitantly walked along the hall. The first was tall and grandeur, the second barely reached your knee, and the third was etched in strange symbols you couldn’t comprehend. The fourth was somehow strangest, looking the most normal. It was proportioned like those on Earth, the kind you would find in any home, although the design was more intricate with floral inlay highlighted in greens and purples. Settling your hand on the door handle, a glass knob that appeared to contain dried flowers, you almost pushed your way forward.

Suddenly dreading what lay on the other side, you paused where you were. You had never been scared of O but that wasn’t the man who directed you. The Master was a different beast, an entirely unpredictable one and your heart hammered at the thought. He had killed the Doctor’s friends with no hint of remorse, consigned his oldest enemy to another dimension, and now – what was he going to do with you? Did your time with O mean anything to the Master or was it all a game? What lay on the other side of the door? Was it a means to your demise or a room like he said?

Your only other option was to return to the Master, a choice which did not appeal. Not while you still saw O; longed to go over to him, hug him close and then slap him for leaving without a goodbye.

Opening the door you were met by a large bedroom. It was mostly dominated by the bed, though there was space for a fireplace, couch and a well-stocked bookcase. The room had two doors leading off it, one taking you into a wardrobe and the second into a rather opulent bathroom. The total floor size was bigger than your apartment back home, and the external appearance of O’s shack.

Sitting heavily on the foot of the bed, the two men clashed in your mind. All the feelings you had for O were real, yet he was not. He was only an illusion, conjured by the Master solely to trick the Doctor. Your feelings were inconsequential. The only reason he had brought you aboard his TARDIS was to likely torment the Doctor further if she somehow escaped the Kasaavins, although her friends would have been more effective bait.

You hoped she would escape. You didn’t like being here; seeing the Master caused far too much confusion. If the Doctor was trapped though, so were you. Until the Master realised there was no point keeping you around. Then, after seeing the manic glint in his eye – having no place on O’s face – he would kill you.

The feeling of hopelessness and confusion felt foreign in your body. You were a trained MI6 agent, there had to be something you could do. Even in the face of aliens.

Beneath you, the bed was soft, covered with soft linen which felt cool beneath your hands. There was a temptation to lay back, enjoy comfort while you waited for the next act to start. Prompted either by the Doctor’s return or the Master’s impatience. Waiting wasn’t part of your nature, however.

Heading into the wardrobe, you found some trainers to replace the heels worn to Barton’s party. They were your size and, checking the label, one of the brands you used to wear to work during assignments.

Confusion doubled, unsure whether to feel like a goldfish in a bowl or to swim in the emotions O used to inspire, you left the room. Surely there had to be another exit and you were determined to find it. Creeping along the hall, you headed for the corner up above.

It only led to another intimidatingly long corridor.

You started trying doors, but several of them wouldn’t budge. The ones that did led, in order, to a kitchen, swimming pool, sauna, sitting room, library, artefact room – filled with bizarre statues and large paintings depicting bloody battles – a second library, cinema and ballroom. The last door on the corridor led to an observation deck, the sight of which put an end to your hopes of escape.

Stepping inside, which you hadn’t for any of the preceding rooms – despite the appeal of several – the door behind you slid shut. To maximise the view, the room was kept dimly lit leaving your eye nowhere to turn except the vast expanse of space looming behind the wall-length window.

Feeling your jaw slackening, you moved closer to the sight. You’d never seen anything like it. The Doctor’s TARDIS had taken you from London to the Australian Outback. It was your first time off the planet.

Unsure whether to feel awed or dwarfed by the enormity before you, you stared back at it, losing all track of time. Before you, stars shined, galaxies gleamed, and your existence expanded. Everything seemed insignificant. Everything seemed magnificent. And you, you, were privy to it.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” The Master asked, silently coming up from behind.

You caught his reflection in the glass and cringed away from his proximity. If he noticed, he didn’t mention it.

“We’re in the Obsidian system. We’ll return to that rubbish heap you call a planet soon, but we have time. I presume the Doctor explained that a TARDIS travels through both space and time?”

You turned to stare at him blankly.

He sighed. “Of course.”

“You travel through time?”

Wiggling his eyebrows, he asked again: “Impressed?”

You were, but you refused to admit it.

Turning back to the view, which was easier to look at than O’s face with the Master’s sharp smile, you tried a different question.

“Where are you from?”

“Gallifrey.”

“Is the Doctor from there too?”

“Yes.”

You knew he said about returning to Earth, but – feeling curious about their home world – you asked, “Are we going there?”

He shook his head, a gleam flashing across his eyes. “Can’t now. It’s gone. Destroyed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

His abrupt laughter made you jump.

“Let it burn.”

“Fine. Why do you need to go to Earth then?”

Deliberating as he looked at you, the Master tried to decide what he was ready to say. He couldn’t give away too much yet, or it could scare you off. Instead, he stayed cautious and answered vaguely.

“Loose ends to tie up with the Kasaavins. You’ll stay here while I go to meet them. Keep wandering if you like, the TARDIS will keep an eye on you.”

“Can’t I go with you?”

“Not the best plan. To a Kasaavin you’re nothing more than a light snack. You’ll be safer here.”

“Why do you care about keeping me safe?” You asked, thinking about the Doctor’s friends – who O befriended and the Master ruthlessly murdered.

Not answering, he wandered closer, and you kept your ground. Wondering what he was going to do, you were surprised when he lifted the pendant between his fingers.

“You kept it?”

“Didn’t see the point of wasting decent jewellery. Even if it was giving to me by a murderous psychopath.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed his expression, but it went no further.

“Good. I would have hated for it to be a wasted trip.”

Frowning, you said, “I thought you got it at Covent Garden?”

“Oh, love,” The Master chuckled, letting go of your necklace. “You haven’t gotten the hang of this yet, have you? I went all the way to Yinope for that. You won’t find a stone like that on this side of the universe.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.” You said acerbically.

He shrugged. “I have a TARDIS.”

It didn’t mean anything then.

“Do you like your room?”

“It’s fine.”

“I had the TARDIS make it for you. You could be more grateful.”

Giving him the most sarcastic smile you could muster, you replied saccharinely, “Thank you.”

The Master’s returning grin was genuine. “You’re welcome, human. Now stay here. I’ll come and get you later.”

Turning on his heel, he walked determinedly from the room leaving you with your view of space and infinitely more confused than when he first rescued you from the doomed plane.

You were there as leverage, and yet he seemed to have prepared for your arrival by preparing a room just for you. It could be an act, though you couldn’t help but hope it wasn’t. Not when O’s eyes focused on you; he was all you could see.

Determined to learn the difference between the two, the Doctor’s friends still fresh in your memory, you refocused on the landscape before you and waited for the Master to return.

* * *

After the Doctor found you aboard the TARDIS, followed by Ada and Noor, you were brought back home. There you saw the Master again – a few hours for you, seventy-seven unaged years for him – before he was exiled to the Kasaavin dimension. You watched the drama unfold, stood behind Graham where the Master’s eyes occasionally flickered over to you.

There seemed to be a distance between you and reality; watching numbly as he tried to annihilate your species and, by default you. He had duped you so easily and so you watched with detachment as the Doctor ensured his banishment. She brought you back to London once it was done, leaving you there after a short and awkward goodbye since she needed to get everyone else home. The Doctor had blown your world apart, yet, for her, it was nothing new. You watched her leave, knowing nothing would ever be the same.

After the events at MI6, it hadn’t been difficult to persuade your department for a short leave of absence. You spent a few days out of town, before returning to your apartment. The whole time, you kept the pendant O had given you on. If someone asked, you weren’t sure you could explain why it felt wrong to take it off, but it did. In a sense, it felt as though O had died. The Master was so entirely different from the man who was your colleague, partner and friend.

Your apartment was evidence of that. It was littered with all the other small tokens O had given you. A book on chaos theory sat on your mantle, copies of his alien files waiting on your dining table, a scarf hanging beside your front door which he had loaned you months before he left. You should gather them up, discard anything the Master gave you.

With a sigh, you hung up your coat and walked into the kitchen to get some water. It took a moment to see the door which shouldn’t be there.

Instinctively stepping back, you stared at it disbelieving. For a split second, you doubted your own memory, but it definitely wasn’t there before. It was new. A new door – how was that possible?

“What are you looking at?” A voice came from over your shoulder, sending you half a foot in the air as you jumped away in shock.

The Master frowned at you as you settled down, a hand pressed heavily over your hammering heart.

“What,” you cleared your throat, voice too high, and tried again. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, he pointed to the door. “The Doctor didn’t do much of a job hiding my TARDIS. You’d think she’d know me better by now, but she continues to underestimate. And when you have a TARDIS it’s more a case of where you can’t go.”

“Okay.” You intoned. “But why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“How long has it been for you?” You asked cautiously.

“In the Kasaavin dimension? Barely a day.”

Since you’d last spoken, however, it had been seventy-seven years – for him. It was hard to wrap your head around, still dazed from your discovery that time travel was really possible.

“You?”

“Erm,” you did the maths in your head, “I’ve been back home for four days.”

“Since we were in the hangar?”

“The same. Four days.”

A scornful expression crossed his face. “She just brought you back home? They didn’t ask you to go with them?”

“Should they have done?”

“Would you have said yes?”

It was an interesting question. You’d certainly felt abandoned when you were dropped back home; so much had happened and the only people you could possibly talk to it about had left at the first opportunity. They all had each other while you had no one. In the aftermath, you’d focused on the goodbye rather than the potential of further travel.

There was so much more left to learn. Answers to find the questions for. Yet, you didn’t know the Doctor. Could you trust someone that much to take you from the safety of your own time and planet, under the assumption they would one day bring you back?

Uncertainly, you shook your head. “I don’t like hypotheticals.”

“Fair enough.” The Master mused. He looked at you curiously. “Shall we try a practical scenario?”

“What do you mean?”

“Travel with me.”

Staring at him blankly, you couldn’t believe what he just said.

“You’re asking me to go with you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He leaned in. “Why? Don’t you want to see the universe? Travel through time and space?”

Put that way, it was easy to answer: “Sure. Sounds great.”

“But?” He asked, noticing your lacklustre tone.

“You’re the one asking.”

“So you would say yes to the Doctor?” He demanded, getting angry.

“No. I don’t know anything about her. Just like I don’t know anything about you. Except that you tried to kill my entire species four days ago; which doesn’t really help your case.”

Tusking impatiently, the Master insisted, “It wouldn’t have worked on you. I encrypted your phone.”

“I suppose I only have your word for that. For all I know, wanting me to go with you is just another one of your schemes. Like pretending to be O or taking me hostage, all to one-up the Doctor.”

“I didn’t take you hostage, I saved your life.”

“You spared me. From something you started.”

“Come on, love. You know me. I worked at MI6 for years. I was there when you first joined. We were partners. Friends, even.”

“That wasn’t you.” You lamented, wishing the Master were O and not the other way around. “It was all an act. I don’t know you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.” You asserted.

“You’re still wearing the necklace.” He observed.

Placing your hand over the pendant, shielding it from his stare, you tried to act casual. “I told you before. I don’t see the point of wasting good jewellery. No matter who it came from.”

“Oh love,” he grinned cheekily, “you like me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yelling only shows that you care.” He snickered.

Biting your tongue, you tried to come up with a way to effectively express your dislike and banish him from your apartment. The thought of succeeding sent an unexpected pang to your heart.

It was O you didn’t want to lose. You really had to learn the distinction.

“We’re not too different.” The Master commented. You wondered if he had somehow read your mind or if your expression was that transparent. “We were both driven, and I know you could tell he had a temper, even if it was hidden under a gag-inducing amount of sincerity. I admit I don’t go to any length to hide it – or my madness – but since when did honesty count against a person? I showed you my ‘research’ on aliens. Once or twice I even tried to drop clues that I was one, especially when I saw you shared a similar interest.”

He nodded his heads towards O’s files still sitting on your dining table. “I thought it was good to expose you to the idea; I wasn’t going to stay as O indefinitely. Only until I had got the Doctor where I went her. I planned to come back.”

“Why?” You said, unsure if you believed a single word out of his mouth. “Why do you want me to go with you?”

Unusually serious, he told you.

“I’m not completely sure. I don’t often tolerate stragglers. No matter the species, but especially a human. You interest me though. You have since C partnered us together. I could see you were more open-minded than our colleagues, and you showed a particular relish for dangerous assignments. You saw me better than most too. It’s unusual I find something which piques my interest; I find such things hard to let go of. That’s why I want you with me. I need time to figure you out.”

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you admitted: “I don’t know.” Could you really go running off with a man who had proved and described himself as an unstable lunatic?

“A trial run then?” He countered. “Come on, love. When is an opportunity like this going to come knocking on your door again? We can go anywhere you want. For you, I’ll even trudge through Earth’s past or future. No strings attached. Think of it as a gift, for the time we worked together.”

You glanced at the door leading to his TARDIS. It was a tempting offer, but you needed to clarify.

“And you’re going to bring me home afterwards?”

“Cross my hearts.”

“You’re not going to kill me or dump me on some planet and leave me there.”

“Would I ever do such a thing?”

You answered with absolute certainty: “Yes.”

Coming closer, he booped the end of your nose. “See? You get me. That’s why I want you to tag along.”

Rolling your eyes, you pointed out that wasn’t a good way to incentivise someone.

“Live a little.” The Master told you, scanning your eyes in search of an answer. When he found it, he lit up.

Clapping his hands, he beckoned you after him. “Excellent. You don’t need to bring anything, the TARDIS has plenty of clothes and the kitchen’s stocked. Come along.”

Sighing, you were certain you’d just made a terrible mistake and yet you couldn’t force yourself away. It really was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides, perhaps spending time with the Master might finally help you divide him from O. Then you could move on with your life.

As you followed him into the TARDIS, your mind finally caught up on a small detail.

“Wait, did you say hearts? Plural?”

The Master’s laughter echoed around you as the door slammed shut.

* * *

“You remember that time I made you promise not to kill me?” You panted, leaning heavily against the TARDIS door.

From beside you, the Master good-naturedly tsked. “It’s not my fault you’re so slow. You should be more careful, or I’ll lose you one of these days.”

“Well, you managed to find me today.” For which you were grateful. While searching for the cargo hold, you’d gotten lost in the labyrinth of corridors surrounding it when the device given to guide you had shorted out. If the Master hadn’t found you when he had, the guards would have killed you.

“I don’t know how you found me though. I had no clue where I was.”

“Time Lords have a superior sense of direction.”

The TARDIS hummed, evidently in communication as the Master sent her an annoyed look.

“Lucky for me.” You shrugged, unconcerned. She was probably bitter about having been left alone for several days while you both integrated with the ship’s passengers. “I’m going to go get changed. That blaster singed my sleeve.”

The Master spared you a glance from his silent conversation with the TARDIS. “It didn’t injure you, did it?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Heading down the corridor without looking back, you ducked into the bathroom for a quick shower before changing into some comfier clothes. The reason for breaking into the ship was to acquire parts to repair the TARDIS, which the Master was always pushing to its breaking point. So you were confident you’d be aboard the TARDIS for a while, and you wanted to relax after several days playing the part of the Master’s lackey.

Pulling your hair back into a ponytail, you felt something slither from around your neck and drop heavily to the floor. With an exclamation of dismay, you realised the fine chain on your necklace had broken. At least it happened in the safety in your room; it would have been difficult to retrieve from your latest crime scene.

To keep it safe until you got a replacement you placed it on top of your dresser. Either the Master would have a spare lying around, or you could pick something up the next time you visited a planet.

Heading back to the console room – to politely offer to help with the repairs, knowing full well said offer would be refused – you found the room empty. Unconcerned, you turned on your heel to head to the library, where the Master was probably holed up, but a blinking screen on the central console stopped you in your tracks. It stopped blinking once you stood in front of it; suggesting the TARDIS wanted your attention.

There was a map on the monitor, but it took several moments to recognise it as the TARDIS. It was centred on the console room and, given the arrows pointing at several components in the room, it seemed to show where repairs were required. The only odd thing was one flashing dot set away from the main room, off the first corridor. You counted the doors before finally realising it was on your room.

“That’s weird.” You said to yourself. Was the TARDIS trying to tell you to go back there?

“Is he in a bad mood?” You asked the machine conspiratorially.

“Are you talking about me again?” The Master grumbled as he came in, holding a box of parts to start his repairs.

“Why is there a flashing dot over my room?”

He frowned at you, not noticing for a second what you were looking at. As always, he quickly pieced things together when he saw the screen.

“Where’s your necklace?”

Confused, you placed a hand over the empty spot around your neck.

“Oh, I had to take it off. The chain broke.”

Pointing to the screen, you restated your question. “What’s the dot mean?”

