#hes apparently so convinced he can bounce back and magically get and train so many new employees

[orcelito]

Took a few months but the situation at work is finally truly blowing up

I may or may not join in a workplace abuse claim against my old boss using old blog posts and discord messages of me venting as proof ☺️

It'd be me burning the bridge of having him as a reference later down the line, but honestly I think I can get by without him.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Going To Disney With The Avengers Gang™ | Planning The Trip

Part One of my "Going To Disney With The Avengers Gang™" headcanon series

Includes: (The Whole Gang) Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Vision, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson

Word Count: 3.9k

Relationships: The Avengers x F!Reader, Ambiguous; just how we like it ;)

Going To Disney With The Avengers Gang™ Master List

→The whole idea starts when the team is lounging at the compound doing regular™ team things

→A.K.A Wanda, y/n, Pietro, and Vision are in a pile on one of the couches cuddling, Clint and Nat are across the room playing pool, Bucky is making ramen in the kitchen, Steve is trying to convince Bucky to add an egg or something for more protein, Bruce and Stephen are talking neuroscience and bickering over techniques of spinal fluid something, Thor and Loki are fighting over the remote before Loki finally rolls his eyes and picks up the book y/n had left on the coffee table, Sam is asleep on the floor, and Tony is just tired

→In the madness though he picks up on the conversation happening between the four people on the couch

→“You’ve never been to Disney World?”

→Three rounds of “no” “nope” “I’ve only had a body for a year, y/n. When would I have gone to Disney World?”

→”Okay, yeah, good point, Vis. But y’all would love it. I haven’t been since high school but I want to go again so bad. We need a vacation.”

→Tony doesn’t even stick around to hear the rest, he’s already walking away while speaking to FRIDAY, telling her start pulling up the Disney site and analyzing it, disappearing to his lab and using all of his monitors to compare the resorts and try to decide where to stay that everyone would like (and where they would all fit because there’s too many of them)

→It doesn’t take him long to realize they’re going to need large accommodations

→Bruce is the first to notice that he’s gone, sneaking into the lab and scaring the hell out of Tony

→“Whatcha’ doing?”

→“Ah shit-- Bruce! How are you so quiet?”

→And then he points to the seven open listings on the monitors and explains that the team needs a break and that he heard y/n talking about Disney World and that he wants to surprise the team-- Bruce agrees immediately (the man is always in need of relaxation)-- and that’s how the team’s geek squad ends up playing Disney Dad #1 and Disney Dad #2 and planning the most extravagant vacation in less than three hours

→They have it down to a science after the first twenty minutes-- dividing what needs to be done and tackling it individually while bouncing ideas off one another

→“Do you think they want to eat at Beauty and The Beast Castle or Ariel’s Grotto the second night?” “I’m not sure-- book them both.” “Tony we can’t--” “FRIDAY, book them both.” “You got it Mr. Stark.”

→There’s a lot of Bruce wondering if what they’re booking is too expensive and even more of Tony reminding him that he’s a literal billionaire and that he could buy the Disney company if he wanted to-- that still doesn’t stop Bruce from suggesting more frugal methods from time to time-- it only makes Tony want to spend even more money because you need to lighten up, Banner

→The next person who realizes Tony and Bruce are gone is-- surprisingly-- Sam

→Honestly it’s only because he has to pass Tony’s lab on the way back from his room and he sticks his head in to tell them that “Romanoff and Barton ordered pizza if y’all want any… holy crap is that Disney World? Are we going to Dis--”

→Tony literally grabs him by the collar and tells him to hush it, birdman before pulling him into the room and explaining his plans for the second time-- “Yes, we are going to Disney World and I want it to be a surprise.”

→Sam just nods, his eyes on the screen and his brows beginning to push down and-- “Okay but why are you booking dinner at Mickey’s Backyard Barbecue on the same day that you have fast passes for World of Color at Epcot?”

→And Tony and Bruce blink and are just like “What?”

→And Sam is already at the computer, fingers stuttering over the weird ass hoverscreens while pulling up the page which shows that the World of Color has a whole ass dining experience-- Tony and Bruce have no clue that was even a thing-- and suddenly Sam is the one telling them what to plan because, as it turns out, this man loves Disney World and has been upwards of thirteen times and knows it inside and out

→Thank gods for Sam because these two Disney Dads™ were really shooting blindly into the abyss of trip planning without ever having gone to Disney World-- he has to shift around fast passes, dining reservations, water park tickets, and even the family portrait session that Tony demanded Bruce add

→He shows them all the things they don’t even think to plan-- firework shows, dessert parties, literally all of Downtown Disney-- Tony wants to be mad but he’s too busy picking his jaw up off the floor when Sam manages to book them for an After Dark Party in Magic Kingdom

→Bruce gets so excited when Sam tells him that’s a thing that he almost gives the plan away when Natasha comes rushing to see what all the noise is (it’s Banner jumping up and down like a toddler) -- he has to rush to the doorway, make up a lie about him dropping a piece of equipment, and then walk her back to the common area and play a round of pool with her to keep her questions at bay

→It’s all fine because Sam puts the final touches on the plan and has Tony give the order for FRIDAY to book it all and then it’s ready to tell the team

→They sneak back into the common area, it’s nine pm and everyone just looks so worn out

→Stephen is literally half way to snoring, legs curled under him on the love seat, doing that thing people do when they’re falling asleep and their head slumps and then they spring back awake, repeating the process an embarrassing amount of times but nobody’s even paying attention

→Steve and Bucky are talking quietly in the corners about whether or not they should just go to sleep because it’s Thursday and there’s really no point in staying up any longer

→Clint and Thor are sharing a bag of popcorn and half watching John Wick while discussing the inaccuracies of the movie-- “If he had a bow none of this would have happened.” “Or a hammer.” “Yeah, that too.”

→Yeah, they’re exhausted, and it makes the Disney Dads™ and Sam that much more excited to share the news

→Sam’s twiddling his hands behind his back and sharing smiles with Banner who’s trying to keep his excitement at bay and Tony is rolling his eyes but smiling too and for a moment nobody notices their cheshire grins and nervous foot tapping until finally y/n lifts her head from Pietro’s chest-- who complains at the action and lifts his head too-- and lazily asks

→“Tones, what on earth are you smiling about?”

→And the man opens his mouth but before he can even get the words out Bruce and Sam are already jumping up and down again and screaming “We’re going to Disney World!”

→And the room goes dead silent for three beats-- one, two, three-- and it feels like a million seconds and Tony’s face is dropping slowly and he’s ready to be like sike and then she jumps up, literally stepping on Pietro’s stomach, hurtling the back of the couch like a damn track star and rushing the man at full force, flinging herself at him and jumping into his arms and there are tears streaming down her face and she’s screaming

→“Tony you didn’t! Oh my gods you didn’t! You’re lying oh my god no! Are you serious?”

→And he’s nodding but he still can’t get a word in edgewise because she’s still rambling-- “You heard me oh my gods! You heard me and you did it! Tony that’s insane and reckless and oh my god I love you! Are we actually going? This isn’t a trick? Please don’t let this be a trick!”

→And he just laughs and spins her around and tells her that no, this isn’t a trick I’m not the mischief god here and Loki rolls his eyes but he’s also kind of excited despite the frown on his face

→They’re all excited

→Pietro and Wanda and screaming with Sam, slapping each other and just full on freaking out like children, incoherent and happy and raring to just go already

→In turn this wakes Stephen up who hears the madness and jumps up, on edge and ready to literally fight before he realizes what’s going on and calmly sits back down, nodding his head but not speaking because if this literal grown man opens his mouth he knows he’s going to freak out too because holy shit Disney World-- even sorcerers like Disney!

→Steve and Bucky are kind of confused-- they just barely remember Snow White when it came out but Disney World? They made a-- what is it? A theme park? Regardless they’re excited, ready to break the old men lull they’ve fallen into-- Bucky hears y/n ask if Tony booked water park tickets and gets super excited

→Vision is also confused but he sees everyone getting turnt over Disney World and decides that he is also excited-- Wanda momentarily stops being hyped up to ask him if he’s waterproof in which he goes into explicit detail about how yes, he is and he’ll show her if she’d like and she has to slap her hands over his mouth and tell him to hush

→Thor and Clint also turn into children but they’re the run around the room yelling types as opposed to the stand in a circle and scream types-- the gang is apparently just like fifteen children who barely manage to get things done apparently because they’re all hyped as fuck

→Clint sprints over to Nat whose hands are already up, ready to fight the man off because she knows what’s coming, but he’s too fast and too happy and uses all his assassin training to dodge her kick, grabbing her around the waist and spinning her around until she’s giggling and slapping his back

→“Natty we’re going to fucking Disney World!”

→“I know you lug, I heard Stark too. Let me down!”

→He doesn’t-- he just shakes her harder, cheering with the rest of them

→Thor slumps down next to his brother, nudging his shoulder-- “Migardians are strange”-- and Loki nods but pulls out his phone and starts looking up what’s actually at Disney World and-- “Look, brother, our home… wait is that us?”-- and the brothers get sucked into a rabbit hole of the Norwegian pavilion and whatever the hell the Frozen ride is and why their pictures are there

→It takes thirty minutes for everyone to calm down enough for them to actually have a conversation about what on earth Tony and Bruce and Sam did-- it takes another ten minutes after that for Stephen to finally break through the chatter to ask the most important question-- “Guys, seriously. You can ask about the plans after. The main question here is when are we going.”

→And Tony glances at Bruce and shrugs and is like “Tomorrow.”

→And they all erupt again-- y/n and Wanda because they have to pack and Stephen because normal people don’t just up and go on Vacation, you’re supposed to make time and Clint and Pietro because holy shit we’re going to Disney tomorrow!-- but Tony just brushes the worry off and reminds them-- again-- that they’re superheroes and that he’s a billionaire and that they can go on vacation whenever they damn want

→Cue fifteen more minutes of freaking out and y/n tackling Tony and then tackling Bruce and then, finally, tackling Sam who scoops her up and all but tosses her in the air before thanking her profusely for putting the idea in Tony’s brain

→They spend the next few minutes fangirling together-- Sam raves about all the food he’s going to eat-- Mickey bars, corn dogs, pretzels, those huge turkey legs-- and y/n talks about how she wants to get all the autographs she can-- especially Goofy and Pluto-- and then Sam mentions the After Dark Party and, like Bruce, she freaks out

→Finally Wanda has to split them up, grabbing y/n with one hand and hauling her over to the other redhead who’s still being held hostage by the resident archer and grabbing Nat with the other-- when Clint protests she curls her fingers, warning him with a pinch of red magic, and he holds his hands up, backing away slowly but telling Nat she’d better come see him before they leave

→On the way out Steve asks where they’re going and Wanda almost threatens him too until Nat tells him they’re going to pack for tomorrow-- he then turns to Bucky and reiterates the idea to a less than enthusiastic super soldier who tries to argue that I can pack in the morning but Steve just isn’t having it-- it takes five minutes but finally Buck agrees (but only after Steve says Bucky can just throw his stuff in his bag)

→The girls spend the rest of the night giggling and packing, holding up dresses and putting them down, shoving things in each other's bags and dancing to a playlist of oldies from Wanda’s phone-- Nat is the most boring packer but after some threats to get resident archer involved she gets her act together

→Pietro comes in when he’s done and Wanda scoffs at what he has packed but he only shrugs, slumping on y/n’s bed and giving her grabby hands until she rejoins him

→“But Pietro what if I forget something?”