“It’s your necklace.” The Master stated. “It’s a Yinopean mineral which emits low-level radiation. The TARDIS can pick it up.”

“Where are you going with this?” You asked, confused. “It’s radioactive?”

“No. Why do humans hear radiation and devolve into the mindset of spooked cattle? Most things contain some form of radiation. It’s harmless.”

Ignoring his statement, you said: “Why did you give me radioactive jewellery? Please tell me this isn’t a slow and unnecessarily elaborate way of killing me?”

He gave you an unimpressed look; the sort he shot at you every day.

“I gave it to you as a token of affection.”

It was almost enough to distract you, but when the TARDIS console blinked again you remembered.

“And why is my necklace showing up on the screen?”

“While the radiation is harmless, it gives off a unique signature which makes it easy to trace. When I couldn’t find you aboard the Nott I came here to locate it.”

“You…” frowning, you realised, “you gave me a tracking device?”

“Yes.”

Flabbergasted into silence, it took several moments for the incoherent noises escaping your mouth to become fully-fledged words.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

The Master was unruffled by your explosive accusation.

“When you have something of value, it is important you don’t lose it.”

How did he keep rendering you speechless?

Stepping around you, the Master switched the screen on the console off before starting a quiet argument with the TARDIS. Something about the box pushing its luck.

Eventually, he walked away, seizing up his box of parts to start work on the repairs.

“I’ll get you a replacement chain before we go anywhere else. Can’t have you running off.” He said offhandedly, taking the stairs beneath the central console and leaving you alone on the upper level.

You walked to the library, taking a seat beside the fire and picking up the first book you came across. With no idea what was in your hands, you flipped it open to a random page and stared blankly at the text as your brain whirred on overtime.

It had been almost a year since you’d come aboard the TARDIS. While the Master treated you better than anyone else you came across – protecting your from harm while showing you the universe – it was still hard to accept his pleasantries as genuine affection. His actions were kind, but any affection was always on your terms.

Whenever you thought he felt something more toward you, it was dismissed as residual feelings from his time as O. It was easy to admit how you felt about O; a kind human with who you could have shared a life. The Master was entirely different. It was astonishing he even tolerated you as a travelling companion, and yet he said he valued and had affection for you. Enough to put a tracking device on you, which seemed morally dubious, but you supposed it came from a good place. Just like reading that ridiculous book on caring for human beings.

You didn’t see the Master again for several hours, not until you wandered into the kitchen for a snack. Without looking at you, he offered up a fine gold chain for your pendant. Except, something was already hanging from it.

“What’s this?” You asked, taking the proffered item.

“A key.” He sighed. “You use it to open things.”

“I can see it’s a key. What’s it for?”

“It unlocks the TARDIS.”

“You’re giving me a key to the TARDIS?” You said disbelievingly. He’d never let you so much as borrow his key when you wanted to grab something from the ship, and now he was giving you your own. “What’s the occasion?”

The Master glanced your way, saw the emotion shimmering in your eyes, and refocused on the cup of tea he was making.

“It seemed sensible. In case we get split up on an excursion. You can come back here, instead of looking for me.”

Sliding it off the end of the chain, you held the key in your palm. There was a warmth to the metal, and it seemed to emit a slight glow against your skin.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, human.” The Master replied, picking up his cup and returning to the console room.

Pocketing the key, you went to your bedroom and added the pendant to the chain. You were about to place it around your neck when you paused; a better idea springing to mind.

Walking slowly to the console room, your feet took you to the Master where he sat on the floor reattaching wires to a command panel. Your shadow fell over him, but he didn’t acknowledge you. Not until the necklace dangled before his face.

“Is something the matter?” He asked, looking up.

“Will you put it on for me?” You replied, trying to sound indifferent while your heart thrummed.

The Master stood, taking the necklace. Eyes locking for a split second, you turned away and lifted your hair aside. With a light brush of his fingers over the nape of your neck, you could feel your body break out in goosebumps, but he showed no sign of noticing. He secured it in place, the stone settling heavily against your sensitive skin.

Letting your hair drop, it brushed against the hands which remained on your shoulders, as the Master seemed as loathe to let you go as you were to part from this rare contact.

“Thank you, Master.” You breathed.

“You’re welcome, pet.” He said, pulling away.

“For the chain too.”

“You don’t mind about the stone then?”

Shaking your head, you assured him you didn’t as you moved to face him. “It seemed sensible once you explained it. I’d hate to get lost.”

I’d hate to lose you seemed to echo around your mind, but the Master’s lips didn’t move so he couldn’t have said it.

“Go rest up.” He told you. “I’m taking us to Itradus once I’ve finished recalibrating the computer. You’ll like it.”

“I always do.” You said, fully meaning it.

You might have come aboard the TARDIS to see the stars but, you had to admit, nothing seemed to hold an appeal unless you were seeing it with the Master beside you. You just hoped he felt the same way.

[seaoflittlefires]

Still deserve a bit of fun

Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry reconnects with Mary Macdonald who tells him about his parents and their group of friends in the '70s. When he hears about their camping trip to Cornwall, he decides to take his friends there, but while Harry is set on having fun and forgetting all about the war, not everyone finds it easy.

This is lots of dialogue, mostly about the golden and silver trio trying to process what happened to them and dealing with the angst of having lost their teenage years to war. It's heavily inspired by MsKingBean89's All the Young dudes; the catalyst for the plot is an exchange between Harry and Mary Macdonald as she is portrayed in the fic.

While this story can be understood without having read ATYD, there are a bunch of easter eggs and parallels that will be better appreciated with it in mind.

Word count: 5.4k

Read on AO3

Prologue

It was the strangest letter Harry had ever received. And of course, he’d had his fair share of mysterious letters. But this one was particularly mind-boggling because the very idea of Mary seemed like an impossibility. A friend of his parents’, a member of their class at Hogwarts, still alive, completely untouched by the war or by the magical world itself.

At first Harry expected to be a bit resentful: Why had this woman not joined them in the fight against Voldemort when she knew first-hand what he was capable of? And also, why hadn’t she ever reached out if she had truly been so close to James and Lily, if she knew so much? Harry felt he could have used a letter like this much sooner. But there was something about Mary’s story that made him instinctively understand where she was coming from: Her friends had died one by one at the hands of Voldemort. She’d been in danger during the wars for being a muggleborn. And even in times of peace, she had felt like a bit of an outsider in a wizarding community that didn’t care to explain much to people whose families weren’t magic, that simple thrust these kids into a new, dangerous world and hoped for the best. And of course, it was a community that, despite its hatred of Voldemort, had nonchalantly allowed the ideology of blood purity to remain a part of daily life even within Hogwarts and often continued to spread it. Harry could most certainly relate to her resentment. And so he’d decided to forgive Mary for everything she hadn’t been able to do, and to enjoy what seemed like an invaluable second chance, especially after the deaths of Sirius and Remus: Here was someone who’d been close to his parents and mentors when they had all been kids. Someone who’d known them long before Harry was even a possibility. He had a million questions, and Mary answered them all.

She had initially reached out a few weeks after the battle of Hogwarts to offer her condolences for Remus, her only remaining friend from the wizarding world. She’d been devastated to hear about his death, but also shocked to know about the role that Harry had played in the war. She remembered him from when he was a baby and she wanted to pass along a few photos she still had from those days. Harry had been elated to know her and to get this account of the first few months of his life.

But as they continued writing to each other, always by muggle post, other things that Mary knew proved to be even more invaluable. She wrote of his parents long before they were his parents, long before they were even together. She wrote about meeting Lily in first year, helping each other navigate the newness of their abilities and their surroundings. She wrote of hours spent talking to her and Marlene, laughing together, helping each other through homework and bullies and unrequited love. She wrote about Remus, who’d first gotten close to them, about his generosity and his talent for teaching, even when he was still a student himself. She wrote about the rivalry with the boys and how it had later morphed into friendship. About the Great Snogging Race, about quidditch, about James and his romantic gestures, about Sirius and his music. She wrote about legendary parties and the pranks, so many pranks. The time they’d made it impossible for purebloods to use slurs by swapping the words for nonsense. The time they’d set off fireworks in the grounds for Remus’s birthday. The time they’d formed an inter-house cooperative to teleport the entire Slytherin common room into the lake. Harry devoured each of her letters with joy.

There was one anecdote that stood out to him, probably because Mary spoke of it with such love and nostalgia: The summer before their seventh year, right before the first war had gotten really ugly, they had all taken a trip to Cornwall. They’d done camping the old-fashioned muggle way and gone to the beach and been silly teenagers. It had been during that trip that Harry’s parents had finally gotten together. He could picture them all laughing by the shore or sitting around a fire. He could see Sirius’s cheeky grin and Remus’s eyes sparkling mischievously and his parents, the way they were in the pictures Mary sent. Happy. Carefree. Young.

When he proposed the idea to Ginny, she was thrilled. Hermione took come convincing but Ron helped her come around and Neville proved easy once he knew that Luna was going. They set off at the end of July, apparating into the campsite with muggle tents and equipment. The weather was perfect and they quickly found a spot within the site. As they unpacked, Harry looked around him and sighed. This was exactly like he had pictured it. He was ready to begin again.

Chapter 1

They’d brought two tents, one for the boys and one for the girls, which they began to assemble at their spot in the camping site. At first they tried the muggle way but Neville almost poked someone’s eye out with a pole and Luna got trapped inside one of the tents while trying to raise it. After about fifteen minutes of this, Ron and Hermione took over and, after quickly verifying that nobody was looking, everyone also began to use spells to help get it all done.

Luna grabbed her wand, but instead of helping Ginny assemble the poles, she began to murmur an enchantment that none of them found familiar.

“What are you doing?” Asked Ron, curious but well-meaning. After everything, he’d learned to trust Luna’s strange but wise ways.

“Chizpurfle defense charm. They’re attracted to magical objects and they chew at them. Especially when there isn’t lots of magical energy around, they can be vicious. We must be a beacon for them right now…”

“Oh yes, I’ve read about those,” Hermione replied as soon as she was finished lifting the girls’ tent with a flick of her wand.

“Sorry I can’t be of any help,” said Neville. “You both are so good at this and I’m so clumsy…”

“Don’t worry mate, this is actually very difficult,” replied Ron as he hammered in the pegs.

“It really is. Seriously, it isn’t your fault, we just got a doctorate in tent-building last year.”

“I wish so badly I could have gone with you guys. I could have helped. Besides, I bet you could have used the company,” said Ginny, looking up towards Hermione from the poles she was assembling.

“You guys barely talk about that time,” added Neville. “I mean, you explained what you discovered, and all the strategic stuff, but I bet it must have been quite horrible, being on your own with so much danger…”

“Well, it did get a bit lonely,” Hermione said after a pause. It was true, they’d barely talked about that time, and it had been taxing for all three of them. But so much had happened since, so much that seemed bigger and scarier and just worse, that it had barely felt worth it. “We missed our families a lot, especially…” Ron walked toward Hermione and put his hand gently on her shoulder. Hermione had spent a long time explaining everything to her parents after their memory spells had been reversed, but they still weren’t the same and she felt guilty, despite knowing it had been the right choice. “It felt awful, being away from you all. We didn’t know whether we’d ever see you again, and it felt… it was just hard to put on a brave face and be logical all the bloody time when sometimes you just wanted to curl into someone’s arms and be held.”

“Well at least that’s over now,” chimed in Harry, quickly, almost too quickly. “No one has to be brave anymore.” He seemed to be lost in thought for a second. “Except for you, Weasley,” he exclaimed then, grabbing a broom from the already finished boys’ tent. “Let’s find a spot with no muggles at the beach so I can kick your arse in a race!”

“Alright, we’ll see about that,” said Ron, grabbing his own broom and getting ready to follow. He and Hermione shared a look and he shrugged. That hadn’t seemed much like Harry, but the black-haired boy was already halfway to the beach and, after all, Ron was never one to turn down a challenge. “Are you guys coming?” Ginny and Neville nodded.

“I’ll stay behind for a bit to finish up these charms,” said Luna, who was busy walking in circles around the  girls’ tent while waving her wand.

“Are you… are you sure that’s necessary?” Asked Ginny.

“You will be thankful when Billywigs aren’t stinging you in your sleep. They can cause grown humans to levitate, did you know?”

“Alright, I suppose it can’t hurt,” said Hermione, who had just emerged from her tent carrying a book.

“Work?” Ron rolled her eyes at her.

“Beach read. ”

“Let’s go then.”

***

They were lying in the sand under the warm sun. All six of them were in their bathing suits but only Luna had been courageous enough to brave the freezing water yet. She was performing a drying spell on her dripping hair when Ron spoke:

“I could lie here all day. Weather’s perfect.”

“Yeah, it’s so peaceful. Quiet too, I thought we’d have to be more careful because of the muggles.” Ginny spoke as she turned to lie on her stomach.

“We picked a great spot,” Harry agreed. “Mary said there’s a castle ruin a few miles from here, we could go at some point.”

He got a mostly enthusiastic response but a groan from Ron: “You can go and come back to pick me up in a week, I’ll still be lying here.”

“No you won’t. You agreed to go check on mum in like…” Ginny sat up and looked at her watch. “Twenty minutes.”

“Is anything the matter?” Asked Luna.

“Nah, we just haven’t left home much since… Since Fred,” explained Ron. “We promised we’d keep in touch. And someone got me to agree to do it the first time.”

“Because someone insisted I carry all the camping equipment.” Ginny’s rebuttal was quick and it got a smile from everyone but Harry whose eyes were fixed on the horizon. He didn’t know how but the war kept slipping into every conversation. It bothered him. No matter how far he went, he never seemed to be able to escape the smothering presence of all he’d lost.

“We really did need a holiday, eh?” He addressed Ron in an effort to steer the conversation away, back towards his best friend’s love of relaxation.

“Yeah we did. I still have no clue what I’m supposed to do now, like… Work? I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up and now I guess… I am grown up. And I still don’t know what I am.”

“Well, you don’t have to be just one thing. No one ever is! You can just try out many fields of work and see which one suits you,” replied Hermione. “I plan to get a few internships in the fall in order to do that. Mostly at different ministry departments, maybe International Magical Cooperation, or the Committee on Experimental Charms…”

“Yeah well, that’s all very well and good when you’ve got loads of paths to pick from,” said Ron, “but I don’t even know where to start.”

This was good, Harry thought. Thinking of the future. Thinking of work. These were problems that everyone dealt with at this age, right? Nothing to do with the war or death. Besides, the idea that there could be a future in itself was more than they’d had for so long. Harry had no clue what he wanted to do with his, but he knew better than to view that choice as a problem.

“I don’t really know if I’m ready to work yet…” Neville said suddenly. He sat up over his towel.

“Well, that’s perfectly understandable too, you could continue your studies if you want. It might actually do us all good, after all, we pretty much skipped our N.E.W.T.S.” Hermione’s face was almost wistful as she mentioned exams.

“Well, sure, but… I don’t mean that. I mean… Every so often I get filled with so much rage. Ever since May it all just… feels so pointless. Even here, right now, with you guys, you’re all talking about feeling so relaxed and I… I haven’t been able to truly be anywhere fully in a long time. Part of me is always reliving it. And I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to just… jump back in.” Everyone nodded. They knew it was true, and they felt it as well.

“I might travel for a while after my seventh year,” Luna mused. “It’s always been my dream to see a Runespoor in person…”

“Gory,” replied Ron with a smirk. “But I applaud your bravery. And as for you Neville, take all the time you need, mate. We’re all knackered. It’s a wonder we can go about our days at all…”

“Hey, did you know Sirius and Remus were a couple?” Harry exclaimed suddenly. That got everyone’s attention. For a few seconds, nobody spoke.

“Seriously?! Oh my, that makes so much sense!” Hermione was ecstatic, as she usually was when she learned something that helped her crack a puzzle.

“Okay, I am now second-guessing my entire existence,” said Ron. His face was a study in confusion.

“Professor Lupin? Why did I need to know that?” Neville looked utterly flustered.

“They do make one hell of a great-looking couple,” said Ginny with a smirk, and to her delight, Luna nodded at her. But her expression suddenly changed and a few seconds later she added: “did… made… Sorry.”

“How did you even find out about this?” Hermione turned her attention back to Harry. She gasped. “Did Mary tell you?”

“Well… Not exactly. She didn’t say it outright; I suppose she didn’t think it was her story to tell but… The way she talks about them in her letters… She refers to them as a unit. Same way she talks about my parents. I guess it just… made me re-examine some stuff.”

“Of course it did,” said Neville. “When you have limited memories of someone, every new fact you learn about them makes you understand everything in a whole new light. I know how that…”

“Well, yeah, but this isn’t really about that.” Harry’s expression had suddenly turned serious. He didn’t know what had compelled him to share this suspicion with his friends so suddenly, or to state it as if it was fact. He’d been thinking about it a lot since reading Mary’s letters but he’d thought of asking her before telling other people. It felt a bit like a betrayal. What was wrong with him? He was distracted by Ron who was looking at Luna quizzically.

“Why aren’t you more surprised?” He asked her. “I don’t mean to be a prude or anything but… This is huge”

“Oh, I already kind of figured they were together,” said Luna in that singsong, nonchalant way of hers. Five pair of eyes were suddenly upon her.

“How did you know? They never said anything, they never, like, kissed in public! Plus, you barely even saw them together before Sirius…” Harry was worried. Had this been an obvious thing the entire time? Had he never seen these two people properly despite considering them family?

“Love is spoken in many ways. Different people express it differently. Just because someone isn’t speaking your love language doesn’t mean they aren’t saying it.”

“That’s very wise, Luna,” said Hermione smiling.

“What does it even mean?” Asked Ron.

“I saw the way they looked at each other. My parents used to do that. They weren’t ones for words but love was in their every touch and stare. And when they moved they seemed like pieces of a single body. That’s how Sirius and Remus were that night at the ministry, and I didn’t know them before then so I just assumed it was a thing the rest of you knew. When Sirius passed through the veil, I saw Remus’s face change. He went with him.”

“I’m going in the sea, who’s coming?” Harry was suddenly up, his body coursing with energy. He practically ran into the water without waiting for an answer.

Chapter 2

Harry had lit the fire using magic, but he was still building up the flame the muggle way. They’d split up in order to get dinner and take turns showering at the camp facilities. They were nowhere near as nice as the bathrooms at Hogwarts but a few charms had helped make them warmer. Now, they sat roasting marshmallows in the fire as they listened to music on Hermione’s Discman. She’d charmed her CDs so they could each hold dozens of albums and so that they could play songs in multiple random orders She could also use her wand to control the volume from afar. The only problem was, Hermione hated current music. Even after all these years, she was still a bit of a snob when it came to art, preferring obscure bands from ten or twenty years before. As a result, they’d been listening to a lot of Bowie since they’d arrived.

“…And then, my grandma told me I wasn’t allowed any pets until I was 18, except for something truly harmless. And even Trevor I ended up losing at the lake eventually.” Neville was telling the story of how he’d ended up with a toad, a rather unusual pet even for a Hogwarts student.

“Yeah, well, at least your harmless pet did not turn out to be an escaped murderer!” Said Ron, who had still never quite gotten over the shock of Scabbers’s true identity. As usual, he got a laugh from everyone. However, Harry couldn’t help but notice that even these conversations were always restrained. He could not remember the last time he’d laughed to tears, laughed truly, even at one of Ron’s comments. Still, his friend had the ability to cheer people up, even in the darkest of times.

“Hey, you could ask George if he needs help at the shop, you know?” He said to him. “I bet you could be really good at that. Coming up with artifacts, selling to customers especially…”

“Yeah, mate, maybe I’ll try that…” Ron was deep in thought for a few seconds. “George hasn’t really been the same since he lost Fred. Perhaps he could use that.” And just like that, Harry thought, he’d burst the bubble. Again.

“I’m having the best time,” said Hermione, who’d been listening attentively to one of Luna’s stories. “I think we all really needed this, thanks for forcing me to come.”

“Anytime,” Ginny winked at her.

“Always a pleasure to bicker with you about anything,” said Ron.

“Seriously though, I really love you lot. I don’t know that I tell you that enough.” Hermione put one arm around Harry and another around Ginny, both sitting beside her.

“Yeah, me too,” added the redhead. “I’m so grateful we’re all still together. You’ve made everything seem… I don’t know, worth it.”

Harry was about to say something about the marshmallows definitely being worth it when he saw that Luna’s eyes were watery.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Neville.

“I just… I love you guys so much,” Luna said as tears fell down her cheek. “When I was held at Malfoy Manor last year and my father… He was so selfish. I thought that you would never forgive me. And I’d never had any real friends before I met you all and I was already resigned to losing you… I was grateful that at least I’d known what it felt like, you know? To be a part of something truly special…” Hermione leaned over Ginny and squeezed her hand. “And yet you guys did forgive me,” Luna continued, “and you kept me around after the battle was over; you made me feel like I hadn’t just been useful, like I was…” She trailed off as Ginny enveloped her in a hug.

“Luna, you’re always going to have us at your side,” Neville reassured her. “Everything that happened… It forged a bond you cannot break. It’ll always keep us together.”

“I just wish it didn’t seem like the only thing keeping us together…” Harry hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the moment he did, he felt strangely lighter. However, this relief didn’t last long.

“What did you just say?” Ginny asked, suddenly looking away from Luna and towards her boyfriend with a stern expression.

“I said,” Harry raised his voice a bit, emboldened, “that it would be really bloody great if you all could stop talking about the war for a minute. The whole point of this trip was to have fun and be normal, just like people were before the war! Can’t we have one single conversation that isn’t about how awful it all is?!”

“No, we can’t, you nitwit!” Ginny yelled. “You’ve been acting like a prat and ignoring people’s feelings all day, but in case you haven’t noticed, things have been awful! I lost a brother! And I miss him so much, I…” Ginny’s voice broke and she stopped talking.

“I know you do,” said Harry regretfully. “I just thought if we could all leave we’d…”

“Running won’t fix things. It never does. Sometimes you just have to keep living right next to the bad.” And with that, Ginny stood up. “Come on, Luna, let’s get you a glass of water,” she said to her friend, who was still crying softly.

“I’ll… uuuh… I’ll go with you!” Neville practically leapt out of his seat and the three of them began to walk quickly towards the camp facilities.

Harry sighed. Just like that, it was him, Ron and Hermione left, just like it had been a year ago. Actually, it had been less than a full year, but it still felt like a lifetime. More than Harry had ever wanted to spend in the presence of so much sorrow.

“So I screwed that up,” he said as Ron moved over to sit next to him and Hermione.

“You kind of did, not going to lie…” Said Ron. “But I get where you’re coming from. Honestly, I needed a break from my house too. It’s why I wanted to come so bad.”

Harry nodded. He’d never realized, but it must have been taking a toll on Ron to keep being so cheerful and sarcastic while he himself was dealing with so much. Harry supposed it was his way of deflecting things. At least Ron’s way made people feel better, he thought, as opposed to his.

“Look,” said Hermione, putting an arm around him. “Healing takes time. You can’t expect people to act normally after what happened and you shouldn’t expect that of yourself either. It’s okay if it’s all we can talk about for a bit. Merlin knows it’s enough to fill plenty of history books, it needs processing.”

“I’ve just lost so much time to… processing,” Harry said. “I’m turning eighteen soon, you guys already have. And yet I can count on one hand the adventures we’ve had together that didn’t somehow involve solving some mystery or fighting some evil threat. And…” He sighed. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mary’s letters, all the anecdotes she’d shared about his parents and their friends. “I guess I just want a bit of normal life, you know? And even now that everything’s supposed to be over, even though this whole thing was meant to give us all a chance to live happily… I’m not sure we’ll ever get there.”

“I know we will, mate,” said Ron. “I mean, my parents did, after the first war. Mum lost both her brothers and she still had enough faith to raise all of us. She knew things could be better. They all did.”

“Mary didn’t,” replied Harry. He hadn’t known he was thinking about it until he said it. But it was true. In the end, perhaps, she had made the right choice. Going away. Forgetting that it all even existed. Getting married and having a kid and living a normal, happy, uneventful life.

“But we proved her wrong, didn’t we?” Hermione interjected. “I mean, she wrote to you because she was impressed. Because she was proud and she believed in what you did. And I promise you it will have been worth it. You’ll see.”

Harry nodded. He knew that everything they’d done had been important. He’d seen how much of a difference it had made to thousands of people. He just hadn’t ever been so conscious of what it had cost him before: “Do you think we’ll ever get to just be regular teenagers?” He asked Hermione.

She was silent for a few moments, clearly wanting to give Harry an answer that she truly believed in, instead of some bland reassurance. After a while, she spoke: “Honestly? I have no idea. We still are a little bit broken…”

“Yeah, some of us especially,” chimed in Ron, glancing sideways at Hermione. She elbowed him and he shrugged, as if to say “I’ve earned that”. Hermione laughed. “You see?” She looked at Harry. “There you go. We’ve still got a long way to go until we reach normal. But in the meantime, we still deserve a bit of fun”.

Harry didn’t know how, but Hermione’s words were always just right, like they were the echo of something he’d always known. He hugged both of his friends.

“I’ll apologize to the others in a bit. I think I’d better take a walk and gather my thoughts first,” he told them, as he headed towards the beach.

Chapter 3

The sound of the waves was deafening as Ginny walked out onto the beach. She spotted Harry but didn’t quicken her pace. Instead, she watched him think for a few moments longer. She knew why he’d picked this place to cool off. The noise. It would be a long time before Harry could stand the quiet again.

“Sorry I snapped,” she said when she finally reached him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Back at you,” he replied. They stood like this for a few moments. Ginny waited. She felt the words building up inside him. Of course, she was right. Eventually Harry spoke: “I just didn’t know I felt like that. Not until Mary.”

“You speak a lot about her letters,” Ginny nodded. “You clearly needed them.”

“I did. You see, everybody talks so much about how my parents died. I know all about how brave they were fighting against Voldemort, and how much they had to sacrifice during the last few months of their lives… I know everything about how they died. And I’m grateful for it; it’s obviously better than knowing nothing… But until recently I barely knew anything about how they lived. What kind of students they’d been at Hogwarts, what kind of friends. What subjects they’d liked or been good at, what foods they loved the most at the Great Hall. What they fought about, how they became friends with all these people, what all of the Marauders’ pranks were like… Mary made me realize that. And once I did, it was impossible not to notice the same thing happening to us. We’ve lost so much time already. So much of our lives has been about this bloody war, and I don’t want it to be the only story we can tell about our teenage years. Already it feels like I’ll never be able to outlive it publicly and so with my friends I just want… I don’t know. I guess if this is what we are remembered by, if this is how we remember ourselves and our loved ones, just for what we lost, it’s a kind of victory for him.”

Ginny sighed. “I know. And I agree with you. We deserve time to be teenagers. We deserve to talk about silly things and have silly competitions and listen to happy music that isn’t Hermione’s melancholy crap,” she took Harry’s hand between hers, “and we deserve time to figure out what this is without any pressure. But that’s the thing: We can do that. Your parents didn’t have that luxury. They had to cram as much life as they could into very little time and figure out how to be kids and teenagers and grownups all at once, am I right?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “I keep wondering how on earth they were ready to be married at our age.”

“See, that’s the thing, they probably weren’t. But they had to. We don’t. We’ve earned our right to take things slowly, we have all the time in the world. But we cannot skip the grieving part. As much as we all want to forget that all of this ever happened because it hurts like hell to know it did, trust, me, the only way out is through. Otherwise you end up living with a lot of ghosts…”

“You’re right.” Harry put his arms around her. He knew exactly what Ginny meant. And he knew he didn’t want that. Because despite everything, possibly even because of it, he felt like the future held good things in store for them. “I’m really sorry, Ginny,” he whispered. “For everything you’ve lost.”

“Me too. And I don’t think you’re told that nearly enough.”

***

After a while they began to walk hand in hand back towards the camping site.

As they got closer, they realized the fire was still lit, and there was a lone figure sitting beside it. They thought it might be Luna, still up performing more charms of protection against various magical creatures, but when they arrived they saw it was actually Neville. He was all but falling asleep while sitting down, shaking himself awake every few seconds and then immediately beginning to close his eyes again. Hermione’s Discman was still on, playing another Bowie song, but Hermione herself was nowhere to be seen. Very unlike her, Harry thought, to forget something out in the open. He turned towards his half-awake friend.

“Hiya Neville, what’s up?” He nudged him awake. “Really sorry about before, by the way, I was a proper arse. If you ever need to talk…”

“Okay, sure, I’m just really tired right now…” Neville said, his eyes already beginning to close again, his head falling.

“Why won’t you go to bed then?” asked Harry, pointing to the tent.

“Well, I want to, and Luna’s already gone in her tent but I… The boy’s tent is… I can’t go because you see…” Neville smirked and pointed awkwardly in its general direction. The tent was still and quiet. Too quiet. It only took Harry a few seconds to realize that numerous silencing charms had been placed upon it.

“Wait, is Hermione in there with Ron?!” Asked Ginny, eyeing Neville conspiratorially.

“Uuuuh yeah they are… They’re in there doing… I can’t get in because they’re both in there being…” Neville’s face looked Gryffindor red and he could not stop fidgeting with his hands. “They’re doing…”

“They’re having hot sex, that’s what you mean to say” Ginny cut him off with a deadpan expression. Harry snorted. And just like that, something in him broke. He began to laugh. He laughed so hard he almost felt tearful and Ginny joined him. Neville made a noise somewhere between a gag and a cry for mercy as they both fell down to the floor in hysterics and within a few seconds he had started giggling nervously as well.

They stayed that way until Hermione came out of the tent in tiptoes and almost had a fit upon seeing them all outside. They just stayed and kept laughing. Just a group of teenagers with so much love for each other, at once idiotic and wise beyond their years, laughing about sex and making fun of each other at a time when it seemed impossible that anything could be fun. And although Harry didn’t know this (because, despite her usual style, Mary had taken care not to be that explicit in her letters), this was exactly what it had been like twenty years before.

[lunarbuck]

What Once Was

xxiii. Twenty-Three

pairing: buckyxoriginal female character

chapter summary: Lizzie's deprogramming comes to a close, and new information leads to tough decisions

word count: 2509

warnings: light swearing, angst(?)

series masterlist ✧

an: hope you all enjoy <3

Deprogramming continued without a hitch. Each day, Shuri removed the power of Lizzie’s trigger words from her mind, and after a month, it seemed like it had been a success. The plan was that Lizzie was supposed to spend a week without deprogramming, and then a final test would be done. Bucky would read the words, no machines, no sedation, and try to bring out Гермес. If Shuri’s work had indeed done its job, the words would not affect her. It scared the shit out of Lizzie, but she was happy for the break. After the night on her birthday, she and Bucky had shared more innocent touches, more looks of longing at one another, and she was happy to now finally get the opportunity to spend quality time with him.

Lizzie found herself getting used to the voice of Гермес in her head. Their voices became more similar, harder to distinguish. At times, Lizzie wasn’t sure where she started and where Гермес ended, but that was how it was supposed to work, she figured. Though they disagreed on many things, they were able to find common ground and make do with what they had. It was strange to have such conflict with another consciousness, but Lizzie was happy that she was able to come to some sort of agreement with Гермес. A few days after her birthday, she had told Bucky about the voice, about the conversations she had in her mind with the other consciousness. Bucky took the news well, all things considered. It certainly wasn’t the strangest thing he’d ever heard, but it worried him that Lizzie was going through all that.

They spent their days walking along their favorite trails, exploring the palace, and generally pretending like they were on vacation. It was nice to pretend to be normal, and Lizzie at times found herself being able to forget why they were in Wakanda at all. Bucky too was enjoying the normalcy. He was happy to share the moments with Lizzie. Halfway through the week, Bucky remembered to check his email. He had been ignoring it, putting it off. If he pretended the problem didn’t exist, then maybe it would go away. The second he opened his email, though, he knew he had made a mistake. An email from Sam that had been sent nearly two weeks prior sat in his inbox.

Hope Wakanda is treating you well. Hate to burst the bubble, but you need to check this out.

Below the message were photos of Christina, Lizzie’s caseworker, talking with people who Bucky recognized as higher-ups in HYDRA. He remembered helping some of them get to where they were. It made him sick to think that they were still around. There were also aerial photos of a building with a perimeter digitally drawn on. The building was labeled as a potential HYDRA base. Apparently, it had recently become populated after a few years of seeming inactivity.

Intel says there’s a good chance it’s the base they kept her in. Call me - Sam

Bucky grabbed his phone and dialed Sam’s number. While it rang, he stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Fiona and Lizzie were watching a movie inside and having a tea party.

“You finally saw my email?” Sam said in lieu of a greeting.

“Yeah, who's your contact? How’d you get those photos?” Bucky asked, slightly annoyed with the lack of info Sam had provided.

“Doesn’t matter right now. I’ve got someone on the inside, and in the time since I sent you that email, I can confirm that it was Lizzie's old compound. They have old records of her living there. I’m not sure why it’s active all of a sudden, but it isn’t good Bucky. It looks like they’re trying to start the program back up.” Bile rose in his throat, and Bucky swallowed hard, willing himself not to vomit at the thought.