→“You worry too much-- can’t Stange make portals?” He has a point

→What they all pack:

→Tony: Suits and graphic t-shirts. He’s either rolling up to Disney World in a Metallica t-shirt or a full three piece suit there’s no inbetween. He’s really not concerned about packing-- he can just buy whatever he needs there. After a text from y/n though he throws in a few pairs of shorts that he didn't even know he owned and his M.I.T. hoodie. He tops it off with a few gadgets he thinks he might need-- FRIDAY’s chip and some nanotech-- and he’s good to go. Billionaires don’t need to pack.

→Steve: Clothes and toiletries. Boring, basic, forgets swim trunks until he sees Bucky put his swim trunks and nothing else into Steve’s bag. That’s how he remembers most things actually; by looking at what Bucky doesn’t put into the bag. Along the way he suggests what the super soldier might want to pack while adding a few extra of his own just in case. After thinking about it for a few minutes he adds two books-- one for each of them. He also adds some tools-- a screwdriver and some pliers-- in case Bucky’s arm starts acting up. He’s sure Stark will have something but in case he doesn't, those will hold it over.

→Bucky: Swim trunks. And, when Steve begs, he grumbles and adds a few button downs and henleys. He also sneaks in a few knives, burying them in the henleys. He watches Steve pack for him though and leaves it at that-- what’s the point of packing when the super soldier can just do it for him? He’s not stupid-- he’s tired and Steve is fussy. He’ll have what he needs and if he doesn’t then he’ll just make y/n go swimming with him. Then he won’t need anything. Easy peasy.

→Nat: She’s the most level headed packer of the bunch, spare maybe Bruce and Sam. She Packs what she’ll need-- not too much and not too little. If anything she packs too many of Clint’s hoodies (three). Part of that, though, is her knowing that he’s probably going to forget one. She packs her normal toiletries, making sure to add an extra stick of deodorant and a bottle of Wanda’s red nail polish because-- despite the fact that she spends an hour watching Wanda pack her entire room-- she just knows that the woman forgot a bottle of that stuff and that she’ll be upset if her nails look chipped in the pictures. Wanda and y/n make her pack a bikini despite the fact that she has two scars from Bucky still and they threaten to get Clint involved if she tries to refuse-- “I suggest you put that little black number in that bag right now unless you want some aggressive compliments, you hear me woman?” She didn’t have to be told twice.

→Clint: Not as much as he should. Never as much as he should. He packs boxers, a pair of swim trunks, a few regular shirts and shorts (not enough), a couple nice shirts and a pair of jeans, and his toiletries. He’s gone longer with less but-- like-- he doesn’t have to this time? Nat walks into his room as he finishes packing and takes one look at his bag before marching to his closet and adding a hat, a pair of sunglasses, a jacket, a pair of sweatpants, and socks because who the hell doesn’t pack socks when they’re going to be walking around for days, how the hell are you an accomplished assassin Clint?

→Wanda: She literally packs as much as she can-- think the essentials times three and then some, like five different dresses, two leather jackets (even though y/n reminds her that Orlando is hot), her laptop and her ipad, two pairs of headphones. She has a notebook, a sketch book, and a regular book. Six bikinis and a one-piece. Three hats, four pairs of sunglasses, enough panties to last a month, let alone a week. She packs heels, boots, sneakers, flats, and sandals. Two purses and a backpack. Wanda Maximoff is the epitome of team mom-- anything Nat and y/n forget she’ll have it. She also packs a few things that she thinks Pietro will forget-- a few nice outfits for nights out and his main toiletries. Oh-- and sunscreen! Lots and lots of sunscreen!

→Pietro: Well, let's just say that it’s a good thing Wanda thinks to pack some things for Pietro because this man barely remembers his toothbrush let alone his phone charger. He gets the basics-- the bare necessities-- like three t-shirts, a pair of shorts, some (?) boxers, and like seven pairs of shoes because with how fast this man is he’s going to need them badly. He does, however, remember to pack his bathing suit and that’s more than a few people on the team can remember. Poor baby just wants to get there already-- he can just buy whatever he forgets.

→Vision: A very strange assortment of items. He doesn’t need clothes-- he can make whatever he would like appear on his body-- but he does want to feel included so Wanda gives him one of her backpacks and he puts like kind of random items into it. He sees a phone cord and shoves it in and like a hairbrush-- all items someone will need eventually but not him (later will find out that it’s the cord to Sam’s Iphone and will hand it over and have the audacity to say you’re welcome Samuel after doing it).

→Sam: He packs at least four ball caps. Nothing besides that really matters; he just knows how fucked you are if you don’t bring a hat and he’s bringing enough for the people who forget. As much as Bucky gets on his nerves he also packs him one. Besides that he packs normally-- t-shirts, shorts, shoes, socks, boxers-- all regular amounts. He freaks out a little when he can’t find his phone charger but he’ll just buy one when he gets there. He also brings a Polaroid camera and a shit ton of film-- some of his team members have never been and he will be documenting it all.

→Bruce: He’s the most boring packer and that isn’t a bad thing-- it’s the reason he has so many doctorates-- because he’s smart and level headed. He packs the clothes he needs with one extra of everything. He packs his toiletries. He doesn’t pack his whole room and he doesn’t pack nothing at all. He’s perfectly in the middle-- a Disney Dad™! He does, however, forget his swim trunks-- oops.

→Stephen: One backpack with a t-shirt, sweatpants, and swim trunks. That’s it. Why would he pack anything else? The man can open a portal whenever he needs! He’s always one step away from his bedroom! Stephen simply flicks his wrists and can change and rejoin the group in less time than it takes the rest of them to pull shit from their bags and wait for the washroom to free up. It’s actually a genius play.

→Loki: Despite being the most outwardly unenthusiastic he packs almost the exact same way that Wanda does. He’s a nervous packer. His brother laughs but, like, he has a point. Safe is better than sorry. It’s comical that he packs like five sweaters though considering that he can snap his fingers and make the sweater appear. All his clothes are either green or black. He packs at least one all black suit. Thor has to force him to add a red Hawaiian shirt and he scoffs at it and shoves it to the bottom. Definitely packs three pairs of swim trunks because he doesn’t like putting them one while they’re still wet. He doesn’t even know if he’s going to go swimming but he’s still doing it anyway. He also packs the scrunchie y/n gave him to keep his hair out of the way and when Thor tries to say shit about it he pulls a dagger from thin air and just chucks it. After dodging it Thor asks why don’t you just make your clothes appear the same way?

→Thor: Enough but, like, definitely not enough. The normal things but like less. He figures he’s going to be spending most of his time in his bathing suit anyway. Loki tries to remind him that he can’t go shirtless in the parks (he looked it up already) but he doesn't listen. It really is a good thing his brother can make things appear from thin air. He’s the type of guy to be content in a pair of flip flops and an open button down. He does, however, bring one of those dad-esque fanny packs and somehow he makes it look hot.

→Y/n: Literally packs the same as Wanda, if just a tad less. So many clothes that it’s insane. She, however, has the added bonus of her old Mickey ears-- a pink sequined pair that are a little worse from wear but still pretty. She packs a bucket hat to pin collectable pins to. She makes sure to leave extra room in her suitcase for souvenirs. She’s had her eye on the luxury bath salts from the Grand Floridian ever since the Disney Instagram posted them a few months ago and now that she’s going she won’t be leaving without them. She also packs the strapless dress she’s been meaning to wear for months now-- she doesn’t know who’s going to be there to admire it but she’s sure there’s at least one person who will. Besides, Nat’s been telling her to wear it for ages.

[toraodwaterlaw]

An End and a Beginning

Having survived Minion, Rosinante is reassigned to East Blue, where he and Law will start their new lives. 1700 words, CoraLives!Au, mild hurt/comfort, found family

-

“I’m ready.”

Law was seated on his bed, a full length mirror in front of him and a scalpel in his right hand. Neither was strictly necessary- neither the mirror nor the scalpel- but he insisted they helped. He really only needed to feel out the lead with his powers, not to see anything, but Rosinante could understand how weird it would feel to work blind, more or less. That he could still operate with everything flipped in the mirror only proved what a remarkable doctor he might have been had life been less cruel. Perhaps he still would be. Rosinante certainly hoped. Law would have his whole life ahead of him once this was finally over.

As for the scalpel, well, apparently it worked as a sort of focus for the Ope-Ope to work through. It made Rosinante wince, made the whole thing seem more like a normal operation, but it was infinitely preferable to the sword Law had first suggested using. Apparently the boy already had ideas on how he might use the Devil Fruit to fight. Rosinante had to draw the line at practicing that on himself. It was bad enough Law had to operate on himself.

“Ready,” Rosinante repeated. He nodded and looked down at Law a moment more. He wouldn’t stay. He never did, not after the first time. Law insisted that it didn’t hurt but Rosinante couldn’t bear to see him like that. It looked too close to dying even if it was more like the opposite. “Right. I’ll be guarding the front door like always. Just right out there,” he said, knowing all the while it was more a reassurance to himself than to Law who was seemingly unfazed by the whole process. “If you need me, all you have to do is call for me.”

Law rolled his eyes. “I know, Cora-san.” He waved the scalpel in his hand menacingly. “Now get out of here. You’re distracting.”

Rosinante nodded and promptly tripped over his own feet on the way to the door. He caught himself on the door handle and smiled sheepishly back at Law who only scowled in return. He found his usual seat outside the room with a heavy sigh. One more operation and this would all be behind them.

For as much as he himself had told Law that the fruit wasn’t magic, he’d somehow imagined this would be over with one miraculous wave of the hand. Law would awaken to his new powers, find the lead in his veins and pull it all out in one go. Instead, it had been staggered over the course of weeks. Law had needed to learn how to use his powers and then they’d both found just how much energy it all took. The real delay came, Rosinante would admit, had come at his own insistence. He hadn’t been around for the first attempts at operating, since he’d been held up on Minion while Law went ahead to Swallow. Law himself had been tight lipped about how that had gone but from what he’d gathered from the other boys that had been there, there had been blood loss. Just how much he’d never know. In his opinion, any was too much. 

Rosinante shook his head to get that particular image out of his head. He patted down his pockets until he found his cigarettes. He flicked at his lighter with a trembling thumb and nearly caught his hair instead of the cigarette with the resulting flame. He sucked in deep and let out a long, smoke filled breath. His eyes slid closed. He needed to focus on the positive. This would all be over soon. Already, life was coming back with a flush in Law’s skin. It would be a while before the patches in his skin would be gone completely but sunny Windmill Village was doing a lot to help vitality along. Law was healing. They both were.

He’d have to find a way to thank Sengoku and Garp. Maybe he’d just send food and drink along under the guise of souvenirs. At least Garp was likely to accept. Sengoku was still pretending that sending a Marine Commander to such an out of the way posting was a punishment. Rosinante knew, though, just how many strings the Fleet Commander likely had pulled to get him here. As important as the rulers of the Goa Kingdom might consider themselves, they didn’t really merit a strong naval presence.