“What’s your plan, Sam?” Bucky asked, voice gravelly. He hoped Sam wouldn’t notice.

“We take ‘em out. That’s the plan.” Bucky scoffed, but a part of him was ready and willing to go into that base, guns blazing. It’s what the bastards deserved.

“If all goes well, we should be back in the states by the end of the week. We can recon then.”

“I’ll see you then, Barnes,” Sam said, laughing to himself about something. “Enjoy the rest of your vacay.” Bucky quirked a brow even though Sam couldn’t see it.

“Vay-kay?” He questioned, walking back to the suite door.

“It’s short for vacation. Jeez, man, get with the times.” Bucky huffed out a laugh, and the line clicked off. Sam had hung up. Bucky stepped back into the room, and Lizzie walked up to him from her spot near Fiona’s play area.

“What was that all about?” She asked, wrapping her arms around his waist. Bucky rested his chin on her head and tried to figure out how to explain it all.

“Nothin’ angel,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Sam was just telling me about something, but I don’t need to deal with it until we get home.” Bucky figured that was explanation enough, but Lizzie’s frown told him otherwise.

“You know I could just read your thoughts and get all the answers, right?” She raised a suspicious eyebrow at Bucky as if threatening to do it. “I’m not doing that, so I hope you'll just tell me the truth, so I don’t have to go looking for it.” Bucky sighed and walked Lizzie over to his computer. He turned the screen over to her and allowed her to read the email. He watched as her eyes flitted over the words, and he wished that he could have shielded her from what it said. From what it all meant. When she pushed the computer away, Bucky explained what Sam had told him on the phone.

“I don’t want you to worry about this right now, though,” he said, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. Lizzie nodded, but it was wishful thinking to believe that she wouldn’t worry about it. The thought of anyone else enduring what she had made her want to crumple into a ball and cry. She wouldn’t allow it; she couldn’t.

“Whatever you guys end up doing, I want to be there,” Lizzie said, fire lighting her words.

“Lizzie, I can’t let you--”

“You’re not letting me do anything, Buck. I’m telling you it’s what I’m doing. No discussion. It’s what I’m doing.”

--

The day arrived, and Thaka came by to watch Fiona while Lizzie endured her final test. She made sure to tell the king about how much Thaka had done, how much she had given, and T’Challa promised she would be repaid for all she did. Bucky and Lizzie walked out to the hut he had lived in what felt like a lifetime ago and sat around the fire Shuri had built behind the house. The sun had set over the hills, and stars scattered across the sky, more than Lizzie had ever seen before. She stared up at them, wishing she could put them in her pocket to bring home. Footsteps approached, and T’Challa stood on the other side of the fire, shadows painting his face.

“If everyone is ready,” he said, voice cutting through the silence of the night. “We should begin.” Lizzie nodded, and Bucky stood in confirmation. Shuri handed him a piece of paper with her trigger words on it, then stepped back to stand beside her brother. Bucky turned to face Lizzie, eyes full of love and waited for her to say she was ready.

“Are you sure about this?” She asked Shuri, voice wavering. Lizzie wasn’t sure where the sudden lack of confidence came from, but she was terrified.

“It’s gonna work,” Bucky said, crouching down to be face to face with his girl. He kissed her forehead and began to read. The Russian words felt oddly familiar on his tongue, but they left a bitter taste. He couldn’t bear to look at Lizzie directly, though, from the corner of his eye, he could see her stare into the fire. Tears were streaking her face, blurring her vision. The fire looked as if it were about to swallow her up, and part of her wanted it to. Pain seared through her mind, but her thoughts never got fuzzy.

They broke us, Гермес screamed. Lizzie whimpered quietly through her tears. The pain was coming from Гермес, not from the words. How could you let them do this to us? The voice was pathetic, weak. Lizzie wanted to shut her eyes and throw herself into the flames, but she couldn’t move.

“До́брый ве́чер, Гермес (Good evening, Hermes),” Bucky said, watching Lizzie for a reaction. A laugh escaped her lips, and Lizzie’s hands flew over her mouth. She sobbed into her hands and shook her head.

“You are free,” Shuri said, smiling proudly. “You are free.”

She’s lying. You’ll never really be free. No one is.

--

Fiona cried when Lizzie and Bucky told her that they would return to Brooklyn the next day. She didn’t want to leave her new friends or her new favorite place. Lizzie understood; she wasn’t ready to leave behind the freedom that Wakanda had provided, the comfort of the suite, and not having to worry about money. When she got back, she would have to find a new job and start all over. T’Challa promised to help her with her pardon, and he told her he would pull whatever strings she needed to get a job. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to repay him, but she sure as hell would try. As Lizzie packed up her and Fiona’s belongings, a strange sense of peace washed over her. For the first time in her life, HYDRA had nothing on her. No power, no hold. They didn’t have control over her mind; their symbol didn’t adorn a piece of her body. She was herself, something she hadn’t been since she was nearly 10 years old. Lizzie zipped up her bag and carried it out to the door of the suite. She checked in with Fiona, who was trying to extend the task of collecting her drawings and belongings from the room.

“Come on, baby,” Lizzie said, sitting down on the floor next to her daughter. “We have to go home.” Fiona sat in her mother’s lap, lip wobbling as tears welled in her eyes.

“I don’t wanna go, Mama,” she whined, pressing her face to her mother’s neck. “I like it here.” Lizzie rubbed the little girl’s back, attempting to soothe her.

“I know. I like it here too, Fiona. But we can’t stay. Our lives are back in Brooklyn.”

“No, I want life here.” The girl pouted, and Lizzie shook her head. “What’s in Brooklyn, Mama? It’s not family; family is here. It’s not school; school is everywhere. It’s not your big girl job; you told Mr. T’Challa you don’t have one anymore. What’s in Brooklyn?” It scared Lizzie how much Fiona made sense. She didn’t think that her daughter had picked up on so much, but it was naïve of her to pretend like the child was oblivious. Her daughter was right, though. Brooklyn had nothing for them. No one would be waiting for their return. Everything they needed was in Wakanda.

“We can come visit,” Lizzie reasoned, voice tight. Fiona shook her head and stood from her mother’s lap. She packed up her things, obviously frustrated, but didn’t fight Lizzie on it. Bucky stepped into the room and sensed the tension, but Lizzie only shook her head. It was horrible to know that nothing connected her to this world other than the people in that room. Her parents were dead, and she had no siblings. The family she had growing up had long forgotten her, and she wouldn’t even know where to start looking for them. All she had was Fiona and Bucky. Lizzie stood and walked out into the main room of the suite. They were supposed to fly out that night, arriving in Brooklyn in the morning to give Lizzie plenty of time to meet with lawyers and finalize the work on her pardon. Then, they could tackle the HYDRA business Sam had uncovered. She didn’t want to leave. She enjoyed the peace of Wakanda.

“You don’t have to go back, you know,” Bucky said, coming to stand next to Lizzie by the window. “The US government can’t do anything to you while you’re here. You wouldn’t have to worry about pardons or HYDRA or any of that bullshit.” Lizzie ran her fingers through her hair, twisting it nervously.

“I won’t be free until I’m pardoned. If I stay here, I’ll be a fugitive, and I’d never be able to leave. And what, am I supposed to make you stay here with me? You know I can’t ask you to do that, Buck.” She shook her head and started pacing. All Bucky could do was watch.

“You wouldn’t have to ask, Lizzie,” he replied, surprising himself a bit at how sure he was. The idea of spending his days in Wakanda with her didn’t scare him. It was a new feeling. Lizzie stopped mid-step and turned to face Bucky.

“Doesn’t it scare you that I have a second person in my mind? Doesn’t it freak you out that I was some HYDRA robot until yesterday? I don’t know who I am, Bucky! How can you possibly stand there and say that you would leave everything behind to be with me? We don’t know what the deprogramming has done to me. If it’s changed me. What if I’m not that girl you think you’re in love with?” Lizzie felt tears falling down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe at them. She felt paralyzed. The moments of peace she had felt earlier were gone, replaced by fear. Bucky closed the distance between them and put his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length so she could look at his face.

“You were never some ‘HYDRA robot’,” he said somewhat sternly, trying to reason with her. “I’m not afraid of you, Lizzie. What I am afraid of is losing you.” Lizzie shook her head; she was afraid of it too. “I am a 107-year-old man, and I can make decisions for myself. Nothing is keeping me in Brooklyn. My family is dead, and Steve is gone. You are my family now, and I can’t see my life without you in it.” Bucky’s heart was racing, and Lizzie collapsed into his chest, listening to it thump loudly.

“I’m so scared, Bucky,” she whispered so quietly that if Bucky breathed, he would’ve missed it. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” Bucky held her close, pressing his cheek to her head.

“I’m here,” he said, placing a kiss on her hair. “I’m with you.”

“‘Till the end of the line,” Lizzie said, completing his thought.

“‘Till the end of the line.”

[words-for-holland]

Quarantine Series: Burnt Out

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Y/N has to work from home during Quarantine, but when she gets extremely busy it’s up to Tom to find a way to help her relax .

A/N: This is my second attempt at this piece. Last time I created this it was super long but it got deleted 😩

Check the Rest: Burnt Out | A New Look | Secret Cuts & Kisses | Breaking Friendships |The Birthday Week | Movie Night | Silence is Golden?|

All Y/N ever wanted was an opportunity to work from home. Then again, who wouldn't want that opportunity? All she could think about was how nice it’d be to work in the comfort of her own home, not have to dress up in business professional clothing, and most importantly be surrounded by the people she cared for the most. But as the saying goes, “Be careful for what you wish for.”

When a global pandemic decided to take over 2020, Y/N certainly got her wish. Her company was forced to work from home until further notice, but what she didn’t expect was the amount of work she would be given. Y/N was pulled from project to project with deadlines thin as paper, and was expected to pick up the extra work of those that were no longer with the company. There was no time to catch a breath, and there certainly was no time to spend with her beloved boyfriend, Tom. This only made Y/N more depressed and made the Holland boys only more concerned.

“Mate, you got to get her to take a break. She’s gonna overdo it.” Harrison commented to his best friend, as they watched Y/N type away like a zombie from the kitchen.

“You think I don’t know that?!” Tom responded with a defeated sigh. “Every time I ask her, she always brushes it off and claims shes fine. Don't get me wrong, Im proud of her and admire her work ethic, but damn its sucking the life out of her.”

Both Harrison and Tom continued to observe Y/N with a cup of tea on hand, wondering how long it would take before she snapped. Tom hated seeing her like this. To him this wasn’t fair. It’s not fair that her 8 hour shift now became a 15 hr shift. Its not fair that she had to work 3 weekends straight, and it certainly wasn’t fair that her company took precious time away to be together. It was hard enough already that he couldn’t spend time with Y/N like a normal boyfriend would because of filming. Now, that he has the opportunity to make up for the lost time, it’s taken away.

“What if you surprised her?” Harrison quipped.

Tom looked up at his best friend with curious eyes. It took a few minutes to sink in, until the brightest idea figuratively smacked him in the face. “Yeah...yeah!” he responded, a smile forming “And I think I know exactly how to do it.”

As Tom was working through the thought process of his brilliant plan, his younger brother entered the kitchen, looking for his usual afternoon snack. “Hey, does anyone know where —. Oh no...” Harry groaned as he looked up at Tom and Harry. “Whatever it is that you two are planning...Leave me out of it.”

“Come on, mate. You dont even know what were planning.” Harrison defended

“Believe me, I know enough and any plan that involves you in it, is likely to fail 99.9% of the time.” Harry opened up his bag of crisps as he continued to list out the other 99 possible reason why they should have left Y/N alone like she wanted. “Cmon guys, you know how she gets. When she doesnt want to be bothered, she doesnt want to be bothered.”

“You’re right Harry, but she’s so stressed, she’s homesick, and one day she’s going to overdo it. Id be a shit boyfriend, if I let it happen.” Tom reasoned. “Look, Im not trying to do anything crazy here. I just want to give her that sense of comfort and see her relax.”

Harry looked at his brother and then at Harrison, both displaying their best puppy dog eyes, in hopes that he’ll join in. “The face doesnt work on me...but I’ll help for Y/N’s sake.”

Meanwhile, Y/N continued her work in the living room, her eyes firmly glued to the computer screen. After being dragged into the kitchen and the Holland plan, Tuwaine slowly made his way to Y/N. “Hey Y/N.” he happily greeted. “I think it’s time for you get some fresh air, don’t you think?”

Y/N looked up, her glasses slightly shifting forward down her nose. “You know theres this thing called being stuck in Quaratine right?” she responded, continuing to code her project.

“I think the real question is do you really want to work here when there’s just nothing but CONSTANT NOISE !” Tuwaine yelled out, hoping the others would catch on.

“What?!” Tom yelled back. It took him some time to realize what Tuwaine meant by his statement. “Oh...Right!” Quickly, Tom grabbed whatever pot or pan he could grab his hands on and dropped them on the counter. Harrison and Harry gave Tom the strangest look. “What? I gave him some noise?”, he shrugged.

“See?” Tuwaine smiled back at Y/N. “You wouldnt want to distract that working brain of yours with all this going on, right?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows as Tuwaine as she looked at him and the closed off kitchen. Did they think she was born yesterday? Of course she knew they were up to something. None of the boys were subtle enough to keep everything hush hush.

Y/N shook her head and decided to just go with it. The faster she complied, the faster they’d leave her alone, which only meant more time to finish her work. Tuwaine helped carry her laptop, mouse, and charger to the porch as he led her outside. “See, arent you glad your outside, breathing in fresh air with no distractions?”, Tuwaine spoke out.

Y/N took her time to admire the view. “Wow”, she whispered under her breath. Y/N couldnt remember the last time she set foot outdoors. Seeing the sunlight hit the flower beds, the gentle breeze rustle through the grass; it was beautiful. Of course, the moment was short lived with a simple ding, which only multiplied by the second.

Y/N dripped her head back, trying to rub out the frustration from her face. “Yes, well it was fun while it lasted. Duty calls.”

“Im sure they wouldnt mind if you just took five minutes for yourself at least.” Tuwaine commented, feeling bad about the amount of work he saw popping up on your screen.

“Yeah well that’s Corporate for you. Doesnt matter if you’re 500 km away or if a virus is hurting the population. If you’re not working, you’re useless.” Y/N shrugs. It wasn’t like her company was completely evil, this was just how business worked.

“I know Y/N, and we all see that you care deeply about your work but we’re all so worried about you too. We want you to be mentally okay as well. I know Tom is worried about you the most...He misses you, you know.”

Y/N’s heart dropped the second she heard him say it. She knew that all of this was gonna take some time away from Tom, but she hadn’t realized how much he would be missing her, even though they’re living under the same roof. “Yeah I miss him too, more than anyone will know. Believe me.” Y/N pondered for a moment as she stared at the work in front of her. Perhaps five minutes couldn’t hurt. “Maybe I will take that break after all.”

“Really?”, Tuwaine was surprised she had agreed so quickly, and at the same time he panicked. Tom and the others were not ready for Y/N’s surprise yet. “On second thought, Im wrong. You should keep going and try to finish up that project of yours or else you’ll never be done.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N asked as she tried to close her laptop. “You just spent a whole half hour trying to convince me to stop working, and now you want me to go back and work?”

“Yeah..I mean what do I know, right?” He laughed nervously. Tuwaine looked back at the door, for some sort of signal. Come on man it’s not like your preparing a break for the Queen of England.

“Listen Tuwaine, if I go back there and you boys break anything in that house...I swear— I’ll”

“Y/N!” Tom interjected as he stepped out to the porch. He wrapped his arms behind her waist, giving her a gently kiss on the top of her head. “How’s work, my pretty girl?” He looked back at Tuwaine and mouthed a thank you to him as he left the love birds alone.

Y/N turned around to face Tom, taking in his features and running her hands at the nape of his neck. “Busy, but what else is new? I’ve been missing you a whole lot”

“Me too, darling. Anyway, Im really hoping you can take a break from all this because I’ve got something special for you.”

“Oh no, babe. You know you didnt have to anything for me. Really Im fine..I-“

“I wanted to. In fact the boys wanted in on it too. So this is really from all of us, if you think about it.” Tom grabbed Y/N’s hand as he led her back in to house. “Come.”

As they both enetered the house hand in hand, Tom led Y/N into the kitchen, where the rest of the boys waited with diner burgers in hand and warm homemade chocolate chip cookies on the side of table. What seemed like a simple meal was a cure for any bad day..at least for Y/N it was. It represented a sense of home for her, while being far from Jersey. Even though she hadnt realized it, Tom and the boys knew she needed it. “Wow” Y/N breathed “I...I dont know what to say.”

“Dont say, just eat” Harrison laughed. “In all honesty this was Tom’s idea. We just wanted to make sure you had the support you need.”

“Yeah you deserve this, so please enjoy it.” Harry added. With that, everyone dug in and bonded over a family dinner, sharing laughs and stories. Tom leaned toward Y/N whispering in her ear, “I have a few more surprises after this.”

The next few surprises did not disappointment. He set up a nice warm bath for the two of them to relax and enjoy each others compny. A few subtle kisses, laughter, and silence was shared between the two. Y/N leaned back into Tom’s chest, feeling the water gently flow back and forth. Breathing in and out, she had forgotten how good this felt. Being close to Tom, was a different experience, one that no one could ever do justice. This was what she really needed.

After the bath, Tom led her into their shared bedroom. For a moment, Y/N stopped him as she pulled his head down to hers, giving him the kiss he rightfully deserved. Her lips crashed with his, his hands gently holding the sides of her tiny face. He picked her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist and situated themselves on the bed. Reluctantly, they both pulled away, catching their breath. Their foreheads touching and noses gently rubbing the others. “I love you. I love you more than you could possibly know.” Y/N whispered to him

“And I love you. I just want to give you the world because you deserve it all. My hardworking pretty girl.” Of course all good things must come to an end.

After a great well spent break was shared between Y/N and Tom, she was back on the work grind. Only this time she was working in their room as Tom was reading a script for his next upcoming project. The more Y/N coded, the sleepier she was getting. It onyl took a few minutes before she started leaning into Tom and her eyes started to flutter. Her breaths became slower and she was out like a light.

Tom turned to look at Y/N, smiling to see the sight of her finally at peace. He removed her glasses and set them by her table side. Tom made sure to clock her out of work abd checked to see if her work was saved. Just as he was about to turn off her laptop, another message popped up. “Great”, he muttered, rolling his eyes at the fact her team is still working at this hour. He couldnt help but read it though. Just how badly did they need her anyway?

We all know how hard you’re working and going above and beyond to get these projects out the door. For that, we thank you! On behalf of the company we’d like you all to take a day off on us!

Tom smiled, relieved that shell finally get some time for herself. Feeling triumphant, he shut off her laptop and set it aside. Crawling back into the bed and covering themselves under the blanket. His arms wrapped her waist once again. “Goodnight, my love. Im so proud of you.” he whispered.

[mongoosefangs]

11/11

This got way too long for Twitter and it's a doozy so here goes.

I'm celebrating a birthday today. The birthday of the most important person I'll never actually get to know in life. This time around I wanted to talk a little... or a lot... which is why I elected to post this on Tumblr instead of Twitter (that, and I'm not quite ready to hemorrhage all my followers there yet) so... thanks if you clicked through to this post! I will try to keep this coherent (alcohol is involved) but it WILL be extremely sentimental and personal and weird. Wikipedia is there if you want dry facts... but I'm here to discuss what's important to me. So, let's talk about my favorite person not currently living, the inspiration for my perpetual tagline on every social media site, and probably the strangest artist in my music library from an objective standpoint. Let's talk about the quote-unquote Last Castrato, Alessandro Moreschi. If you've heard of him before it might be because I've tweeted and posted about him very occasionally, and if you've been following me for a *really* long time online then you know it's not a new thing. We know his name today because he's the only surviving example of an antiquated and frankly bizarre phenomenon in music history. Out of all the castrato singers who performed in opera houses or church choirs throughout Italy and the rest of Europe for some three hundred years or so... he's the only one who lived long enough, and late enough, to be recorded for posterity. And I need you to understand that it really wasn't so very long ago. He only died in 1922. There are still people alive today who bridge that gap between his lifetime and ours, a thought which makes me want to cry every time I think about it. He wasn't even that old, at 63 when he went. That gap may well have been even smaller. It's easy to look at an old black-and-white photo and think it's been such a long time but it's not, all things considered. It's really not and honestly, I think he'd have more in common with us today than he had with the likes of Farinelli and others of his kind. Because you also need to understand that by the time he came onto the scene, it was already pretty lonely and had been for the better part of a century. The fad was already over. This isn't the time for a big tangent on castrato history in general (though I could certainly do that sometime) but the short of it is that he got into the Sistine Choir in 1883, spent the next thirty years at the forefront of the Pope's personal hype squad, increasingly surrounded by people who wanted him out. And it's a miracle he ever got recorded at all- because the Gramophone Company never actually came with the purpose of doing so. See, in 1902 they were coming to Italy to record Enrico Caruso. But he was busy, so they went to Rome in the meantime hoping to record the voice of the Pope. And they got told "no, don't bother him, he's over 90 years old." So they were like "uhh well... can we record his choir then?" and it was like "sure I guess" so that's what they ended up doing. It just as easily could have not happened that way. They came to the Vatican again in 1904 and they were supposed to be recording the Mass but they took the opportunity to shuffle off into like... a side room of the chapel I guess, and record a bunch of music that had recently been banned under the *new* Pope. And by that time Moreschi really shouldn't have been there at all, because castrati were straight up banned from the choir at this point, but apparently his tenure didn't count for nothing. Technically he's not in the choir if he's conducting or performing solo. Right? Lmao. In any case, we have 17 tracks in all. Seventeen grainy, fuzzy cylinder recordings are all that's left of an entire musical tradition spanning centuries. So... how do they sound? Well... they tend to come with a lot of disclaimers. "Vocal techniques were different back then." "Moreschi was already old when he recorded these." (he was 42-44, but I digress.) If you've never listened before, then I can tell you that whatever you're expecting to hear when you try to imagine a castrato singer, it probably isn't that. And you don't need to be an expert to know that he wasn't perfect, subjective tastes in music and/or voices aside: there are moments where he very obviously fucks up, flubs notes, or sounds audibly nervous in at least one of the early recordings. Critics will say that he wasn't all that great, and the only reason he's remembered at all is for being The Only One Of His Kind, and like... that's fair, honestly. He's not perfect. He sounds weird a lot of the time and if you do listen then I ask that you keep an open mind. But like... here's the thing. If it had been any other singer in his position, we'd still remember them today for the same reason, regardless of skill, and I will always go to bat for Moreschi *because* of his flaws, and this is ultimately the difference between myself and the critical expert listener. You went in expecting to hear some otherworldly angel, and you were disappointed. I may have gone in expecting to hear some otherworldly angel... but I was overjoyed to find a human instead. Out of all the singers it could have been, all the voices that might have been preserved... you have one little man standing on the edge of history, disconnected from the great age of his predecessors, staring down a future with precious little room for the likes of him, imperfect in song and appearance: heavyset and not (as far as I can glean) especially tall. Do you understand? Do you? Of course I wish we could listen to more of them, I'd love to hear the real Farinelli at least as much as he probably would have- but if history will only permit us to hear one, then I would never want it to be anyone else. I'm glad that Moreschi gets to be remembered as he was. Old, strange, and flawed. I look at his photos and I am literally less afraid to age and be myself. I'm so proud of him. I would not change a single fucking thing. My only regret is that I can't know more about the person he was outside of his music. If he ever wrote any kind of memoir, it's been lost to time (and this is the case with... pretty much all of the castrati actually, but that's a topic for another day) and I would give pretty much anything for the ability to ask him... about his hopes and dreams and fears, his likes and dislikes- hell, I'd ask him what it was like to live through the *previous* global pandemic and increasingly scary political shitshow. I wish I could know anything about him at all. ...The hundred year anniversary of his death is coming up very soon, in April 2022, and I may or may not be slightly panicking about the fact that I *probably* won't make it to visit his grave. But for now, in my time zone at least, it's still his birthday, and every 11/11 I try to keep it light and remember the joy and strength that his legacy gives me. He'd be 163 years old today. It really wasn't so long ago. It wasn't. Happy birthday, Mr. Moreschi. I see you from across the ages, friend. Thank you for being you.

[greentrickster]

My birthday’s coming up soon, and it feels so weird. Not normal “Oh wow, it’s been a year already” weird, so much as, well.

I was born on March 10th.

Last year, I celebrated with my family, had a really good day, and planned to go with them to visit a local botanical garden later that month.

Three days later we were in lockdown.

It’s been a point of gratitude for me this whole time - that I got to thoroughly enjoy my birthday before the madness really kicked off in my area - but now it’s almost here again and it’s just... so strange. We’re not living in the same world we were this time last year, it’s going to be my first one in this new world we live in, and it’s just... the strangest feeling. :/

On the plus side... I promised myself early on in the pandemic that, come hell or high water, I was going to keep Saturation updating regularly, and it’s really good to know that, aside from a few self-care breaks that my readers encouraged and supported me in taking, I’ve kept that promise to myself. It’s a story that I know makes people smile, and, with everything that was and is going on, I really wanted to keep giving my readers something to smile about - and I know you all certainly helped in that regards for me. :)

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 11

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 4.3k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: I’m glad you all enjoyed reading the smut :D thanks for all your comments! They mean a lot, I’ve still got a few asks to answer but feel free to send more regarding this chapter!

; Flower Masterpost

-

It’s a good thing that Jung Hoseok is such a mellow person with a pleasant attitude because he takes your shy awkwardness the next morning in his stride. Part of you wants him to acknowledge it, because it was a big thing for you. 

You’d finally let a guy give you oral sex! 

You’d actually orgasmed with someone else! 

That had never happened for you. Even you, through all your anxieties and worries, could tell that you felt comfortable with Hoseok in a way you’d never felt with anyone else before. It was slightly eye widening to realise that while Chungha and Soyeon knew more about you; knew what stresses and upsets you, what you shied from and what you loved, Hoseok had reached a whole different level of comfort.

You struggled even talking about sexual things with your best friends, despite how much you loved them and how long you’d all been strong friends. Most of the time, you stayed quiet and simply giggled when they would talk about the things they did with their partners or what they wanted to do. They were very open about that, but you cringed away from discussing that.

Particularly given you hadn’t understood why they liked sex so much. But Hoseok had definitely made you think new things in regards to that.

Now, you weren’t exactly raring to talk sex with Hoseok. In fact, you still squirmed away from the thought but something about his constantly sweet attitude towards you and your...issues meant that you felt more open and receptive to the idea of it. Almost like you knew he wouldn’t laugh at you if you asked him something simply that someone should probably know already.

And that pleases you, beyond words. You weren’t sure you’d be able to let him know exactly how much his acceptance of your quirks and intricacies meant to you, but you wanted to try at least. While you weren’t ready to do anything else sexually, at least for the moment, you wanted to try and integrate yourself into his world a little more.

You figured that the reason he probably wasn’t mentioning it was because he’d figured that you would be embarrassed if he did. Which you would be, so you were thankful. But it frustrates you that you couldn’t just...talk to him about it openly. 

Sighing deeply, you instead resolve to try and make him a little happy today. Nothing sexual, but you always loved it when people showed active interests in you what you liked and loved. So you would do the same for him, because apart from television shows and films, you hadn’t really discovered a huge amount about what Hoseok liked.

You knew that he wasn’t a huge reader and that he liked to play games on occasion. He liked documentaries, particularly on crime and other real life stories, and crime shows. He didn’t like comedy shows, nor did he like comedy films. Hoseok was an avid lover of horror films and was determined to make you watch every classic horror film in existence, which you were certainly not looking forward to.

He didn’t care for comic books but loved superhero movies. Fantasy shows were his shit but he was less bothered about science fiction shows, a fact you were definitely going to change as soon as possible. He loved chocolate, pizza, protein shakes weirdly and vegetables of all kinds.

But he’d almost vomit if you tried to give him a cucumber slice, even the smell made him queasy. And he refused point blank to eat mushrooms, calling them the ‘devil’s food’. Which had amused you intensely when you’d first suggested a mushroom and ham pizza. 

Even more amusingly, he was particularly childish with his food. If something he hated was in something else, he’d refuse to eat it. So the time you’d gone to an Italian restaurant and he’d realised there was mushroom in his sauce, he’d refused to eat the rest of it. Apparently it had been ‘infected’ or something.

He was funny.

But despite all that you’d learnt of him so far, you knew almost nothing in reality. The visits with his friends, or simply being present when his friends visited him at his place, let you see into the expansive world that was Jung Hoseok. Currently, you’d only explored a tiny bit of it and you were eager to find out more about him.

What else didn’t he like in terms of food? What did he truly love? What were his little quirks and ticks?

You’d figured some of them out, he hated wearing socks to bed and if he wore anything more than a shirt and pyjama bottoms then he’d overheat. Literally be covered in sweat as he tried to pull clothes off. He slept in the strangest positions sometimes; once you’d woken up up to him diagonal on the bed, both of you laid on your stomach but he was stretched over your back somehow. That had been a slight learning curve with him.

When he was unhappy, his mouth turned into a little triangle until he was happy again. Despite how rare it was, you’d discovered that you didn’t like it when he was angry. It had only happened once, when he’d gotten into an actual argument with Jimin and you’d withdrawn into yourself so quickly.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realise though, and you’d noticed that he seemed to bite his tongue more now when his friends were truly annoying him so that he didn’t frighten you. But there was so much more to discover about him.

You still found out things about Chungha and Soyeon, even now. Hell, you found out things about yourself, never mind anyone else. So you wanted to know more.

And one thing you didn’t know about with Hoseok yet, which you considered a travesty honestly, was music. He obviously loved music. The bar he went to had a weekly band night and he would go every other week with his friends, enjoying some local music from a new or beloved band that was hoping to make it big or simply having a good time.

The number of band shirts he appeared to have was ridiculous and half the bands you’d never even heard of. You were gaining a whole library in your wardrobe of obscure names. Plus he had a whole bunch of concert tickets pinned to the noticeboard in his kitchen. A lot were for upcoming concerts in the year but there was a whole stack of used tickets that he proudly kept.

Despite this, you’d never really talked too much about it. You had no knowledge of metal music or rock. The most intense you got was Fall Out Boy and Imagine Dragons. But Hoseok seemed to listen to that kind of music that just sounded like shrieking or had dead bushes as their logos. You were saying this in the nicest possible way, because obviously he loved it.

Still, you wanted to at least try with him. That was what relationships were about right? Learning each other and learning to enjoy new things. Or at least trying them anyway. He’d tried plenty of stuff for you already and he was so giving.

Right now though, he was dozing on the couch. It was past 4pm on a Saturday and you’d both gone out to the mall earlier in the morning. You’d needed to buy presents for Chungha’s birthday and he’d just wanted to tag along. For the first time ever, you’d truly discovered what it was like to go shopping with a guy who did not like shopping.

Hoseok’s whiny voice was incredibly adorable and he apparently became more touchy when he was bored. It had made you feel like a normal couple for the first time ever, laughing when he pulled a face as you dragged him into LUSH. Despite his complaining though, he’d bought a bath bomb gift set for Yoongi. 

Apparently he was going to keep it for Christmas and give it to him then. Why he’d felt the need to buy it now, you had no idea. But you’d just smiled and hesitantly wrapped your arms around him once outside, hugging him quickly in public. 

After that, he’d gorged himself on sushi at a local restaurant in the mall while you’d carefully chewed on a roll or two. You’d felt a little like a lovesick teenager, carefully watching him with complete adoration and admiration in your eyes. It felt a little ridiculous. All he’d done was given you an orgasm, but it felt like a lot more to you for some reason.

So when you’d finally gotten back home, you’d cuddled Kasumi for a bit on the couch before noting that he’d fallen asleep next to you. His head was at an odd angle on the couch while his mouth was open slightly, breath just audible in the slightest snore every time he inhaled while black hair fell on his forehead almost artfully. 

Shifting slightly, you turn and simply admire him for a few minutes. As silly as it sounds, this was the first time you’d truly been able to just...look at him without him being aware. He was a morning person, which was a disgusting thing, which meant he was always awake before you. And he fell asleep after you.

Smiling, you rest your head on the back of the couch and just...watch him. Soft black eyelashes rest on the roundness of his cheeks, creating the slightest shadow and you see the way his eyes flicker beneath his eyelids. You wonder what he’s dreaming about; a concert, going to the bar, maybe even just a day with you?

His lips are so soft and pink, surprisingly plump and the silver lip ring embedded helps to give him a rough edge despite having no trace of facial hair. Hoseok didn’t like himself with a beard or moustache apparently, and he appeared to grow hair on his face incredibly slow. Which was ironic because he’d already had two haircuts in the time you’d known him.

And then there’s his beautiful tattoos, the vibrant designs and colours standing out from everything else. You’ve spent many nights now admiring them, tracing the outlines with your fingertips and memorising each and every tiny detail in them. But for now, they’re still as his arms rest in his sleep.

Despite the odd angle of his head, which makes you wince as you realise he’s going to have a cramp in his neck later, he looks peaceful and relaxed. Something warm bubbles in your stomach at that, causing you to hug Kasumi to your chest tighter as you realise that you’re happy he’s so comfortable and relaxed in your presence.