“I’m done.”

The voice was quiet and weak enough that he nearly didn’t hear it but he was on his feet in an instant. He gripped the wall to keep upright and then stumbled in through the door. Law was seated just as he’d been before. If Rosinante didn’t know any better, he’d think nothing had happened. He did know better, though.

“Done? All done?”

“That’s what I said, you stupid clown,” came the expected reply. There wasn’t nearly as much bite in the insult as there once had been. Law fell back onto his bed. Rosinante took a worried step forward before he saw the smile on Law’s face. “But yeah, it’s all done. Not a trace of lead left.”

Of the two of them, Rosinante had most definitely been the more optimistic one about this whole process. Yet, here he was, unable to quite believe it. The past weeks had been so hard and the six months before that had been harder still. It felt impossible that they’d both survived it all and now would get to simply get on with their lives.

Law opened one golden eye and fixed it on Rosinante. “You think I’m lying to make you feel better or something?”

Rosinante gaped. The forgotten cigarette dropped from his mouth. He stomped it out with a yelp before anything was burnt. “No!” he insisted. “It’s just—”

How could he explain? But Law was smart. He got it even without words.

The boy sat up. “See for yourself.” He extended a hand and was surrounded in a sphere of shimmering blue. “Scan.”

That blue light intensified and shone in a path that followed the careful sweep of Law’s hand. Rosinante knew from previous experience exactly what Law was showing him. There was nothing. No lead. No lingering illness.

Rosinante’s face split into a wide smile. He could see Law biting back on a smile of his own as he threw himself back down into the bed.

“Told you, idiot. I thought you crammed that fruit down my throat because you believed in my medical skills.”

“I did. I do! But after everything…”

“Yeah. I know.” Law chewed on his lip and a complicated expression crossed his face. Whatever it was about, when it passed, there was only a smile left in its place. “I might’ve scanned three or four times before I called you in. Just to be really sure.”

“But it’s over.”

“It’s over.”

How many times would they have to repeat that before either of them believed it?

Law had let his eyes drift shut again. Rosinante took the opportunity to really look at him. He wondered what changes the next months and years would bring. Law was still rather small for his age. Rosinante knew he was hardly the best judge given he was, as Law would point out, rather larger than average himself, but the boy hardly had the look of someone on the cusp of adolescence. Hopefully without the constant strain on his body, he would be able to catch up with where he should be. Perhaps he’d never be as tall or as bulky as he might have been but only time would tell. Rosinante chose to hope for the best.

And then there was his skin. Amber Lead Syndrome was blessedly unheard of all the way out in a rural corner of East Blue but Rosinante knew Law was still self conscious. Every curious look or question about the white patches made him pull into himself. Although the people of Windmill Village had overall been very kind and accepting, Law would undoubtedly be more comfortable when his skin was clear of any lingering paleness.

Rosinante’s heart swelled thinking of that future. Maybe Law would start to open up more, find friends even. He knew Garp’s grandkids were about somewhere. And that was only the start of it. Law was smart, he was strong, and now he was healthy. The future was practically limitless.

Rosinante threw himself into the bed next to Law, causing the boy to bounce up into the air with a yelp.

“Oi! Watch what you’re doing, you giant oaf.”

Rosinante could only smile. He ruffled a fond hand through Law’s unruly black hair. “We should start looking at what medical training is available. There might not be anything somewhere so out of the way but there’s plenty of time. We can find you the best training. Go anywhere you want.”

Law rolled his eyes. “Give me a few seconds to breathe, would you? I only just finished getting rid of the lead and you’re already planning out my entire future.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll try not to get carried away. But…” Rosinante hesitated. He knew this was a sensitive subject given all the time Law had spent convinced he was going to die. Still, the boy needed to start looking ahead at some point. “Have you thought at all what you might want to do now?”

Law was silent a moment and Rosinante thought he had perhaps pushed too far. Then Law smiled. “I was thinking…” Rosinante propped himself up onto his elbows and waited. Law’s smile only grew. “Maybe I’ll become a pirate.”

Rosinante’s eyes widened. “What?” He swatted at Law, only to be easily dodged as Law hopped over him and off the bed. “You brat! You aren’t going to be a pirate.”

Law threw back his head and laughed as he continued to dance out of Rosinante’s reach. It was a boisterous, youthful thing that the blond couldn’t help but love the sound of. Law was still a brat. He would probably always be a bit of a shit but there would really be time ahead for him to grow. Mature. There was finally a future that both of them could see and Rosinante couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment whether that included Law turning pirate or doing anything else he might imagine.

[willow-salix]

Fluffember Prompt: Toy

Big massive thanks to the awesome @myladykayo​ for jumping in and writing this for me while I rest.

Day 20 of isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

 Kayo here... I was “convinced” to write this update by Scott...

 “Witchy has never skipped a day before in her isolation updates. We can’t let her down when she’s sick and needs her rest,” he said, using the pity card like one waves a white flag around.

“Then why don’t you write it? You’re her best friend,” I protested.

I’m not a writer. I don’t have Gordon’s knack for storytelling and exaggeration, or Alan’s naivete about life that makes his stories amusing. Scott is used to telling his brothers bedtime stories from when they were younger. Let him do it.

“I have to do office stuff...”

And then, he dared. He smiled his dimpled smile that no one on Earth and beyond can resist, except perhaps for Alan’s zombies and dead people.

“Office stuff.” I tried to sound unimpressed but to my greatest shame, I’m not impervious to the Dimple King’s magical powers and my resolve was already fading. I can’t say I’m very proud of that.

“I can’t postpone it... Please?”

He knows, the traitor. He fluttered his eyelashes, putting damsels in distress to shame and waited.

I do like Witchy and I do want to help her because she’s taking the burden of those idiots off of me when she’s here, so I caved in... I rolled my eyes at him and made sure my face showed how annoyed at him I was. “Fine, but you owe me now.”

“Deal,” he said. We shook hands and he sauntered away toward his office.

***

 Witchy was upstairs, resting (or trying to) and the others were relatively calm in the lounge, which is always a little suspicious. Personally, I would have gone to the training room to lift some weights or do a few fan forms, but I felt I shouldn’t wander off too far in case someone needed a reminder not to go and bother her. I was pondering about catching up on my reading or doing some office work when Virgil arrived from the hangars holding a flat box. “I was doing some cleaning and found a bin of old toys… Remember that game, John?” he asked, putting the box on the lounge table.

The box was faded and something told me that it was old enough to be not only from when the boys were kids and before I arrived on the island, but before that when Jeff was young. Why he kept some of those things, I had no idea. The garish yellow colour was an assault to the eyes in itself, and the silly-looking man pictured there didn’t improve things, nor were the bold red letters forming the word Operation.

John glanced up from his tablet and smiled. “Alan used to stick the tweezers on the edge and let the buzzer ring to no end until dad stopped him and gave him something else to do,” he said.

“Gordon used to tap rhythms and songs with the tweezers,” Virgil added.

“Did Jeff stop him and give him something else to do?” I asked.

“He’d wait for dad to be off with Alan to do it.”

“Then Scott would slap him upside the head,” John finished.

I barely managed not to roll my eyes. I can’t say I was surprised.

Alan opened the box and peered inside. “It requires batteries,” he commented, taking everything out.

Virgil went to fetch some in Jeff’s desk.

“Are you sure about this?” John asked.

Virgil shrugged. “It’s one way to pass time.” He smiled. “Afraid you lost your touch?”

“Not at all. I’m trying to spare you from a crushing defeat.”

All Tracys are competitive. All of them. Even quiet, suspectless John.

“Did I hear crushing defeat? I’m here for the show,” Gordon exclaimed, appearing from nowhere and eying the game on the table. “Wanna play, Kayo?”

I laughed. “No. I’ll take a seat in the peanut gallery,” I said, settling down in my usual launch seat. “I can handle the bank if you want.”

Let them ridicule themselves. I took the pile of false notes from him and Virgil distributed the specialist cards between the four brothers.

“So how do you play?” Alan asked.

“You pick a card and try to remove the part indicated on it. If you succeed, Kayo will pay you. If you fail, whoever has the specialist card can have a go and earn twice the amount if he succeeds. Whoever has the most money at the end wins.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

I saw the exchange between Virgil and Gordon and I think John’s mouth quirked. Nothing was simple with them. Not even children’s games. Why do you think I was sitting away from them?

They let Alan have a go at first. He picked Water on the Knee and successfully removed the plastic bucket. It was handed to me so that I could pay accordingly. John picked the Wish Bone, but as he positioned his hand over the board, Gordon leaned over and began singing close to his brother’s ear to try and distract him. John declared his tactic amateurish and also succeeded.

Apparently, the unspoken rules Tracy version of the game was to try and distract whoever was playing so that they failed. This included John shouting “Look out!” at Gordon at the last moment, Gordon imitating the buzzer sound each time Virgil approached the tweezers from the board, Alan—who caught on very quickly—inching his fingers close to the board as if he was going to rattle it when John had another go and Virgil fully integrating his youngest brother to the game by whispering something to him, which earned him a reply that I can’t write here.

The rowdy game was fully underway when Scott stepped into the lounge. “What are you guys doing? I can hear you all the way from the office,” he complained.

“We’re playing Operation,” Alan replied.

Scott seemed surprised. “I didn’t even know we still had that. I thought you took it apart when you were ten to see how it worked, Virg?”

“And put it back together. Wasn’t that hard.”

“Want to join us?” Alan invited him.

Scott seemed to hesitate. “I still have things to do and I should go back.”

I had to bite my lip to hold back my laughter when someone—and I think it was Virgil!—clucked like a chicken. And as expected, Scott took the bait. He sat down next to John while I was handed back all of the money and the specialist cards were gathered and redistributed.

“Hey, you can’t reset it, I was winning!” Gordon protested.

“You were not. I had $100 more than you,” Alan stated.

Gordon huffed, put the pieces back inside their respective spots, then couldn’t resist playing “Shave and a Haircut” with the buzzer. Scott’s reaction was instantaneous and he reached out to slap the back of his brother’s head twice without even missing a beat.

They all played a first round with varying degrees of success. Watching them play was more entertaining than actually playing. I began mentally assigning scores to their distraction tactics.

When it was his turn, Scott picked Writer’s cramp. The irony of the situation was not lost on me and I fought my better judgement for a whole two seconds before I decided to make a move—I am a Tracy at heart after all... I carefully shifted my weight as he concentrated and extended my arm... then at the last moment, I poked his armpit in that one location I know will tickle him then hurried to sit back straight with my bank notes in my hand and an innocent expression on my face.

He squawked like an offended seagull, hit the side of the game and made it buzz, then looked at the nearest brother accusingly. When said brother stopped laughing long enough to say it wasn’t him, he directed his suspicious eyes at me and I’m rather proud to say that I could keep a straight face and raised an eyebrow at him in return.

John was next. He picked a card... the bread basket. He took the tweezers from Scott’s hand and didn’t even try to be careful and made the game buzz in less than a second.