For a long time, you’d worried that you were too immature in your likes and dislikes for a true relationship to occur. You had more plushies in your small apartment than most families did in their entire house and the abundance of pop culture related items outweighed any aesthetic you could go for. An acceptance of that had occurred a while ago, acknowledging that this stuff made you happy and anyone who wanted to be a part of your life had to accept that too.

And Hoseok did. In fact, it seemed to comfort and relax him too. His own apartment wasn’t exactly decorated amazingly, and you got the distinct sense that he didn’t particularly care about decorations. Yet he seemed to genuinely love your apartment, despite it being smaller.

The fact he could fall asleep in your presence, in your small and cluttered apartment, made you pleased beyond belief. 

“Urgh,” He groans suddenly, causing you to jump ever so slightly in surprise. Hoseok doesn’t notice though, blinking blearily and licking at his mouth in distaste while a hand rubbed at his neck. “Ah...owww. My neck.”

Smiling, you gently push Kasumi off your lap and reach forward, fingers grasping his arm and attracting his attention. You can’t help the snort of amusement that leaves you as he looks over at you, eyes slightly hazy and puffy. He’d only slept for two hours yet he looked like he’d slept for six years.

“Oh baby,” The endearment falls from your lips without you even realising, and you’re so busy focusing on how he’s messed up his hair too that you don’t see the way his eyes light up. “Come here...you can...I mean I can massage it for you? Your neck...if you want?”

You’d started out so bold and confident but it had petered out so quickly, causing you to sigh quietly. Hoseok doesn’t care though and instead grins tiredly, running his hands through his hair once more and ruining it even more. Though it’s endearing honestly. But still, he understands what you ask, particularly when you gesture towards yourself.

Slowly, as if he’s testing whether or not you’re being serious, he shifts on the couch. You rest your back against the mound of cushions and plushies behind you, shyly letting him slide between your legs once more. This time though, there’s no sexual anticipation there.

He rests his back against your front carefully, checking that you’re okay with it the whole time before he relaxes finally. His weight is heavy against you but you don’t find it suffocating or overwhelming. Instead, it’s just...comforting. Nice. You feel..protected almost.

“This is...nice.” Hoseok says quietly, turning his head to look up at you. Dipping your head down, you bury your face into his shoulder for a moment and simply take him in, eyes closed. It’s fascinating how one smell can become so deeply imprinted on you.

Shuffling back, you wriggle to get comfortable before bringing your hands up and gently beginning to massage the muscles of his neck. He lets out a quiet noise before humming in delight, letting his head relax even more as you work.

“Hey, I was thinking earlier. Err...can you play me some of your favourite bands? I don’t really know anything about metal but...I’d be interested to see if there’s something I like? So we can both listen together?” That gets him looking back at you with raised brows, a smile playing on his lips.

He’s already pulling his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it with his face as he turns back around. “Really? Okay. This sounds fun. Hmm...what to play...what to play…”

You just focus on his neck as he clicks through Spotify, humming to himself lightly as he tries to figure out what to go with. Finally, a song starts to play and you cringe as you listen to the intense beats that come out of the tiny speaker.

“This is...I mean I guess-” Then the screaming starts. “Nope. Never gonna happen. Next band.”

That gets Hoseok snorting, his shoulders shaking against you as he laughs and continues to play with his phone. “I thought not, though they are good and I personally like them. They’re called Amon Amarth. Swedish death metal.”

“Can we just...try normal metal? Is that a thing? Maybe no death?” You ask, voice a tiny bit pleading and he just presses back into you more. Massage forgotten, you lay your head on his shoulder and watch as he flits around the music app.

“Okay...less death...kinda hard in the metal world but it’s fine. There’s something for everything. You want templar metal? Jaldaboath. Pirate met-” He’s interrupted by you as you poke at his cheek lightly, causing him to look at you in astonishment for interrupting him.

“Templar...metal? What does that mean? Like...Assassin’s Creed templars? The Knights Templar? That kinda thing?” Hoseok nods seriously and grins, typing into his phone before a song started playing. It all sounds very jolly and happy for metal music, yet you bizarrely find it fun and actually pretty good.

“I’m gonna regret this...but it’s actually kinda good.”

“Right? It’s fun. I love it. Okay, okay. Pirate metal, as I was saying. Equally fun. This is by Alestorm...Scottish pirate metal.” You admire Hoseok as he continues to play you on increasingly ridiculous subgenres of metal, his face lighting up in pure joy and amusement. It’s obvious he doesn’t listen to these most of the time but somehow it doesn’t surprise you that he actually knows of them.

After a good fifteen minutes of him lambasting your ears with stupid genres, though you’ll admit to actually enjoying a few of them, you finally get him to start giving you serious music that he actually listens to regularly. And you thoroughly enjoy running your fingers through his hair as he does so, everything feeling incredibly domestic with him.

You’re not sure what three months of a relationship is supposed to look like, and you think that it’s probably supposed to be closer and more intimate, but you’re happy with it at least. And he’s shown no signs of complaining about it.

Pressing your nose to his hair, you simply inhale and take him in, listening to him effervescently talking about his favourite music. It’s nice to see him excited about something, hear him talking animatedly about something he was truly passionate about. 

It made you feel a little bad when he whined softly before pouting when you admitted to not liking his older metal and rock music. Some of his classic bands such as Iron Maiden, Metallica, Motorhead and Black Sabbath had gotten a grimace from you, leading to him making the most pitiful noises in combination with a pout and puppy dog eyes.

He wriggles in your arms, voice ever so slightly churlish as he thumbs through playlist’s he’s created over the years. “Can’t believe you don’t like Maiden or Metallica. This is an outrage.”

You chuckle quietly, thoroughly amused before kissing his temple.

“Okay...so you don’t like classic, you don’t like death, you don’t mind the weird genres...I think you’ll probably like vocalists who sing more. Hmm...hold on, lemme just...what about this?” A song starts playing and you make a soft noise of approval, smiling and reaching for his phone as you look at the screen.

“The Diary of Jane...by Breaking Benjamin?” Looking at him, he nods as he watches intently. “I like it, it’s good. I like his voice.”

“They’re more rock than metal, but their music is really good. So...we have one band I’m pretty sure you’ll like. Now...Disturbed is also great. They did a great cover of Sound of Silence, here lemme show you.” The next twenty minutes are spent with you finding new bands and music to listen to, being pleasantly surprised by how much you actually do like the songs he’s showing you.

And he’s obviously inordinately pleased to have you showing active interest in the genres he loves the most. Hoseok has the most entertaining stories to go alongside some of the bands he’s playing; from seeing Disturbed in New York to when he travelled to the UK to go to something called Download Festival when he was 23 and saw some of the all-time-favourites including Metallica, Rammstein, Slipknot and other bands you didn’t remember the name of.

You were in a little in awe at that, as you’d never actually travelled outside the country. And here Hoseok was, travelling to some field in England just to see some bands when he only just out of college. It would have been nice if you’d gained the courage to do that when younger, but you resolved it to be something to be worked on.

After a while though, Hoseok evidently tires of showing you music and shifts until he’s looking directly at you. Laying your head on his shoulder, you give him a small smile before making an inquisitive noise, letting him know you’re receptive to whatever he’s thinking.

“What do you like to listen to? I mean, I know you just play the radio in the car most of the time but like...what do you really love?” Humming lightly, you rest your chin on him as you think before gesturing to his phone.

He hands it over with out a word, eyebrows rising as he watches you type into the search bar. And his expression turns into a pained grimace as he reads what you type.

“Oh god...please no...please.” He whispers desperately, the first notes of a Justin Bieber song playing from his phone. “You’ve infected my phone. Oh god, why?”

You can’t stop the giggle that leaves you at his reaction, stopping the song and typing in the search bar once more. “I’m kidding. I like some of his songs but only the ones that always get played on the radio. Hmm...I like most things you know? Ed Sheeran, Imagine Dragons, David Guetta, Billie Eilish and stuff. I quite like finding new artists, like indie ones you know? Found some good people through just looking through random spotify playlists. But I think my genre is just...soundtracks?”

“Soundtracks? Like...film soundtracks?” Nodding, you search for your own profile on Spotify and open up one of your many soundtrack playlists.

“Yeah. I really like them. And game soundtracks. I have favourites that just...make me feel happy or relaxed. They have such good memories associated with them. Like...the Skyrim soundtrack reminds me of when I was in college and was writing papers. I actually liked doing that, and learning. I also used to listen to the We Were Soldiers soundtrack in college. They’re great for anything that you need to focus on or just in the background. Especially game soundtracks, that’s why they’re made you know?” You press play on the Assassin’s Creed Odyssey playlist, smiling as your favourite song plays.

“They make them specifically so that you’ve always got the right moment to go with what you’re doing. The songs will transition into more upbeat and intense songs if you’re about to go into a fight or anything like that, but for moments when you’re just like...travelling from one place to another then it’s more relaxing. It’s not supposed to be intrusive, unless the soundtrack is part of the game like Cadence of Hyrule or Tetris Effect, but just fill the background with noise. You notice when a game has no music because it means something is about to happen or like...you’ve defeated all the enemies. It’s quite fascinating really, I read this whole article on The Flight, who composed this game’s soundtrack and the way they…” You continue on, explaining enthusiastically about the in’s and out’s of game soundtracks and why they’re important and can even become part of the game's mechanics.

Hoseok listens quietly, watching you intently as you chatter on, blissfully unaware that in reality, he doesn’t particularly care about the intricacies of game soundtracks. But he listens with interest because it interests you, and he wants to encourage that interest and never make you feel like you shouldn’t get excited about something.

Over the next half an hour, you go through all your favourite soundtracks and explain why you love each one and the memories you remember the most. Of course, it results in you excitedly discussing the games that went along with them and what you hated or liked about each one.

“So I’m guessing you have like...favourite composers too then or something?” Nodding enthusiastically, you begin to name them on your free fingers with a smile.

“My favourite film composer is Hans Zimmer. It probably sounds a bit basic but like...he’s a genius and he’s composed some of the best film scores ever. The Dark Knight series is a true classic and he’s influenced so many too. John Williams obviously, the OG film composer. Everyone knows his scores, whether you like Star Wars or not. In the television world though, no one beats Ramin Djawadi. The man is just...oh god he makes the best soundtracks. I maintain Game of Thrones wouldn’t be anywhere near as good without his soundtracks and it was the best thing about the last season. He also did Westworld and he’s done some great film soundtracks too.” 

“You know...I had no idea of the names of any of those except John Williams to be honest. Well...now I do. Thanks for teaching me,” Hoseok grins, taking his phone back and shutting Spotify off finally. “So what I’ve learned from this is that I shouldn’t play my death metal around you…”

“And I shouldn’t play Justin Bieber around you.” You tease him, running your fingers along his sides and giggling when he writhes with a soft whine. Him being ticklish was a recent discovery but you couldn’t help yourself when he sounded so cute giggling like he did. 

Sure enough though, he takes your hands like he always does, trapping them between his own before pulling until you’re hugging him tightly. Smiling, you bury your face into his neck as he lets out a deep sigh, body relaxing once more against you.

“I know this is a little left field...but wanna go take a nap?” He asks suddenly, causing you to laugh against him.

“Have we reached that age already?” You tease lightly, enjoying the way he makes you feel so comfortable around him lately. How you feel a little braver every minute you’re with him and how much he supports you and all your strange intricacies.

Standing up, he looks at you with a serious expression before nodding gravely. 

“I’m afraid so. I’m a growing boy. I need my nap times. Will you come nap with me?” His lower lip pushes out in a pout, amusing considering he also has a prominent lip ring but you can’t help but grin and take his proffered hand.  

[imalwaysintune]

It Was Never A Choice At All

He would always come back to Elias. No matter what happens to the world, he would always choose Elias.

Domestic LonelyEyes because I can. This one was really fun to write, and the first soft one I’ve written in awhile. If you guys have request ideas, please hit up my ask box! I’m almost on emptyyyy

Story under cut! Enjoy!

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

When Peter opened the door, he didn’t know what he’d expected.

It certainly wasn’t streamers and balloons and cake though.

“Peter! You’re finally home, I expected you to get back hours ago. The alcohol’s mostly gone by now but I’m sure there’s some lying around for you somewhere,” Elias ran up to Peter before he even had the chance to close the front door.

Peter was burly, at least a foot taller than Elias and a lot heavier, yet the tiny man nearly knocked Peter off his feet with the force of his embrace. Elias’ arms came to rest around Peter’s neck, and as he spoke, Peter could smell the alcohol wafting from his lover’s mouth.

Peter only sighed and wrapped his arms around Elias, burying his head into the man’s warm neck.

“What is all this for, Elias?” Peter’s voice was muffled as he spoke, not willing to draw himself away from the warmth that radiated from his darling Elias.

Elias wiggled in Peter’s arms until he fell onto the floor, landing squarely on his butt bone. A small ‘ow’ was heard before he got up and beamed at Peter with his wicked smirk.

“I threw you a birthday party of course! I knew you would never actually tell me when your birthday was, so I rooted in your head to learn the answer,” Elias was tripping over his own words as he made his way to the center of their living room where a makeshift table was set up. 

A cake resided on top of it, with the words “Happy Birthday Big Man” written poorly across the top. Peter had the strangest urge to laugh, and was about to as Elias about it when the man seemed to read his mind.

“I made the cake myself. You know, I haven’t baked for at least a century, so doing this was actually quite fun! You know Peter, I think we should bake more often together,” Before Peter even had a chance to speak, Elias was grabbing the large knife that sat next to the cake. It slid through the cake easily, with Elias handling the knife with expert precision given his intoxicated state.

Peter only watched as Elias served two slices of cake. “One for you, one for me. I hope you like it Peter, I made it especially for you.”

Peter grabbed the plate with hesitation and picked up one of the many golden forks on the table. It was dwarfed in his large hand, but he didn’t really mind.

He took a bite of the cake as his eyes rolled into the back of his head at the sight of the intoxicated Elias. He was never one to get drunk, so it was still a shock every time, mostly because of how vibrant he became each time.

The cake had actually been pretty good, much to the dismay of Peter. Elias ran around the table and threw his arms around Peter yet again, somehow ecstatic that Peter had actually enjoyed the desert.

The pair made their way to the living room once finished with the cake, and Peter had managed to find himself a full bottle of whiskey amongst all the empty bottles of alcohol in the kitchen. 

As Elias popped himself on the couch, he looked up at Peter and smiled a dazzling smile that almost caught Peter off guard. Elias so rarely smiled, especially at him. His feelings were very reserved, and it wasn’t often he let Peter break down the walls that had been built through the many centuries.

Peter stood above Elias, bulking and strong, and stroked one finger beneath his lover’s chin. Elias shuddered and wrapped his hand gently around Peter’s wrist, tugging him gently towards the couch.

Peter landed on top of Elias, his body leaning very heavily on the other mans. Elias was strong, Peter knew. He could handle it.

“I invited everyone from the Institute to come,” Elias said quietly, twirling a piece of Peter’s hair around his finger. “They all declined, but... I don’t think I can blame them.”

Peter looked at Elias hard. To his surprise, he looked sad. Elias was still staring at his hand in Peter’s hair, his gaze purposely avoiding the man above him.

“Elias, it’s alright,” Peter responded, ducking his head down and once again burying himself in the warmth of his lover. He breathed out slowly and felt Elias shudder at the feeling. Peter only smiled to himself before planting a light kiss at the base of Elias’ neck.

He both felt and heard Elias release a breathy laugh, something else he didn’t often do. Elias was beautiful when he laughed, and Peter would give anything to be able to steal one of those annoying archivist’s tape recorders so that he could capture the laugh on tape and play it over and over again. 

Elias took the hand that had been messing with Peter’s hair and buried it completely within the fluffy mess. Peter smelled of salt-water and drift wood, a smell that had become associated with Elias as home.

Peter knew Elias never meant to fall in love. In some ways, he hadn’t either, but the man who was now mushed under him had just been too captivating. 

He had known Elias was only teasing him, and that he didn’t actually have any plans to form a legitimate relationship with Peter, but in the end, the sailor had won over the hard-ass.

And so here they were, cuddling on the couch, both drunk out of their minds and deeply in love with each other. Peter never thought that he would lead a domestic life, especially not with someone like Elias, yet against all odds here he was.

Peter sighed contentedly into Elias neck before drawing himself back slowly. He looked down at Elias with admiration as the man licked his lips.

Quickly, Peter ducked his head down and caught Elias’ tongue in between his teeth, and bit harshly at it. Elias let out something in between and squeal and a moan, before closing his mouth and squinting his eyes at Peter.

“Rude.”

“Nothing rude about it, darling.”

Peter leaned down slowly and connected his lips with Elias’, and he felt the breath from his lover as he sighed. Peter moved his hands to cup Elias’ face, feeling the stubble that grew there. It was unlike Elias to go a day without shaving, but he must have forgotten as he had set up the birthday party. 

Peter smiled against Elias’ mouth as he thought of the amount of work that he must have put into the planning and decorating. The house looked stunning with green and black streamers woven expertly along the banister and taped to the walls. 

Peter was usually very careful when it came to making decisions. But with Elias, it was no choice at all. He would always come back to Elias. No matter what happens to the world, he would always choose Elias.

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

Wowie wowie wow, I sure loved this one. I know Elias isn’t totally in character but at this point I don’t care lmao. If you would like to know where I’ve been writing wise, I’ve been writing a lot of stuff that I don’t trust to not get taken down on tumblr. (aka nsfw stuff lmao). Check out my ao3! And if you want, follow my Twitter too!

[lilyharvord]

The Secret Correspondence of the Dancing War - Part 3

A/N: Part 3 of the accurate epilogue of Broken Throne because once again, Regina and I are bitter that Victoria did not give us the closure we want. This letter while burned to almost a crisp was saved by me and @elane-in-the-shadows.  Part I / Part II 

iii. Cal 

                                         December 10th 330

Maven,

It’s been a while since I wrote to you or visited you. I hope you don’t mind. Things have been busier these past few years. I honestly don’t remember the last time I got a full night’s rest. Even now, I’m writing to you at 3 in the morning because I can’t sleep.  Mare’s going to kill me too. She already has a hard time sleeping because of the baby. She doesn’t waste time blaming me for that. Funny enough, I don’t mind her teasing about it. The fact that it is even happening makes me feel like I could make electricity myself.

Right, I should probably catch you up on what’s happened. To be honest, a lot of it is fuzzy for me. Since my promotion two years ago, I’ve spent more time on the front lines dealing with the Lakelanders than I have in my lifetime. Your ex-wfie is more of a pain in the ass than I ever thought possible. Like you, she’s a brilliant strategist. I think… given time you two might have found kindred spirits within each other. And while this whole dance between the States and the Lakelands has been exhausting, the good news is that Iris hasn’t had the chance to throw me in any more bays. Mare probably wouldn’t think that joke is funny, but I’m sure you will.

Anyway, four months ago Mare wrote to me telling me to ask for a leave of absence. That she needed me to come back to Montfort because it was urgent. It took more convincing than I would have liked to get that leave. Sometimes I miss being a prince, for the sole reason that if I needed something I didn’t have to wait for people to sit around debating about it, it was just done. But that’s beside the point. When I got back to Montfort, Mare had a, let’s just call it a surprise for me because I can’t think of anything else to call it. A gift? It certainly didn’t feel like it at first. I think all the blood drained from my face when she told me. We argued about it. It’s honestly the first fight we’ve had in a long time, but she won. She always does, as you know. I retired my uniform and she retired hers and we bought a little apartment near her parents’ town house. She wants them close when the baby is born. I get that. I would want my family there too. I wish you could be here. I think you’d be surprised how strong she already is. The other day Mare made me feel how hard she was kicking and it was one of the strangest things I’ve ever experienced. How can something so small kick that hard? She’s going to be a force of nature; I know she will be. Mare’s her mother after all. I can’t even begin to tell you how strange it is to write that. To think that in a few weeks she’s going to be here. 

Mare agreed to let me name her, as long as she gets to name the next one. She had her fingers crossed for a boy. She wants to name any son we have after her brother. I think I’m going to name our daughter after my mother though. Coriane Barrow Calore sounds pretty doesn’t it? But I may just be biased. 

At first, I wanted to drop my name and just keep Mare’s, but she insisted we keep both. Our family line is as much a part of my daughter’s legacy as it is mine. Removing our name would be like trying to erase the past. We’re trying to correct it though. I’d say so far we’re doing a decent job. Notra is on track finally, and Evangeline has been hard at work as an ambassador with both the Lakelands and Prairie. We’re both desperately trying to fix the mistakes our ancestors made.

And I guess I’m writing to you tonight because of that. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep because all I can think about it that family name. Our father’s name, and ours. Looking back on everything, I realize now what you went through, what you must have felt like. I can’t sleep because I’m terrified of repeating our father’s mistakes. He made so many. I didn’t realize it until Mare told me she was pregnant and I started thinking about my own childhood. I’m terrified that I’ll somehow show my daughter that she doesn’t matter to me, that there is something or someone who comes before her. What if she sees what I do and what I am, and wants to follow in my footsteps? What if she does that because she feels like she has to? I don’t want her to struggle like I did. I don’t want her to think she is duty bound to a fate because of me or because of Mare. You would know what to say. You always knew exactly what to say.

And I guess I also was hoping you could… endow some of your speech ability on me to write another letter to the Silver Session. You handled them all so well as king, (better than I ever could have hoped too) and I wish I had half of your political sense, just because it would make my life so much easier. You always had such politic ways of telling people to go screw themselves. I need a way to say that right now that doesn’t turn a bunch of cranky, old, irritating silvers into more of a political threat.

By my colors I miss you. It comes at me like a wave sometimes. I’ll just be walking or sitting and then it’s there and I feel like I can’t breathe. You left a hole that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to close. The other night, I realized your birthday was coming up. You would have been 28 this year. I realized that while Mare and I were walking back from dinner. When she asked me why I got so quiet, I told her the truth. She was quiet for a long time too, then she asked me if we would tell our children about you. I don’t know if you want me to. Or which person I should talk about. A part of me didn’t believe the last thing you told me. I know that the boy who used to stay up until ungodly hours playing chess with me was in there somewhere. I know that the brother who used to joke with me and play along with my terrible lies I told to get out of trouble was in there. I know the young man that was braver than I ever could be was in there somewhere. I wish I could have found him. I wish I could have saved you. Maven I have never regretted anything more than the fact that I turned a blind eye to your suffering or what your mother did to you. Maybe you’d be here with me today if I hadn’t. Maybe you would get to hold your niece. Or maybe, maybe she wouldn’t even be here. To be honest, I don’t know. I learned a long time ago that playing the what if game just hurts more.

I hope you are at peace. I hope you are resting and that you somehow do get these letters. I hope you know that even at the end, you were my brother, and I loved you. I still do. I’ll come visit you soon, maybe after Coriane is born. Although I’ll probably be even busier then. I suppose I’ll just have to write in the meantime.

As always, your brother, 

Cal

@elliemarchetti @farleydiana @scxrletguardsdawn @petergrantkavinsky @freaky-freiday @inopinion @mareshmallow @evangelineartemiasamos @evangeline-of-montfort @delilahlbard @king-maven-calore @whatsup-gorls @redqueenetwork

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #440

from a day or two ago.

Do you drink a lot of soda? I definitely do. :/ I'd lose weight so much easier if I could drop the habit. Are tomatoes the best food in the world? I don't like tomatoes unless they're very fresh and on a mayo and bacon sandwich. Have you seen The Blindside? I actually haven't. Do you have a favorite local pizza place? Not really. There's a place I like that isn't huge, but I don't have like, a serious passion for or loyalty to it. Would you date someone 10+ years older than you? Meh, I think ten years is my cut-off. Are you due for a haircut? For sure. >_< Are you dealing with any health-related problems right now? Yeah. Even with my APAP mask, because I apparently move it too much in my sleep, I'm struggling with my sleep apnea nightmares/terrors. Do your parents like the music you listen to? Most of it. Do your parents approve of your beliefs? Not all of them, no. How many different digital cameras have you owned in your life? How about cell phones? Cell phones, idk. I've had two "pro" cameras. Do you typically do your make up the same each time? Or do you like to change it up often? It's pretty much always the same. Who is the last person you were in a room with just the two of you? What were you doing? Mom. We worked together on my room. What do you usually order at Subway? Turkey, bacon, American cheese, pickles, banana peppers, and chipotle on I want to say Italian bread. How long is your mother’s hair? It's hard to say, because it's all poofy now versus wavy like before it had to be shaved off. Don't repeat it to her ever, but she has, uh... "old lady hair" now, ha ha. What is your favourite car brand? I don’t care. Whose chore is it to clean the bathrooms in your house? My mom does it. Pick your three favourite fruits. Strawberries, kiwi, and uhhh... apples. Or pineapple. Have you ever played Cards Against Humanity? Yeah. We used to play that a lot at Colleen's house on nights we had some drinks. Who were the last friends you went to hang out with? Oh jeez, idk. I haven't hung out with a friend in a long time. How many chairs are in the room you’re currently in? Zero. I'm in my bedroom. Are you bored right now? I'm bored almost every waking hour of my days. Have you ever seen a pelican in real life? I'm actually not sure. What’s important about April? My younger sister's birthday is in April. Is there anyone who hates you? Jason probably does. Would you consider adoption? Not for me personally. What’s the largest animal you’ve ever had as a pet? Our late boxer mix. Do you own any kind of helmet? No. Do you ever put fruit on your cereal? Noooo. How do you usually celebrate your favorite holiday? My younger sister comes over here and we open our presents with Mom, who also cooks a nice breakfast. We then go to my older sister's house for the day to watch the kids open presents from their extended family. I say "extended" because the kids obviously aren't going to wait for us to get there to open the majority of their gifts from their parents, ha ha. What’s a few facts about the last person that talked to you? She's from New York, has five kids, has survived cancer (one almost advanced to a fatal level) twice, she loves owls, and recently graduated with her bachelor's in social work (it's never too late, people). What would happen if you had a baby with the last person you kissed? We're both cisgender females. Where is the biggest scar on your body? It's probably where I had a cyst removal, which is in a spot I can't see. Would you date someone who was addicted to drugs? Absolutely not. I am NOT getting involved in that. If you could go back and change something in the past 5 months, would you? I'd go to the gym sooner. Have you ever kissed anyone with a tattoo? Hmmm... I think Tyler actually may have had a The Legend of Zelda tattoo? I can't really remember. If not him, then no. Have you ever kissed someone you weren’t dating? No, but I've been kissed by someone I wasn't dating. Do you know anyone who drinks a lot? Yes. What were you afraid of the most when you were a kid? Being separated from/losing my mom. Do you like to make the first move? No. When was the last time you completely broke down? A few weeks ago when I was having a PTSD episode. Are you listening to any music? No; I'm watching Gab play Final Fantasy X. Is your hair long enough to put in a ponytail? No. Has someone ever told you they want to spend the rest of their life with you? Hm, it's funny, I don't see him anymore. Have you ever peed in the woods? No. Have you ever played Twister? Yeah, I liked playing it as a kid. Are you looking for a boyfriend//girlfriend? Not actively, no. I really don't need one right now. Out of all of your friends who have you gotten in the worst fight with? Of all friends I've EVER had, probably Colleen. Of the friends I still have, maybe Sara. What is the last microwaveable meal you had? I've been on a SERIOUS grilled chicken pesto kick lately. Mom buys these small Healthy Choice (or some brand like that) bowls that you put in the microwave and then pour the noodles and chicken into the sauce after and mix, and oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOD it is so good. What would you consider a talent of yours? Assuming the worst out of every imaginable situation. If Hogwarts was a real place and you were able to attend, what class do you think you’d excel at? According to those little quizzes I've taken, I lean mostly towards Hufflepuff, but with Gryffindor traits as well. Would you rather learn more about space or more about the ocean? Well, ideally, space, but I think learning much more about our ocean would be more beneficial to our planet and our prosperity on Earth. Do you have a mental illness? If yes, how have you learned to cope with it? If no, do you ever suspect you may have one? I have a lot. My bipolarity, OCD, and PTSD are *mostly* under control, but I most certainly still have trouble sometimes. My anxiety and AvPD are still rabid fucking hounds. My depression was well-managed not even that long ago, but life circumstances have it so it's been more aggressive than what was usual. Do you have a favorite character from The Avengers? I dunno, I like Loki ig. Thor is cool, too. It's been WAY too long since I've seen that movie. What type of cake would you like right now? Double chocolate cake sounds great rn. @_@ What was your dream job when you were a child? Are you going after that dream or not? Why? Paleontologist, and no, because I don't want to travel for work, and I could also never handle the heat during site excavations. Even though it may not work all the time, what usually helps make you feel better when you’re upset or down? Watching one of my comfort series on YouTube from channels I enjoy. Why do you personally take surveys? It's a method to just get all these thoughts out of my head and to vent when I need to without actually directly burdening someone with my problems. No one has to read 'em. It's purely for my benefit, and also to pass the time, which I have too much of. Are there any words that you can’t stand? Derogatory terms for certain groups of people. What are words that you love? Words like "serendipity," "bliss," joyous, bubbly words. I'm blanking on actual terms. If you had an endless supply of money for clothing only, what would you load your closet with? Ohhhh, lots of shit with studs and spikes. :') I've wanted a studded leather jacket since I was in middle school. Have never gotten one because of how pricey they are. :( I'd also get some KILLER boots and just obtain a more gothic wardrobe. I'd love corsets too if my body ever shrinks back to a point I'd be comfortable wearing well-made ones. What is your favorite type of cookie? Chocolate chip. What is your favorite type of candy? Strawberry Sour Punch Straws. What color would you like to paint your nails next? I don't paint my nails. Realistically, they probably won't be 'til my entirely hypothetical wedding, in which case they'll probably be black. What do you think is creepy that society accepts as normal? Urinals, alsdkfja;klwejr. Like I get men's bathrooms give the option of using a stall, but still... side-by-side urinals are so weird and a breach of privacy to me. What is the silliest secret about yourself that you sometimes feel the need to hide? That I enjoy forum RP. I tell NOBODY because I fear being judged and found as weird. Like seriously, in my "real" life, maybe two people know. What do you think is a good date other than dinner and a movie? I want a picnic date really bad kalj;dkl;jwe. Do you dread certain days of the week? If yes, what day/s and why? No. They're all very similar. Do you ever give money to homeless people? No, admittedly. Mom instead likes to sometimes offer them bottles of water or if she's really feeling generous, a cheap meal at like McDonald's or something. She doesn't like to hand out money because, well, we know what a vast majority of homeless people spend it on. Do you like to brag or are you modest? I get really uncomfortable bragging, so I try to be as modest as I can be. What your favourite thing to have on toast? I love giving it a light toast, then adding a thin layer of butter, cinnamon, and sugar. It's bomb. Do you know how to surf? Would you ever like to learn? No to either. If you eat oatmeal, do you have it plain or do you have certain toppings that you like to add to it? I love sprinkling some sugar in there. Would you prefer to spend time with your whole family all at once, or would you rather quality time with one family member at a time? Depends on what I feel up to, but I tend to enjoy family time as a group more. That way, I don't have TOO much pressure to be constantly social. I can just listen sometimes. What is the funniest or strangest thing you’ve ever heard somebody say in their sleep? I have no idea. I worry what people have heard ME say/scream in my sleep. Do you own a pair of slippers? Yeah, they're meerkat ones! :') Choose one: Butterfinger, Milky Way, Snickers: Absolutely a Milky Way. Who was the last person to comment you? My mom. I'm cool, I swear. How many arguments have you had with the last person you kissed? A lot over all these years, but I'd say that's normal when you've been friends since you were 8 and 10. Do you know anyone who has been arrested? Yes. What are you planning on doing after this? When I'm done taking this survey, I'll probably either go to bed or play a bit of WoW. Idk. Will you be up before 7 am tomorrow? I have my alarm set for 7, actually. Ever been the only one trying to fix a relationship? Mhmmmm. -_- What was the last bad thing that happened to your phone? The case that came with the phone got a big crack in it. Have you ever been with someone while they were throwing up? Absolutely not. I would start vomiting. I can't handle the sound or the act in general. Have you been to the beach this year? No; I haven't been in a long time, and I am noooot complaining. Have you ever skipped school just because you were tired? Yes. Are you tan? God no. Do you own any leather? No real leather, no. I never would. Have you ever bought a shot glass? No. Do you have a therapist? Yes. We actually just talked today. Well, technically yesterday. What’s the worst name your mom has ever called you? I don't know. She doesn't really call me bad names. Have you ever listened to Christian music? Not of my own volition, but I've heard it because of other people controlling the radio. Are you the ‘creative child’? Yes, I'm considered that one. Did you like your life when you were in middle school? God no. That's when everything started going downhill. Have you ever been 'popular’? No. Has someone ever tried to convert you? Yes. Are you a fan of muffins? I LOVE muffins. What’s your most recent obsession? It's kinda chilled out now, but when Resident Evil 8: Village released, I was CRAZY over it. I watched SO many different let's plays of it. I think it's safe to say it beats out RE4 as my favorite installment.