“HA!” Alan hooted out.

“You didn’t have to play if you didn’t want to anymore,” Virgil side-whispered to him.”

“Oh no, I’m playing,” he assured him, then took one of the specialist cards in front of him and flicked it between his long fingers before handing it to me.

He manoeuvred the tweezers with surgical precision, ignoring Gordon’s heavy breathing in his ear, and dropped the plastic slice of bread into my hand. “I believe that is $2000,” he said with a smug smile.

“Show off,” Virgil muttered good-naturedly while I counted the paper slips and gave them to John.

“My turn,” Gordon said, reaching for a card, “It says... butterflies in the stomach.”

The four others froze more or less visibly and Scott gave me a quick side-eye. He remembered the Venom incident, my aversion for the fluttery little creeps and how I made him pay for laughing at me. I ignored him and winked at Gordon. Surprisingly, he had been my hero at the time and I’ll never forget that. But that’s a story for another time.

Gordon extracted the item from the board without touching the edges. “Once again, I prevailed,” he claimed triumphantly, flicking the plastic butterfly in the air and catching it a few times.

I handed him two $100 notes and of course, Gordon being Gordon tried to take them while the game piece was still in the air. He failed, the plastic butterfly ricocheted off his elbow and landed somewhere under the furniture.

Little items like that never land where you expect them, especially on carpet, especially when bouncing off sharp Tracy elbows (I think we can all agree that they are not lumpy, Lady Penelope’s flirting techniques need a little improvement). I refused to join in on the search because, of course, too many people were there already and I was more helpful sitting in my seat with my legs crossed out of the way.

Gordon looked under the table, then moved on to the little shelf where my father’s bonsai tree and Lady Penelope’s communicator picture are located. He peered underneath, sneezed loudly, then backtracked in horror.

Screeching like a banshee, he rushed out of the seating area and fled toward the kitchen, nearly knocking over poor Witchy who stood at the top of the stairs.

“I go fight a lurgy for an hour, take a moment to get something to drink and this is what I come back to?” she said, visibly unimpressed by the sight of four Tracy butts in the air around the lounge table as they scanned the carpet.

I had to disagree with her on that, it was a rather interesting sight.

“Why is he even screaming like that, he sounds like he’s seen a ghost?” Gordon could be heard sneezing somewhere in the background and she rolled her eyes.

She strode to where he had been crouching and bent down and sighed. “Just as I thought... Scott, you forgot to close the office door again,” she said, reaching out and picking up Buddy the bearded dragon from his hiding spot before he scampered away.

She removed the plastic butterfly from his mouth and cradled him close. “I don’t want a repeat of last time when I had to get him in the vent—”

Witchy’s eagle eye spotted the twitch in John’s face instantly and he held her gaze, doing his own version of the Tracy smile to placate her. They did that fascinating wordless exchange established couples seem to be able to do for a moment and then, she then turned to me, noticed the fake bank notes in my hands and threw me a disappointed: “You’re encouraging them?”

I immediately pointed at John to defend myself. “He’s winning,” I said.

“If I draw brain freeze, I’ll be able to get you a lifetime supply of socks that don’t roll down. Think about it,” he deadpanned.

She looked at us as if we had lost our minds—she might be right—then stormed off with the dragon.

I guess I should go check on Gordon now.  And probably make a new batch of soup as a peace offering.

Author’s note: Shave and a Haircut is what “that knock on the door” is called.

[starkerdayss]

                                          A DROP OF POISON

It just never occured to them that they would have to deal another Tony, specially one so... young and indecent.

Words: 2,3k

Soon on AO3: @/tinygiantsam (link will be added)

When the sun started to come out of the horizon, Peter knew it was time to get up. He had been scrolling through his Instagram feed for two hours now, and even if he had known he could’ve gone back to sleep, this was the only time where he could be at peace. Everybody thought he was asleep, and he had no obligations with the world.

His curtains were a heavy red that made the sunlight look very orange. It stained his face and his room, and it didn’t matter how many places he met, how many hotels he stayed in, how many moments he shared with people that he loved, this precise moment was always going to be home for him.

A door opened in the distance and that was it. The start of a new day. Aunt May was up and ready to cook breakfast.

A sigh left Peter’s mouth as he touched the little green app on his phone, searching for Tony’s number, then slowly typing the phrase: “Good morning, handsome” and pressing send. It was read within seconds, but before receiving a reply, he pushed the covers out of his body and stood up, leaving his phone facing down on his little black nightstand, the yellow phone case seeming way too bright for the dismal colors of his walls and sheets.

He separated the two ends of the curtain and let the sun in, appreciating it for a moment before making his way to the bathroom, starting the shower and brushing his teeth with the cold water that was coming out of the showerhead. He was very green, sue him.

Before the water turned hot, he heard the sound of a text, but decided to look at it later, it was probably a derivation from the same text he sent five minutes ago.

So, you see, his life was pretty domestic. After the shower, breakfast awaited, and after that, school. Day after day of projects, and tests and homework. Senior year just never seemed to finish. The only thing making it better was the fact that he had Tony Stark, the great fucking Tony Stark as his sweet, sweet boyfriend (okay, that title never existed, but there were no wrongs in assumptions). He always ended up on the tower, either helping him out with some nerdy thing, or sitting in his lap in long make out sessions.

That day, though, something was off. The minute he stepped outside of his home, he felt odd. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something that just didn’t fit in. He looked around, but there was nothing out of place. Nothing visible, at least.

He was used to Tony making him feel better when he wasn’t, so his hand moved instinctively towards his pocket, bringing out his phone, preparing himself for a sappy message from his lover calling him something sweet and overall just making him swoon. But, when he opened the little blue dot with his boyfriend’s name on it, the message was not something he could have ever guessed.

‘Peter, I need you to come to the lab right now’

No explication, no missed calls, no nothing.

His heart started racing as he looked at the time. It had been about forty-five minutes since the message was delivered and he was standing there, like a fool. He looked around and decided the fastest way to get there without being too suspicious was his bike, so, he hopped on top of it, backpack hanging from his arm and heart destroying his ribcage with beating force.

The ride itself was always a little over twenty minutes, but adrenaline can do a hell lot to you. Before he even knew it, he was entering the tower without saying anything to any of the guards. This was probably a super-secret situation, because they would all be alarmed if something bad had happened and they were aware of it.

The elevator wasn’t fast enough, and his anxiety was taking over his little body, his leg bouncing up and down while he was standing there, pressing the button over and over again, attracting one of the guard’s attention.

“Everything alright, Mr. Parker?” he asked, with that very polish accent of his. Peter had to physically stop himself from screaming at him that he needed to get to Tony now. He had to respect the man’s wishes, and his security knowing about this wasn’t it.

“Yes, Alek, don’t worry, I just have some news for him, and I couldn’t wait”

“Alright…” trailed off Alek, looking at the boy up and down as the elevator finally descended to the first floor. “If you have any problems, you tell me, Mr. Parker”.

As soon as the door opened, the younger male stepped inside and started pressing the button of the tenth floor with the same speed as the outside button. “Of course, Alek. Thank you for your incredible service”

The calm music strategically placed on the elevator to calm the usual clients that rode it made Peter’s blood boil. He didn’t need to hear to Beethoven, he needed to get to his boyfriend right in that second and find out what the fuck had happened.

Once again, as soon as he was able to, he stepped outside, looking around the room, trying to find any signs of what had happened, even if he was smart enough to know that there couldn’t be any signs of struggle because Tony, first, was Iron Man, second, had the best security of the country down stairs. He just needed it to be a false alarm, Tony being his usual self and making things way more dramatic than they needed to be.

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. Everything is okay.

“Tony!” he screamed from the living room, making his way rather quickly to the laboratory, where the man had originally summoned him to.

To his horror, the door where closed. The doors that led to the stairs that eventually led to the laboratory were closed. Closed.

Peter tried really hard not to panic, his mind immediately going to the Obadiah situation many years ago, when he heard it announced on the local news. Of course back then, Tony didn’t have his super skilled and somehow very strong boyfriend that could potentially save him from anything.

He prepared himself to kick the doors open, but as soon as his hand touched them, he noticed that they were simply closed, not locked, not broken, not blocked. Somebody had closed the doors.

Following his usual motto, he looked inside and when he realized it was relatively safe to continue, the rest of his body followed, making him run down the stairs, analyzing the glass and looking for the superhero that he was madly in love with. “Tony?”

His voice came out as a whisper and he noticed the outline of a big, broad man standing in front of a very big source of light that looked like… like something he had seen before but couldn’t quite remember.

The glass door was pushed open and Peter entered cautiously, repeating the name of his lover once again, a bittersweet taste in his mouth. The man turned around, his eyes were bloodshot, and Peter had a stinging sensation in his stomach. Something was wrong. “What’s going on?”

“Peter, before you say anything, I need you to know this was not my intention, I just wanted…. After what happened with Strange, I had the need to recreate a portal, something like that… I ended up meeting a lot of shady folks and…”

“Tony, common!” insisted Peter, his blood pressure raising so much he thought he was going to faint. Not before he tells you what the fuck is going on, he muttered to himself.

Before any more excuses could be made, the man slowly moved to the side, hands on his back, holding on to each other tightly enough to bruise himself.

Peter’s eyes squinted slightly, trying to decipher what exactly was behind Tony. It… had a human shape, but it was almost impossible to make out with that much lighting behind them. Peter moved forward, stumbling on his feet when the human’s face started to form correctly, little details and familiar features decorating it.

“What…?”

As he moved closer, he started to convince himself that his brain was playing tricks, that he was losing his mind, that he was having a hallucination, that he was downright batshit crazy. That… human was…

“Peter…”

It was Tony. But…

“Tony? What- what the fuck?”

“Peter, I can explain”

The little human standing right in front of Peter didn’t seem as scared as Peter, actually, he had adopted the same physical position that… real (assuming this was not real) Tony. His face was much softer and less pained, less experienced, less knowing, and his eyes were glowing as they looked at Peter up and down, taking in the beauty that his Tony had appreciated so much the first time he saw him (and all of the times after that).

“Hi, I’m Tony Stark” muttered the creature, extending his hand towards the other young male in the room, who was now gripping the counter with a lot of strength, his knuckles turning white. His eyes darted momentarily towards who he thought was his boyfriend. “Tony…?”

His man started walking towards him, not taking his eyes off the… teenager that was apparently him. “I got someone to perform magic for me, but I didn’t know how to operate it. I swear to you I was trying to reach another part of town, or the world, but I never aimed for another world, or another dimension, whatever that… whatever that was.

“I didn’t even know other dimensions existed” muttered little Tony.

The man, who had turned to Peter, suddenly looked back and frowned. “How could you? You live in…. well, judging by the shirt and that rebellious hair… nineteen eighty-nine?”

“Good guess, I’m glad to know I’m smart in every universe. Nineteen ninety’s, actually”

The real Tony nodded, then looked back at his boyfriend, who was sweating like a pig and was grabbing at his chest as if he was about to have a heart attack. “Peter, baby, do you want to lie down?”

“Baby, huh?”