[theazkabandreamer]

The Lucky Birthday

A belated Happy Birthday to Harry Potter. Can also be read here.

___

Birthdays were supposed to be fun- At least that’s what Harry Potter was supposed to believe. But his birthdays were never fun.

To him, a birthday was just another day when he was chased by Dudley and shouted at by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. This year for his birthday, he was stuck at batty Mrs Figg’s house for a week whilst the Dursley’s were holidaying in Spain.

Mrs Figg’s house was crawling with cats. Everywhere Harry turned, he would be greeted by the sight of one. He found them in the flowerbeds, hiding in saucepans and he got a shock many years ago when he accidentally sat on a cat that was hiding under the sofa cushions.

But Harry didn’t have time to relax; Mrs Figg made Harry clean the floors, empty the litter boxes and when he had nothing to do, Mrs Figg made him look at the photos of every cat she had owned.

Mrs Figg had a new cat called Winnie. Harry thought that Winnie was the strangest cat that Mrs Figg had owned. Far stranger than Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty.  

Winnie would be constantly watching Harry as he did his chores for Mrs Figg. He had an impression that he had seen the cat before, but he couldn’t remember where.

Even though he was bored to death, at least he was able to watch what he wanted on the telly and the food wasn’t too bad. It may be slightly overcooked and the cabbage unbearable to eat, but at least he didn’t have Dudley nicking everything.

_____

On the morning of his birthday, he woke to the smell of cooking. He got up and made sure that there wasn’t a cat hiding underneath his camp bed and entered Mrs Figg’s kitchen to see her at the cooker.

Three cats were sitting on the counter, sniffing the air as Harry sat at the table.  

“Oh, good, you’re up,” Mrs Figg said briskly, tipping the contents of the pan onto a large plate. “You’ve got a busy day today. Eat up.”

She put the plate on the kitchen table and Harry looked to see something swimming in gravy. He wrinkled his nose at the smell.

“What’s that?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Liver and bacon,” Mrs Figg said at once and Harry’s stomach did a summersault.

“I’d rather have eggs,” Harry said, pushing the plate back.

“Nonsense,” Mrs Figg snapped. “A skinny thing like you needs a hearty meal to start the day.”

“I like being skinny,” Harry said reproachfully.

Being the smallest and skinniest of his class, Harry found he had a manoeuvrability advantage which he used to get away from Dudley and his gang. It had been months since Dudley had punched him on the nose.

“If you’re not going to eat it, I’ll feed it to the cats and you can go without,” Mrs Figg said.

Several cats peered around the doorway and a fat ginger cat stuck its head from out of a flower pot. Harry groaned, admitting defeat. He couldn’t go a whole day without having any breakfast so he grabbed the plate and began eating.

It didn’t taste as bad as Harry feared, but he wouldn’t have it again. Dudley certainly wouldn’t have it- He would’ve screamed and knocked over the table.

After he had eaten all he could, he fed the leftover pieces of liver to the cats and jumped down from the table, but Mrs Figg called him back.

“Your Aunt has a birthday present for you,” she said, holding a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. “I believe you’re seven today. You’re almost a big boy.”

Harry wasn’t particularly excited about his presents. Unlike Dudley-who was lavished with lots of presents- Harry’s presents always turned out to be disappointing.

Last year, the Dursleys got him a coat hanger for his birthday as Aunt Petunia was fed up of him leaving his clothes around the house.

As expected, Harry’s present turned out to be disappointing. It was a tube of toothpaste.

“At least they’re thinking of your teeth,” Mrs Figg said, looking at the scowl on Harry’s face. “Now, I want you washed and dressed. I have something I want you to do for me.”

Harry proceeded to Mrs Figg’s tiny bathroom full of dread. Whatever Mrs Figg wanted him to do, it wasn’t going to be fun.

Once Harry was washed and dressed, he entered the kitchen to find Mrs Figg present him with a shopping list and some money. He was told to get a bus into town and get the things on the list.

____

Ten minutes later, Harry found himself at the bus stop. It was a hot day and the sun glared down on him. He also had a funny feeling that he was being watched.

Once the bus arrived, Harry found himself sat between some irritable woman at the front and loud teenagers at the back.

The teenagers were ignoring him but the irritable women kept shooting him dirty looks and muttering under their breath about him.

“Who in their right mind would send a child on the bus all on his own?”

“Some women shouldn’t be mothers,”

“She could’ve at least dressed him properly. The state of his clothes!”

“The state of his hair! He needs to get down to the barbers and get himself a haircut!”

Harry ignored them and spent the journey looking out of the window, watching as the bus drove past his and Dudley’s school.

Harry watched the grim Victorian building with its red bricks, high windows and iron railings go past and he miserably reminded himself that he would see it again in September.

_____

There was a market taking place and the town was packed. Harry went from shop to shop getting the items on Mrs Figg’s list. He got the lamb hearts and liver from the butchers, the tins of cat food from the supermarket, the tuna from the fishmongers and the bread from the bakers.

After he got the items from the shopping list, he ticked them off.

At each shop he went to, he was met with stares and he heard people whispering about him and making similar comments to the women on the bus.  

As Harry headed to the greengrocers for the last items, he had a funny feeling that he was being followed. He looked up and down the street but it was full of people going about their business.

Maybe he was imagining it. It was a hot day and the heat did funny things to the mind.

He spotted Dudley’s friend, Piers Polkiss in the greengrocers and he hid behind the grapefruits in case Piers spotted him.

But Piers was too busy being embarrassed by his mother who was loudly telling her friend about the Polkiss’s summer holiday plans.

Harry was hidden for fifteen minutes and bored senseless as Mrs Polkiss gave her friend a complete itinerary of their travel plans. He wished the Polkiss’s would hurry up and fly to Paris- He was going to be late!

It happened suddenly; a pigeon flew into the greengrocers and Mrs Polkiss let out an almighty shriek as it landed on her head. Her friend fainted as Mrs Polkiss fell sideways, sending the coconuts rolling around the shop and causing people to trip over.

Piers jumped back knocking over the stand of raspberries and sending them flying. The pigeon flapped around the shop and the manager grabbed a broom and chased it out.

Harry- who was trying not to laugh- spotted a cat running into the shop, looking around for the pigeon.

It took him a moment to realise that the cat belonged to Mrs Figg. It was her new cat, Winnie. Was it Winnie who was following him all this time? Harry knew she was an odd one.

Not willing to explain to Mrs Figg why her cat was missing, Harry ducked out from his hiding place and approached the cat who was looking for something.

“Winnie,” he hissed, trying not to attract attention.

The cat gave Harry a sharp look and turned around and to Harry’s confusion, trotted out of the shop.

With his arms numb with pins and needles, Harry followed Winnie who stopped and looked back at him expectantly.

“You- you want me to follow you?” Harry muttered.

The cat sat down, eyeing Harry with a look reminiscent of a stern schoolmistress.

Harry headed out of the shop, past Mrs Polkiss who was giving the manager of the shop a piece of her mind and gesturing to Piers who was drenched in raspberry juice and looking thoroughly embarrassed.

Harry stifled a laugh behind his hand as he left the shop and followed Winnie up the street.

“Mrs Figg will be looking for you,” Harry said to Winnie who stopped and sat down again, staring at him. “We need to get you home.”

The cat continued to stare at him as Harry made his way to the bus stop. Harry could feel its eyes bore into the back of his head like one of Uncle Vernon’s drills.

“Why are you just sitting there?” Harry asked exasperatedly, turning around to face the cat. “We’ve got to go back to Mrs Figg.”

But the cat just sat there, staring at him expectantly. Harry had a funny feeling that he had forgotten something.

“But I’ve got everything,” he said out loud, attracting some funny looks from some passers-by.

Harry pulled out the shopping list that Mrs Figg gave him and looked at it. He seemed to have ticked off everything on the list:

He had got Mrs Figg her cat food, her bread, her lambs’ hearts and liver. He had gone into the fishmongers for some tuna. He had just come from the greengrocers with her fruit and cabbage. What could he be missing?

Then it hit him.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry exclaimed. “I’ve forgotten the eggs!”

The cat ran off at once and Harry had to run to catch up with it. He soon found himself outside a newsagent. He went in and bought the eggs.

As he left, he saw the cat eating someone’s discarded fish supper. Once the cat had finished, it licked its lips and followed him up the street.

_____

It was mid-afternoon and Harry was starting to get hungry. The liver and bacon seemed like a lifetime ago. Harry headed to the market with Winnie the cat following him. Mrs Figg had given him a lot of money and he still had some left.

As it was his birthday, he thought he could at least buy himself a present. He couldn’t buy anything that he could keep forever- Dudley would have it off him faster than you could blink. But it didn’t mean that he couldn’t have something tasty to eat.

There were cheese stalls, fish stalls, meat stalls and stalls that sold the beer that Uncle Vernon would dismiss as ‘foreign muck’.

The cat gave Harry a dirty look as he passed the beer stall.

“I can’t buy a beer, I’m too young,” Harry told it, feeling as if he had been told off. The cat sped up forcing Harry to jog to keep up with it.

Harry held his nose as he went past the olive stall and saw a stand selling fresh doughnuts. Harry’s mouth watered; The Dursleys never allowed him to eat doughnuts despite allowing Dudley to do so.

A minute later, he was sitting on a bench eating a large sugared doughnut and it was the most delicious thing he had tasted. It was even better than cake!

Harry sat on the bench, watching what was happening. Little Whinging was busy as people rushed about the shops in a constant state of hurry.

He always felt as if he didn’t belong here. People always looked down their noses at him as if he were a piece of dirt. But it wasn’t like he could get away from the place- He was stuck here.

Winnie the cat was sitting at a short distance from him and Harry had a distinct impression that the cat was guarding him. He could see the cat looking up and down the street as it was expecting something to swoop down and attack Harry.

_____

It was getting late and Harry looked at his watch, certain that Mrs Figg was wondering where he was. He got up from the bench and went to the bus stop. The cat followed him there and once he got on the bus, he looked out of the window to see that the cat had vanished.

Harry felt his spirits sink. He had no idea how he was going to explain to Mrs Figg that he had somehow lost her cat when it had followed him to town.

Harry spent the bus journey in a bad mood and stepped miserably off the bus, not noticing Winnie following him back to Mrs Figg’s house.

When he walked up to Mrs Figg’s front door, it burst open and he had to jump out of the way as seven cats came scurrying out of the front door. Harry gulped as he came face to face with a furious Mrs Figg.

“What sort of time do you call this, boy?” she snapped. “If you had been any longer, I would’ve reported you missing! Have you got my shopping?”

With shaking hands, Harry handed her the bags and she checked her list.

“I see you’re not as useless as your Aunt says you are,” she said. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in and help me put the shopping away.”

“Mrs Figg, your cat,” Harry said panickedly. “Winnie followed me into town and when I got back on the bus, it disappeared. I swear I didn’t do anything to it, I promise!

“Calm down, boy!” Mrs Figg said sharply. “You don’t need to worry about Winnie. She’s always wandering off on her own. Here she is now.”

Harry was both shocked and relieved to see Winnie the cat sitting on the kitchen table, looking at Harry with those stern eyes.

The cat continued to watch Harry as he put the shopping away for Mrs Figg which wasn’t easy. Every cupboard he opened, a cat was hiding behind it. He got a shock when he opened the fridge to see a fluffy white cat tucking into Mrs Figg’s ham.

By the time he was finished, Harry was exhausted; His arms were aching from carrying the shopping and his legs ached from all that walking.

“Well, that’s everything,” Mrs Figg said. “I’m going to start preparing dinner. You can go and make yourself scarce. Have a look at what’s on the telly.”

“We’re not having liver again, are we?” Harry asked dubiously.

“I’ll think about it,” Mrs Figg said brusquely. “Now run along.”

Before Harry could move, Winnie the cat moved towards him, nuzzling her head on Harry’s arm. Harry scratched the cat’s head and it closed its eyes lazily, enjoying the fuss. The cat then looked to the kitchen doorway as if it was dismissing Harry.

 Harry headed to Mrs Figg’s cluttered living room, where he checked for any cats hiding in the sofa cushions before sitting down and turning on the telly.

After his busy trip, his body ached with tiredness. Today had turned out rather well. He managed to get everything on Mrs Figg’s list, saw Piers Polkiss completely humiliated and didn’t get punished for losing Mrs Figg’s cat.

Out of all of his birthdays, Harry had to admit that this was the best one. Maybe seven was a lucky number after all. With those comforting thoughts, Harry closed his eyes and fell asleep straight away.

 _______

Back in the kitchen, Mrs Figg gently closed the door. She was relieved that the boy came home in one piece. It was a good thing that she sent Winnie to watch over him. She glanced at the tabby who was still sitting on the table and approached it.

“It was a good thing that you were here today,” Mrs Figg said quietly. “I couldn’t have pulled it off it wasn’t for you, Professor McGonagall,”

Mrs Figg turned to look at the cat only to see that the cat had gone and a tall woman wearing emerald green robes stood next to the kitchen table.

She had a stern face, square spectacles and her hair was pulled up in a tight bun.

“No problem, Arabella,” Professor McGonagall said. “The boy was no trouble at all. It amazes me how he looks so much like James, but with Lily’s eyes.”

“I was startled by the resemblance myself,” Mrs Figg said. “Did he get anything for his birthday? I made sure to leave just enough money for him to buy a little something for himself.”

“All he was interested in was a doughnut,” Professor McGonagall said looking rather amused. “You should’ve seen his face, Arabella. I’ve never seen a child get so excited over a doughnut.”

“I don’t think his Aunt and Uncle allow him to have something like that,” Mrs Figg said thoughtfully. “They give him the bare minimum whilst letting that awful lump of a son stuff his face.”  

“I told Dumbledore that those Muggles were the worst sort imaginable, but he wouldn’t listen,” Professor McGonagall said disapprovingly.

“I don’t think I’m in a position to question Dumbledore, Minerva,” Mrs Figg said. “The best I can do is watch over the boy and make sure he’s safe.”

“I believe he gets bullied,” Professor McGonagall said sadly. “He was trying to avoid a boy his age in the greengrocers. He was a short boy, face like a rat.”

“Piers Polkiss?” Mrs Figg asked, frowning. “I believe that he’s friends with Dudley. I’ve seen them trying to chase Harry. That boy is a nasty piece of work. I never trusted him since ten pounds went missing from my purse. The boy said he didn’t do it, but Tibbles returned with the money. The Polkiss boy has been avoiding me ever since.”

“He was in there for such a long time, I had to cause a distraction,” Professor McGonagall said. “The Polkiss boy got drenched with raspberry juice in the process. Harry got a good laugh out of it though.”

“I would’ve liked to have seen that,” Mrs Figg said, smiling at the prospect of a happy Harry. “It’s about time that that thieving boy got his comeuppance. There are plenty of times when I wish I could give Harry a hug. I sometimes think I’ve been too hard on the boy, but I can’t break my cover. The best I can do is make sure the boy is safe.”

Mrs Figg’s voice cracked and Professor McGonagall whipped a tissue out from her robes.

“Have a tissue, Arabella,” Professor McGonagall said, patting Mrs Figg on the arm comfortingly. “I know it’s hard. I had to watch Dumbledore place the boy on his Aunt and Uncle’s doorstep that night.  It was a good suggestion of yours to get the boy out for his birthday. He’s very bright for his age.”

Mrs Figg blew her nose and gently opened the door and peeked her head in the living room to check up on Harry. She saw the boy sitting on the sofa fast asleep with three of her cats sleeping close to him. He looked as if all of his troubles had melted away.

Mrs Figg wished that he looked like that when he was awake, but orders were orders and Dumbledore trusted her to watch over him.

“How is he?” Professor McGonagall whispered.

“See for yourself,” Mrs Figg said and Professor McGonagall peered around the living room door.

Mrs Figg saw Professor McGonagall’s expression soften as she looked at Harry. She took a tissue from her robes and blew her nose.

“I’ll let him sleep for a while and then do his dinner,” Mrs Figg said. “The poor boy needs it.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Professor McGonagall said quietly. “And for heaven’s sake Arabella, don’t go giving the poor boy liver again. There would be an almighty riot if we served it for breakfast at Hogwarts. If he wants eggs then cook him some for his birthday. After all, it’s not every day that you’re seven.”

“Four years until he comes to you, Minerva,” Mrs Figg said.

“I look forward to it,” Professor McGonagall said, smiling at Mrs Figg. “The day Harry Potter returns to our world will be a day of great celebration. Give the boy a biscuit for me.”

With that, Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and opened the front door before turning into a cat again and trotting off down the road.

Mrs Figg stood there watching her leave, pleased that she had done her bit in keeping Harry Potter safe.