Peter’s head was spinning. The reasoning behind what was apparently a mistake between worlds didn’t make sense to him. He wasn’t sure if his trained brain could handle that. A small version of his boyfriend, of the man he often slept with walking around the city. He was also his age, a little older, was he going to go to college? Oh, dear, even worse, what if he…

“Peter, come back to me, right now. Stop spiraling”

The demanding voice brought Peter back, cutting his line of thought right through the middle. He was used to listening to that, to obeying that voice, even though he was not sure he could ever look at Tony the same way.

“You” said the real Tony firmly, looking at his other self, standing in front of what used to be a portal.

“You mean ‘me’”.

“No, I mean you. Explain yourself. Where are you from, how old are you?”

Mini Tony looked at Tony and then at Peter, whose eyes were wide as a plate, trying to comprehend how his boyfriend and the younger version of himself were talking as if nothing was going on. Specially the little one, who just by the few answers he had given, had made everyone understand him as a smartass. He probably thought this was way more amazing that it was.

“Well, I’m nearly twenty, and I’m late for work. Although that doesn’t really matter right now, does it?”

“W- why?” whispered Peter, feeling a slow, cold drop of sweat fall down his spine, chills making his whole skin feel electric, his brain dizzy with heat.

His Tony sighed, looking down and then at the portal behind the smaller himself. “I- The portal closed. I’m not a magician, so, technically, I can’t bring it back, I don’t know which world he was pulled from or how exactly we ended up in this situation…”

“What does- that mean?” exclaimed Peter almost out of breath.

“That I’m stuck here with you until further notice”

The room started spinning and Peter suddenly felt very drawn to the floor. His heart was stammering so hard and his eardrums were with such an overload that he couldn’t hear his boyfriend asking him if he was okay. As he tried to have a grip on reality, he managed to ask: “What about Doctor Strange? He has to know what- how to fix this”

Silence.

“That’s a very peculiar name. You’re all superheroes, right?”

Tony rolled his eyes, then turned to himself. “I really wish I wasn’t that annoying when I was twenty, because that would mean I owe a lot of people a lot of apologies”

“T- Tony…” mumbled Peter, trying to bring the attention back to him and his really important question.

“Right, so, I called him. He’s very pissed at me, but that’s normal. He says he can’t come right now because there are some kind of time aliens trying to cross the boarder between worlds. I don’t know. Some kind of space Trump is commanding them, and well…” he paused. “He’ll be here in a week or two”

“In the meantime…” murmured little Tony, “where’s the kitchen? I haven’t eaten in a while and other me here looks like he’s rolling in cash”

Peter’s eyes darted to his boyfriend, to the other Tony, and finally to the ceiling, the words that he had pronounced resonating in his brain as he tried to understand such trivial phrase for such a stressing situation.

Those same words were the last thing he thought of before falling to the hard ground.

Out cold.

[captainkippen]

I don't know where I'm going with this, it's just a piece of free writing because I felt inspired. Might keep going and turn it into a short story or something.

TW: Implied abuse.

1994.

The door clatters open like a twister is blowing through and I jerk up with such violence I almost slide right off my seat. There are a few bleary-eyed moments of confusion as my heart calms down before a takeaway cup of coffee is thrust under my nose and I'm forced to take it before it ends up decorating my shirt.

"Rise and shine, loser. You fall asleep at your desk again? You know you're gonna have permanent keyboard marks on your face if you keep doing that."

I bat Jay's hands away from my neck, saving myself from one of his terrible massages. He keeps telling me he has magic hands, but I'm pretty sure the crick in my neck only sticks more stubbornly when he tries to get rid of it. I give my shoulders a roll, sighing into the satisfaction of feeling my joints click, and swivel around to face him.

He's dressed in the same clothes he wore to mall yesterday and the heavy stench of too many cigarettes clings to him which means he probably spent the night at Ricky's - our local 24 hour diner - periodically ducking into the alley to burn through a new pack of Marlboroughs. A fresh smudge of dark purples and blues stains the skin around his eye. I hope he at least gave his brother a bruise back to match.

"What time is it?" I punctuate my question with a yawn just to make a point, but he just grins and holds up his watch.

7:15AM. Wonderful. At least he waited until he used the front door for once. My parents fret about him breaking his neck every time he leaves scuff marks on the window ledge to avoid waking them up.

"Did you actually get any sleep last night?"

"Did you?" He fires back with a raised eyebrow, shrugging off his jacket and flopping onto my bed to grab the latest issue of Rolling Stone from where he left it strewn across one of the pillows last time he crashed here. Comfortable silence falls as I admire the way his fingers bend the magazine back. There's this little crease that forms between his brows whenever he's concentrating, physical evidence of him trying to force his brain to focus on one thing at a time and not the myriad of random thoughts bouncing in there at any given time. I hide my smile in my coffee - he knows I'm not really annoyed, but I refuse to give up the illusion. It's a ageing routine, but one I never get bored of.

I count the minutes until the silence breaks. One. Two. Thr-

"So I was thinking," he says, the sighs like he's exasperated at his own inability to keep words in. It's one of the many things I like about Jay - he always speaks his mind. It makes it easier to understand him.

"Dangerous task for you."

An unimpressed middle finger greets my words before they're completely out. I hold back a snort.

"Sorry. Go on?"

We've known each other since we were seven. Across the street neighbours. He was the first person I met when I moved in with my foster parents. In a street full of unfamiliar tree and looming white houses he sat there on the curb pretending to fish with a stick and a piece of string. He'd called over as I got out of the car, asked if I liked trout. I didn't even know what trout was. That was okay. It was gross anyway, apparently.

I don't remember ever making friends so easily, like we just fell together and that was it. No fuss. Ten years on and the surprise hasn't waned.

"You guys want breakfast?" My mom pokes her head around the door with a tired smile, interrupting whatever train of thought Jay was hopping on.

I shake my head and lift my coffee, ignoring the disapproving look she gives me. Coffee is not food nor is it particularly good for you, but it's also not worth a battle over nutrition before eight o'clock.

"All good here, Mrs H." Jay smiles, all teeth and charm and twinkling eyes, then pats his stomach as if to confirm it. It's a smile that's impossible to disagree with when it's directed right at you.

"You sure? Alrighty then," Mom says, doubt creeping into her tone despite her fond look. She was forever trying to feed Jay, convinced he was too skinny. Worried he wasn't getting enough to eat. I can't say I blame her - some days Jay looks like he's auditioning to play Mike Teevee right after he got put through Willy Wonka's stretching machine, but it's all an illusion. I've watched him consume an entire box of donuts in one sitting more than once. His stomach might as well be a trash compactor for all the junk he eats. Plus he always has snacks tucked into the glove compartment of his car in case of emergencies, right alongside a sock full of laundromat destined quarters, a spare toothbrush and his shaving kit.

"Sawyer, honey, can you please clean up a bit in here? It looks like a bomb hit it. Guests don't want to sit in this."

"Half of this is his mess!" I splutter as my mom smiles and disappears back down the hall. "He's not even a real guest!"

Jay only laughs and ducks out of the way when I throw a balled up sock at his head. Asshole.

"So as I was saying..."

"As you were saying," I roll my eyes, gesturing for him to continue.

"I think we should do something."

"What, like go to the movies?" There's nothing good out at the moment, I'm pretty sure. We spent all last weekend debating whether or not to go see the latest Keanu Reeves movie only to spend all our cash on popcorn and get kicked out halfway through because Jay's running commentary made me laugh so hard I choked.

"No man, like... something interesting."

"...bowling?"

He shoots me an unimpressed look and I raise my hands in surrender. What else could he possibly have in mind? Our town only has three things to do; movies, bowling or the mall. We've been cycling through each option all summer. It's the same thing every year and it does get old after a while, but it beats sweating to death outside and spending all day playing video games sets my dad off on the perils of computer addiction. If I ever have to hear another lecture about technology rotting my brain it'll be too soon.

"For a writer you sure are lacking imagination."

"Well what do you suggest, then?" I huff.

There's a gleam in his eye and the warning lights start flashing in my brain just a beat too late. I know that look, it's the kind that got me put in detention three weeks in a row last semester for filling Roy Jackson's football helmet with food dye after he called spread a false rumour that Mary Harring blew him in his backseat. In my defence, it was all Jay. In his defence, I didn't stop him. Principle Ikener's never looked so disappointed. Roy Jackson's face was pink for a week. Scraping gum off the bleachers has never been so satisfying.

"Okay, hear me out first, alright," he says as I groan. We both know I'm already doomed to agree, but we play the part like he has to convince me anyway. Like I said, an ageing routine.

There's a pause in which I repress a sigh and let him dramatically drum roll his fists through the air and then he says, "Europe."

The word is emphasised with jazz hands and I can only stare at him for a moment, my brain trying to compute it. Did I mishear? Did he get part way through a sentence then forget the rest? He stares at me expectantly and it's all I can do to repeat the word slowly after him. His resulting nod is reminiscent of my aunt's excitable golden retriever.

"What about Europe...?"

"We should go."

"What?"

"To Europe," he insists. "We should go."

"You want us to go to Europe."

He looks at me like I'm being deliberately stupid. "That's what I said."

"But... why?"

Summers at home are dull. Three long months of sweltering heat and so many snow cones we make ourselves sick, and weeks on end of trying to think of new things to do, but it has never been so bad that we've resorted to leaving the country before. I'm confused.

"You're always talking about how much you want to travel! And we've got time. two and a half months before school. Think about it, we could be spending that time on the beaches in Spain, or looking at fancy architecture in Italy! I can drag you 'round some museums, you can force me on a tour of places famous English writers lived and we can get sick of each other in style."

Morning light spills through the window and highlights the dustmotes in the air. The bruises on his face seem darker with his face haloed in gold. I get another whiff of cigarettes and realise the smell is staler than usual.

"I don't know," I say. "My parents-"

I get a set of pursed lips in response. His expression is strained.

"Your dad is always saying we should broaden our horizons. He'll be thrilled. Besides, think of all the cute European girls we'll meet."

"How would we even afford it?"

It's a deflection. For a pair of teenage boys, we're both pretty good with money. Weekend jobs at Blockbuster and Baskin Robbins. I still have money saved from my Bar Mitvah, mostly because I've never really wanted anything enough to really splash out. My clunky computer works just fine and I'm content with books and notepads. Jay saves like his life depends on it, and maybe it does. Money for gas and food for the infinite hours spent avoiding his own home. Money for college. Money for escaping.

He stares me down.

One, two, three days since he left the Rolling Stone on my pillow only to pick it back up this morning. I'd noted his lengthy absence yesterday, but I'd just assumed he'd gone fishing. I should have known something was off.

"Please?" There's a desperate edge to his tone that rugs at my heartstrings and it's all I can do not to demand he tell me why he's suddenly so keen on visiting Europe when he's never expressed any such desire before. Instead I just sigh.

"Okay, but you get to convince my mom."

[thehobbycollector]

The Seer & The Wolf - Ch. 3

             Emrys found her a room, practically a replica of the one she had stayed in at the temple in Varesh, and Kestra fell into the routine of the fortress. She trained with the sentries in the mornings before breakfast, and ended up teaching them some new techniques. As much as she hated war, she was good at it, and every time she had arrived in a new kingdom she had joined the military. It was an easy way to gain food and shelter. As a result her training was varied and she could employ several different styles with ease. She was rather surprised to find that she liked teaching others how to fight, offering encouragement and showing off, just a bit. Malakai kept her on the second shift of the watch for a month, sending her out on patrol with other sentries until she knew the area surrounding the fortress. When he learned she could shift, and that her other form was a wolf, he switched her to third shift, night patrol.

             She learned, through her own observation and from Emrys and Evalin, that most of the residents of Mistward had been there for years. All demi-Fae. Some of them had come for training, to see if they would ever qualify as eligible to live in Doranelle per Maeves’ requirements; most of them just came looking for a home where they’d be accepted, instead of feared or seen as less than. Kestra didn’t really have anything to offer Evalins project of equality for the demi-Fae, but she listened whenever Evalin spoke about it. Letting her bounce ideas off of her, offering up tidbits of information she remembered from other kingdoms.

             Every night, after dinner but before her watch started, she and Evalin would find seats together in the kitchen to listen as Emrys spun tale after tale. Kestra had never met a Story Keeper before and she found herself impressed with his ability to remember so many stories. Some of them were familiar to her, having read them in Narenes library or heard them from Narene herself. A few of the scarier ones had been told to her in secret by her adopted brothers, intended to frighten her enough to keep her from following them around. It had never worked.

             Three months after Kestra had arrived, she and Evalin were sitting in the kitchen waiting for the stories to start, when one of the younger Fae males requested an old story about a Seer. Kestra stilled as Emrys began. She knew this story. It had been one of her favorites as a child, even though it was bone chilling. She adjusted her seat, leaning as far back into the few shadows as she could, trying to shrink into herself. Emrys was describing the Seer, Kylara, in detail: fair skin that would darken to honey in the sun, grey eyes that could shimmer like silver when she laughed… Emrys glanced right at Kestra and smoothly moved on with the story.

             Kestra kept staring at him as she slowly, so slowy, made herself relax. Story Keepers didn’t forget anything, yet, he had left out the description of Kylara’s hair. A description which would have damned Kestra, for that ancient Seer’s hair had been a riot of purple and violet hues interspersed with honey blonde. Just like Kestras. In the years since she had left Doranelle she had kept her hair dyed a dark brown, stealing dye bricks whenever she was out of money. But Mistward wasn’t near any markets, and she knew her roots had been growing back in. She had hoped no one had noticed, and had started wearing a scarf around her head. But clearly, Emrys at least knew who she was. She needed to get out of here.

             She flinched when a hand brushed hers, but it was only Evalin, gesturing up the stairs. Kestra nodded and followed her out of the kitchen.

 ***

             Evalin went straight to her own room, larger than Kestra’s, and outfitted with an ancient four-poster bed, two nightstands, a worktable, a dresser, and an attached bathing chamber. She shut the door behind them, and listened at it for a moment before turning to Kestra. The princess stepped closer to her, and the next moment they were surrounded by a wall of water.

             “No one can hear us,” Evalin said, by way of explanation. Kestra just gaped at her. At the water. She tentatively reached a hand out and touched a finger to the water, watching the ripples spread out. Evalin quietly added, “Mab was my grandmother.”

             Kestra looked back at the princess. Her friend, she realized. Somehow, during the last few months she’d begun to think of Evalin as a friend. She hadn’t had many. And she’d had to leave all of them behind. Every. Single. One. Kestra realized, suddenly, that she didn’t want to walk away from this one. She didn’t want to run anymore. She still didn’t want to be discovered, but… running was lonely. No one can hear us, she had said. Kestra took a breath.

             “Kylara was mine.”

             Evalin just waited, watching her. After a moment Kestra continued, “My name is Kestra Nightshade. I’m a Seer, like every female in my family. Ever.”

             “What are you hiding from?”

             “Maeve.” Evalin’s eyes widened and Kestra added quickly, “She’s not looking for me. When I was 15 I had a vision. Of what would happen, what my life would be like, if Maeve ever… collected… my power.” Kestra swallowed. “That was 65 years ago, and I still have nightmares about it.”

             “What happened?”

             “I fled. I – I’ve been running ever since.” Kestra sighed. “It’s… exhausting.”

             Evalin watched her for a moment, then glanced through the water wall to the worktable. There were papers and letters and pens scattered across it. When she met Kestra’s gaze again there was something like determination in her eyes. “I have a proposition for you.”

             “What?” Kestra asked warily.

             “There is a delegation arriving in Verese next month, from Terrasen. In Erilea. My father wants me home to greet them. If you come with me, I’ll convince them to take you with them when they go home.”

             “What?”

             “Terrasen is far away from Maeve. And you wouldn’t have to stay in that kingdom. You could go all the way to Antica in the Southern Continent, if you want. We’ll tell the sentries here, and the guards in Varese, that you came as my personal escort.”

             “What?”

             “Is that all you’re going to say?” Evalin asked, wrily.

             “Why are you helping me?”

             Evalin shrugged, “You’re my friend.”

             “I lied to you.”

             “You had a good reason. So? Are you coming? I have to leave in three days.”

             Kestra stared at her for a moment longer, then huffed a laugh. “Of course, I’m coming. Do I look stupid?”

             Evalin’s eyes sparkled as she grinned. “I mean, you came here.” Then she let go of her magic and dropped the water on both of them.

 ***

             Kestra and Evalin stood in the courtyard at dawn three days later, waiting for the stable-hands to bring out the princess’s horse. They both had their hoods up against a light drizzle. Emrys was trying to hand them both more food, even though their packs were already bursting with supplies. Kestra was blinking against the rain, trying to shake off a vision she’d been having for the last few nights. Her visions were usually clear and easy to read, but this one was just confusing. In it, a white wolf – the White Wolf – was racing a white-tailed hawk toward a wall of fire. The wolf reached the flames first, disappearing into them. And then darkness fell. That was it. Nothing else.

             Emrys and Malakai finished their goodbyes and luck-wishing and turned to go back into the fortress as the stable-boys finally brought Evalin’s horse out. She was vaguely aware of Evalin mounting behind her, but her attention had caught on motion in the trees outside the warding stones. A white-tailed hawk soared through the gate in the wards, into the courtyard and shifted, landing as a Fae warrior male. Kestra felt Evalin stiffen behind her, even as Malakai turned to greet the warrior. Two memories clanged through her. One from a battlefield far away, Silver hair, green eyes, a tattoo down the left side of his face, Keina had said. And one from Emrys’s tales about Maeve’s personal warriors, Prince Rowan Whitethorn, whose animal form is a white-tailed hawk.

             She heard Evalin hiss Keina! behind her, but she was already moving. Before he’d taken three steps, Kestra was in front of him, blocking his way. “I was given a message for you, Prince.”

             He cast an annoyed glance from her face, to her hands, noting she held nothing. His green eyes met hers again, definitely annoyed. “Yes?”

             “A Vareshi Seer told me that if I should ever see you, I was to tell you not to let the wolf near the fire.” He continued looking at her, saying nothing, and she lowered her eyes to the ground submissively. Let a little bit of fear color her scent. “She did not say when it would be relevant.”

             The warrior Prince snorted and stepped past her, taking a breath through his nose as he continued toward Malakai. Kestra wasted no time moving back to where Evalin sat on her horse, waiting.

             “Are you insane?” she hissed. “Do you know who that is?!”

             “Go,” Kestra breathed. Evalin immediately turned her horse and walked it through the gate the Prince had just passed through, continuing up the path. She shifted into her wolf form, and glanced back over her shoulder. The Prince was watching her, his nostrils flared and his brows drawn together like he was trying to place her scent. She quickly turned away and followed Evalin. Apparently the answer to her friend’s question was, yes. Yes, she was clearly insane for having passed a vision on to one of Maeve’s personal warriors. Kestra thought she would be lucky if her stupidity merely got her killed.

[onewaigu]

Like Magic

Genre : predebut!au

Theme : mild fluff(?)

Pairing : Bang Chan X Reader (not really)

Description : all you knew was that every time you took the no. 4419 bus back home, he would always be there, cladded in all-black, sitting exactly two rows in front of you. that was, until he no longer rode the bus.

“Right on time”, you said to yourself as your eyes followed a boy, probably a few years older than you, boarding the same no. 4419 bus.

No, you weren't a creepy stalker. No, you were simply an observant person and for some apparent reason, this boy had always caught your eyes for as long as you had been taking this bus back home from school.

How could anyone not take notice of him? The boy practically stuck out like a sore thumb. He was always wearing black everything. Except for his chains.

“Bet his wardrobe looks like an empty void”, you chuckled at the thought.

He exuded a mysterious yet intriguing aura. Something that certainly pulled you in.

Like always, his stop was a stop before yours and the bus journey usually took about half an hour to get there. Any person would've taken the opportunity to steal a quick nap but, he wasn't any person.

He would usually take out his laptop or launchpad before slipping on headphones. With the noise from outside world muted, his fingers would begin to move meticulously and rhythmically to whatever beat he was making.

You for one, somehow had missed the memo since birth of being naturally talented in music. While your family played their respective instruments, the only music you had ever made naturally would be the sound of unpleasant snoring. Despite your lack of musical consciousness, you were always interested in music.

You admired how the back of his head stood still, concentrating hard to find the right pitches.

The little curls at the nape of his neck would slightly bounce whenever the bus hit a bump. Cute.

Sometimes when he seemed to be in his zone, the music he made could be heard. You were interested in his diverse taste in music genres. You wanted to know more. Who were his favourite artists? Did he upload any of the songs he made online? Was he planning on becoming an artist? So many questions but you felt that the chances of you actually having a conversation with him was little to none.

You sighed, letting your eyes close till you reached your stop.

The next day though, was a little bit different than ordinary.

No. 4419 bus was almost packed. The bus before had broken down so the passengers transferred buses. Luckily for you, you managed to catch a seat, with an empty one beside you.

You sat there in silence, taking in the view of the busy streets of Seoul through the bus window. The day was fairly cold as the year approached its end so the windows were slightly frosted.

The kid in you convinced yourself to draw little stick figures on them as a way to pass time. You were busy perfecting the stick figures' hair when you heard someone coughed beside you. You turned your head to the sound of it, only to be staring at a pair of beautiful dark brown eyes. Oh. It's him. It's the mysterious Beethoven. He was sitting next to you. Oh.

“Nice drawing you got there”, he smiled widely. At that moment, you saw them— chin dimples. He had adorable chin dimples. You swore your heart skipped a beat. You were a sucker for dimples and him having them was just perfect.

“Uh, it's n-nothing”

“It's just..water and..science?”, you mentally face-palmed at your own dumb reply. Way to go, Y/N.

“Well water scientist, my name's Chris”

There it was. He had an accent. A nice accent at that.

“Y/N”

Then came awkward silence. You weren't a social butterfly so that would explain why you were more of the observing type. However, the silence didn't last long cause Chris decided that he wanted to share some demos he made with you. He wanted an unbiased opinion on them hence you were the perfect candidate. You didn't mind at all. Truthfully, you couldn't believe that any of this was happening. Just the day before, you were wondering about his musical preferences. The next thing you knew, you were sharing an airpod with him, listening to one of his original works. How convenient.

After that day, you somehow became his unofficial critic on every single bus ride. Even though you were sometimes exhausted from school, you didn't show it in front of Chris. You didn't want to ruin the look he always had whenever he talked about his passion in music. His face would lit up like Christmas lights and you would always listen intently. Seeing him in his happy place warmed your heart. Maybe a little too much.

Days gone by and the both of you were still at it with the same routine. Only difference was, Chris seemed like he had something on his mind. It might not be something necessarily bad but you wanted to make sure he was okay. But every time you tried to poke something out of him, he would shrug it off.

“You worry too much, Y/N”, his shoulder nudged yours playfully.

You could only smile at his words. You hoped that whatever he's going through, he'd be okay eventually.

You weren't okay. You were worried. For the past few weeks, you didn't see Chris boarding the usual no. 4419 bus. The first week, you thought that maybe he was ill. The second week, you thought that maybe he felt like taking the train. The weeks after, you gave up thinking of possibilities.

You sighed.

What went wrong? The moments you spent with Chris were the best moments of your 19-year-old life, even if they were as long as a bus journey back home. Chris was talented, passionate, dorky, and endearing. He made you feel things that you weren't aware of. And now he's gone.

“Poof, like magic”, you scoffed.

Was it real or just a dream? Either way, you missed it.

[a/n]

i'm sorry if this story makes no sense > < basically Chan disappeared bcos the boys were preparing for their survival show :'(

(gif credits to yunhoed)

- i'm still not sure if i credited correctly so if i didn't, pls tell me so i can give proper credits

[kopzone]

This Is for Liverpool by Andy Robertson 

I need to start with a confession. Not many things bug me, but if there’s one thing that does, it’s the idea that my story is a football fairy tale.

I know when people say I’m some sort of Cinderella Man that it’s meant as a compliment. I appreciate that, but to be totally honest, it doesn’t feel like one, because it isn’t true.

No magic wands have been waved in my direction, I didn’t win some kind of lottery to land a spot on one of the biggest clubs in the world. The reason why I’m a Liverpool player is the same reason why I’m captain of my country: I’ve worked my bollocks off to get where I am, and by doing that, I’ve been able to make the most of whatever talent I have.

Why does this matter? In truth, it doesn’t matter to me as an individual. It probably doesn’t matter to my family, either. It only matters because there are God knows how many little Andy Robertsons out there. Kids who are struggling to convince people that their talent deserves an opportunity. Kids who just need a break to get to wherever they deserve to be.

Kids who might give up if they start believing that only a fairy tale can save them.

I’ve never wanted to be a poster boy, but if I’m going to be a poster boy for anything, it should be this ― if you don’t give up, and if you carry on believing in yourself when others are doubting you, you canmake it. You can show that you are good enough.

Now I’ve got two kids of my own, that message is more important than ever. I don’t want them to think that their dad got a lucky break. I need them to understand that whatever potential they have can only be fulfilled if they put their minds to it. Fairy tales? That’s bedtime stuff.

One of the best things about football is that there are loads of people like me. Most players get to the top because they are so driven. The Liverpool team that I’m a part of has no shortage of players like that.

Take Virgil van Dijk, for example, the best centre back in the world. How many coaches and scouts looked at him and thought he wasn’t destined for the top? He’ll tell you himself that there were plenty

.Mo Salah, one of the best finishers in the game today, was once discarded as not being good enough for a top Premier League side.

Jordan Henderson must have lost count of the times he has had his ability questioned – although never by anyone who has been fortunate enough to work with him – and here he is on the brink of captaining Liverpool in a second successive Champions League final.

I could go on and on, I really could. If these were all fairy tales, we’d have more than Hans Christian Andersen. They’re not, though. They are all examples of hard work and commitment making the difference.

The same applies to us as a team and to Liverpool as a club. We are where we are because of our work ethic and our belief that pretty much anything is possible. That’s the reason we were able to come back from 3–0 down against a great Barcelona team. We didn’t wait for fate to play its hand and hope that it would go in our favour, we forced fate to go our way and not even Lionel Messi, the best player I have ever set eyes on, could stop that.

Maybe there were those outside Liverpool who didn’t believe we would make it to the final. To be fair to them, they had more than enough reasons, especially after we had our arses kicked in the Nou Camp. There was something about that first leg, though, that gave us belief. We had seen enough to know that we could compete against Barcelona. The problem was that all of the decisive moments had gone against us, and we knew that with Anfield behind us, that momentum could be reversed.

If I was a sympathetic type, I’d probably feel sorry for opposition players coming to Anfield on European nights. What they’re up against is almost unfair. That intoxicating mix of history, passion and unshakable belief is a hell of an advantage to have, and that’s why Liverpool have beaten the odds on many occasions, and that’s why our supporters turn up convinced that the seemingly impossible is possible. They’ve seen it before, so why shouldn’t they expect it?

We knew that we had a chance when we were in the dressing room waiting to run out. We knew that the manager believed in us because he had told us. We knew that the supporters believed in us because we could hear them. My God, we could hear them. And, probably most important of all, we knew that we believed in ourselves and in each other.

That’s why when Divock scored in the seventh minute, I didn’t just believe. I knew. I knew what was coming — what Anfield was going to create. I hope that doesn’t sound disrespectful in any way, because I couldn’t have more respect for Barcelona, but on that night it wasn’t about them. It was about us. We were fired up by the fans and our hunger was on another level.

It hadn’t been easy to feel like that in the minutes after Messi had worked his magic in the first leg. At that stage, we felt flat, which was probably unavoidable. Although we were in Barcelona, Madrid couldn’t have felt further away. Then the manager came into the dressing room, bouncing and wearing his trademark massive smile.

“Boys, boys, boys!” he says, “We are not the best team in the world. Now you know that. Maybe they are! Who cares? Who cares! We can still beat the best team in the world. Let’s go again.”

It might have taken me a second, or maybe the entire flight back to Liverpool to believe him, but in hindsight that was the moment that changed everything for us. In football, everyone always talks about belief. Every team says they had it after a comeback. But that’s not the case at every club. It’s just not. The manager, he starts it all. He lights the touch paper and then Anfield does what it does.

I remember in the warmup, the place was jumping. It felt like everyone was on top of us, so God knows what it was like for the Barcelona lads. When Div scored so early, you could just see it in their eyes. The fans went insane. I couldn’t hear a thing. I just remember looking at Hendo, Milly and Virgil — those boys barely cracked a smile.

They just waved their arms at the crowd, as if to say, “We’re gonna go again.”

I suppose that night will go down in history. Anybody who loves this club will remember where they were, and who they were watching with. For me personally, what made it even more special was where I had come from to get there. I knew how hard it had been and I knew how, if I had listened to others, I wouldn’t have made it anywhere near Anfield that night — except maybe as a fan who wanted to understand what all the fuss was about.

I had grown up going to Celtic Park with Mum, Dad and my brother. We had four season tickets. My brother and I had Henrik Larsson posters everywhere. Legend. Absolute legend. I even had green wallpaper. Celtic was a part of our family. That’s just the way it was and the way it still is. I joined the youth team as a wee lad, just bombing around the pitch pretending I was at Celtic Park.

At the start, I actually played up top for a bit. Dad even paid me two quid a goal. I think I made £75 one season — unlike now, when I’d probably end up owing him money, seeing as I’m not exactly Salah in the scoring stakes. Over time, I found my way into midfield, and in my last season with Celtic I bounced between the middle and left side quite a bit. They’d brought in a new technical director that year and apparently I just wasn’t in the plans for whatever reason.

At my end-of-year interview, the coaches let me know they wouldn’t be bringing me back. I was 15. One year away from getting a pro contract. One year from being a proper Celtic player. But it was over, just like that, and it hurt like hell.

Mum hated to see us cry. Still does. But she saw me shed more than a few tears that day. I remember she grabbed me a takeout curry from my favourite place to try to cheer me up. It was midweek, too. I almost never got midweek curry. I couldn’t even eat much of that. That’s how she knew how bad I was hurting.

It was just gutting, but thankfully my family really had my back. They let me keep chasing my dream, even when it might have felt unrealistic to keep going. We decided to give it another go at Queens Park in 2010. Bit of a smaller club in Glasgow, to say the least. Life was different there. I was making six quid a night. It was a working-class type of club, and most players were coming from jobs they worked during the day. It was no different for me.

I did all sorts of jobs to scrape by. I got set up with landscaping gigs, I cleaned up after the first team, and I even worked down at Hampden Park during Scotland matches. My parents told me if I didn’t start to find my game that year, it’d probably be best to start looking at Uni options. So I just put everything I had into getting better every day. That was real work, real pressure.

People always ask me about the pressure of playing for Liverpool. And it’s there, trust me, I feel it. But there’s that pressure, and then there’s the pressure of playing for your life — knowing that if you can’t figure it out, you have to give up on everything you love. That’s the harshest pressure I’ve ever felt. And in that situation, I began to truly believe in myself — maybe for the first time in my life. I didn’t really have another choice.

Dundee United approached me a few years later, and that allowed me to train every day while making enough money that I didn’t need the side gigs. But I think in the end it was good for me to see what people deal with day to day, outside of the bubble of football. When I got the chance to play in the Premier League with Hull City in 2014, I had lived a lot of real life. My ambitions were always to be a solid SPL player. When I was landscaping and emptying the bins, I didn’t think I’d ever be playing Champions League football, especially for Liverpool.

It’s funny, actually … a few clubs called when I was in preseason with Hull in 2017, but I wasn’t really that interested. My missus was pregnant, and we were in the process of getting everything ready for our big arrival — that was our top priority, like any expectant parents.

Then I heard Liverpool wanted me.

Liverpool.

When you hear Liverpool want you, you call your agent back in about five seconds. I couldn’t sign the contract fast enough, to be honest.

I got a dose of reality pretty quickly, though. The medical took two days, and it was brutal. My diet was weird because the medical staff had to do so many tests to make sure I was fit and was going to stay fit. After I passed those tests, I had to go to Melwood to do a lactate test. I was running it with Danny Ings, and after a few laps around the pitch, I felt something going on with my stomach. I knew things were going to get bad, but what can you do? I just kept running. A few minutes later, I’m on my knees, puking my guts out on the Melwood pitch.

This hallowed ground. This place where all these legends have trained. King Kenny. Rushie. Stevie Gerrard. And here I am, some wee lad from Glasgow, spewing up in front of the Liverpool medical staff.

If first appearances count, God knows what they thought about me.

The next day, I met the manager and I heard his laugh from a mile away. He’d obviously heard about my test. I turn around and he’s walking toward me, rubbing his belly and pointing at me. The staff behind him are having a laugh, too.

Then he gave me a big hug. After that, I relaxed a bit.

The whole squad made me feel welcome that week, but honestly, it took a really long time for it to sink in that I was a Liverpool player. I wore the red shirt. I wore the club tracksuit everywhere we went. I was wearing it around the house. But I still didn’t feel like a Liverpool player.

I was in and out of the lineup for quite a few months. And the system we play is so complex, I was working so hard in training to learn it all, to understand what the manager wanted from his fullbacks. When I wouldn’t see my name on the teamsheet, my belief in myself started to dip. It did. But all my experiences in life, and the tough times I went through at Celtic and Queens Park, it taught me to be patient.

So I would just come back to training every day and try to catch the manager’s eye by working harder than everyone else. Eventually, he noticed. I think he was just waiting for me to get it — to feel like a Liverpool player and have that confidence. And when I slotted into the lineup, I was ready.

Our supporters have been incredible to me since I got here. And last year they really carried us all the way to the final whistle and beyond in Kiev. That night was hard, and I don’t think you ever really get over a match like that. You just live with it. That night, I remember the silence in our dressing room, I remember the painful flight home. And I remember hearing “You’ll Never Walk Alone” after the final whistle.

The supporters still sang their hearts out, and that sticks with you.

We got back to Melwood at four in the morning, and the manager gave us all a hug and told us how proud he was of our team. And he also told us that we’d be back. Somehow, after a very long road … after being down 0–3 to bloody Barcelona … he was right.

We are back.

It’s not lost on any of us what this opportunity means. This has been an incredible season, full of so many ups and downs and emotional moments. But for me, it’s also been a chance to take a step back and see the full picture. From being released by Celtic and sobbing over my curry, to making six quid a night grinding away in Scotland, to signing for Liverpool and putting on that red tracksuit, barely believing it.

It feels good to have another crack at this final. Nobody deserves it more than our supporters, who have backed us through the good times and the heartbreak. But like us, they will know that we are up against a top side in Spurs. Mauricio Pochettino and his players will be just as determined as we are to do something special in a final like this.

The thing that matters most is that our fate is in our hands. We know that. And if there’s one thing I can guarantee about this team, about this group of players, it’s that we will stop at nothing to try to make our supporters’ dream come true.

If that does happen, it won’t be a fairy tale.

It’ll be because we deserve it.

[carrotsofavonlea]

Anne of Hogwarts

Chapter 1: the wand chooses the wizard

[AO3]

Anne nervously tapped the top of her suitcase that sat in her lap. It was frayed and the handle was crooked but that was all that she had from the orphanage.

Only hours ago had she been told she was not in fact plain old Anne Shirley, but rather Anne Shirley the witch. She'd read stories of witches from times passed, read of the horrors they had faced. But Armando Dippet, who she had learned was headmaster of Hogwarts, a school for people just like her - kindred spirits perhaps? - had told her that she would be safe and cared for with this new family. The Cuthberts.

Armando Dippet had accompanied Anne on the train to the Cuthberts. They lived in the countryside, away from the muggle world. Immediately Anne knew there would be scope for the imagination there.

A woman of about 50 met them at the door.

“Mr Dippet.”

“Ms Cuthbert.” Armando bowed his head. He was a man of tradition, after all he was over 200 years old. Anne had wanted to ask him just how he managed to live so long but the opportunity never came up. “This is the orphan I had contacted you about.”

“Anne Shirley,” Anne curtsied, looking up at the lady. “But please, that's Anne spelled with an 'e’. It's much more romantical that way, don't you think?”

“Alright. Anne with an e. You may call me Marilla.”

“I'm sure you'll fit in well here with the Cuthberts.” Armando made way to leave. “I believe you received your Hogwarts letter?”

Anne rummaged through her suitcase, holding up the crumpled letter.

“Heavens child.” Marilla scoffed at the utter mess of Anne's suitcase. “You'll need to learn to be a lot tidier than that.”

“Oh, I will Ms Cuthbert- I mean Marilla. If it means you'll keep me here, I'll do anything.”

“I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts, Miss Shirley.” Armando disappeared right before Anne's eyes. Marilla explained it was something called apparition, which she would get the opportunity to learn in a few years.

“Can you apparate Marilla?” Anne sat at the kitchen table as Marilla made the tea.

“I don't waste my time with such ridiculous forms of transportation.”

“I'd love to fly. Just imagine being in the air! But it isn't quite the same as a bird! Oh how lovely it would be to be a bird.”

“That's enough idle chatter.” Marilla said, after Anne had asked many, many questions.

“Oh, I'm just so excited.”

Just then Marilla’s brother, Matthew, stumbled into the kitchen.

“Matthew, this is Anne.”

“Hello.” Matthew was a quiet man, only a few years younger than Marilla.

“Matthew? Oh you're just like I imagined!” Anne leapt up to meet him. He didn't know what she had meant, but hoped it was a good thing.

“I can't wait to learn everything about magic. I expect you know ever so much and can do so many wonderful things.”

“We don't possess magic.” Marilla said curtly. “Our parents did, but for some reason we were born without it.  As a result we were shunned from the magical community, but Mr Dippet has been a loyal friend all these years.”

“Oh, oh how awful!” Anne put her hand across her chest. “I had no idea.”

“There now,” Matthew gently patted her shoulder. “We've had each other. And now we have you.”

“Matthew, I believe we will be kindred spirits. I know what it is like to be alone.” Anne smiled, and wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

He hesitated for a moment before returning it.

“Off to bed with you.” Marilla waved a tea towel and Anne laughed. “We have an early day if we're to go into town and get you supplies for school. I've got a pattern for the robes but we'll have to buy a wand.”

“A wand?!” Anne shouted. “I don't know how I'll possibly be able to sleep tonight.”

“You'll try.” Marilla waved her off up the stairs.

Anne didn't sleep a wink that night, certain that when she awoke she would be back in that orphanage.

Anne was up at daybreak, dressed and ready for the day.

“Slow down, Anne. You'll choke on your food.” Marilla watched in horror as Anne practically inhaled her breakfast.

“I'm sorry Marilla. I'm just so excited.” She put down her fork.

“Well, we'll go to Diagon Alley shortly.”

Marilla cleared the table just when an owl hit against the window. Anne jumped up, terrified for the poor thing.

Marilla sighed and opened the window for the owl to hop inside.

“I've told you to be careful.” Marilla scolded the owl. It was holding a letter in its talons.

“Is he ok?” Anne rushed to the owl, gently petting its head.

“Yes. The silly thing never learns. But we've had him for years, and besides, a good owl costs far too much.” Marilla didn't look up from the letter as she spoke.

The letter was merely Armando asking how Anne's first night had gone, and a reminder of everything they needed to get for Hogwarts.

Matthew had to stay behind at the farm, so just Marilla and Anne made their way to Diagon Alley. They had to take a cart to where the nearest entrance to Diagon Alley was. Anne watched in awe as Marilla tapped a pattern on the bricks of a wall, and the wall then opened up to a secret street.

The street was alive with colour and sound. For the second time Anne had been speechless. But Marilla didn't give her much time to stare as she lightly pulled Anne by the arm and they pushed through the bustling crowds. It was busy, seemingly everyone was out today getting their equipment for Hogwarts.

The first stop was Borgin and Burke's, the bookshop. Marilla was talking to the man behind the counter, trying to find second hand versions of the textbooks. Anne allowed herself to wander around the store, her heart full at all the books she'd never even heard off. Her eyes caught a strange boy sitting by himself towards the back of the store. He was tall, but seemed around her age. His hair was a dirty blonde colour and his clothes were not the neatest. He had his head bent down as he scribbled something, but as Anne got closer she saw he was in fact sketching.

“You're really good at drawing.” She said, and the boy looked up, eyes wide. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

She crouched down next to him and he closed his sketchbook.

“I don't really let people see my drawing…”

“You should, you have a gift.”

The boy shook his head. “My parents don't think so. They told me going to Hogwarts should straighten me out, get me to focus on the real things.”

“You're going to Hogwarts too?” Anne smiled warmly and held out her hand. “I'm Anne Shirley.”

The boy looked at her hand before hesitantly shaking it. “Cole Mackenzie…”

“Perhaps we'll see each other?”

“Maybe.” Cole smiled, seeming a little more comfortable.

“Anne?” Marilla called throughout the book shop.

“I have to go.” She jumped up. “But it was a pleasure to meet you Cole. I hope we'll be good friends.”

Marilla and Anne squeezed their way through the crowds, arms full of textbooks cauldrons and any other equipment Anne needed. But there was one final stop. Ollivanders.

“The Ollivander family has been making wands for over a thousand years.” Marilla explained as they approached. “Every wizard in our family had a wand from Ollivanders. Well... except Matthew and I…”

Behind the counter was a man slightly older than Marilla, but begin him was a younger boy maybe a few years younger than Anne. He seemed to be teaching the younger boy about wand types, but looked up when Anne and Marilla entered.

“Marilla Cuthbert? And who might this be?”

“Mr Ollivander, this is the girl we've taken in. Anne Shirley. She's here to get her very own wand for Hogwarts.”

Ollivander looked intently at Anne, as if trying to study her.

“Well, Garrick.” He turned to the young boy, “What wand do you suggest?”

The boy - Garrick Ollivander - followed his father's behaviour and stared intently at Anne. She felt uncomfortable under such a gaze.

“Perhaps a cedar wand?”

Anne was promptly handed a smooth wand.

“Give it a try.”

She looked at Marilla and then waved it. But a bolt of light shot out the end and bounced off the walls causing everyone to duck.

“I'm sorry!” Anne immediately handed the wand back. “I don't know what I'm doing.”

“It's alright.” Ollivander laughed as he took the wand back. “The wand-”

“Chooses the wizard.” Garrick finished, smiling up at his father.

“Exactly. He's going to take over the shop when I'm old.” Ollivander had a proud smile on his face, before searching for another wand.

“Try...redwood. To match that hair.”

Anne scoffed at this, her hair a rather touchy subject. But she took the wand and something inside her just knew. She could almost feel the power she didn't know she possessed.

“Yes, that's it.” Ollivander smiled. “Your wand has chosen you.”

Marilla paid for the wand and they made their way back through Diagon Alley.

“We better make haste, Matthew will be wandering where we are.”

“Thank you, Marilla.” Anne said as they reached the wall they came in. “I've never had such lovely things.”

Marilla didn't know what to say, she felt her heart melting. She had been hesitant about taking in a child, but Matthew had convinced her. And getting to know this girl, Marilla knew she was destined for greatness.

She settled for “Come on, now.” but hoped Anne knew how much she was starting to like her.

[shadowphoenixrider]

Beauty

(I've had a particular idea bouncing around in my head for a while, and Valentine's Day was the perfect time for me to use it in a soppy Draggka/Khadgar fic. Enjoy!)

(Oh, and tagging those lovely people as always: @galleywinter, @sigurdjarlson, @highpriestessbriyanna, @fer8girl, @elfgirl931 )

“Draggka?”

A warm, sultry voice tickled the troll’s ear, and she glanced over to the mage that was hovering beside her, a grin spread across his lips.

“Hmm?” Was her hummed response, raising an eyebrow at him. There was mischief written all over Khadgar’s face and glittering in his eyes, and she wondered what scheme he’d cooked up.

“You mentioned to me that you’ve never had the chance to really take in the sights of Shadowmoon Valley back on the alternate Draenor.” Khadgar said, his voice dropping to a deeper register that sent a shiver up her spine. “And since you’ve already taken me to Pandaria once before, I think it’s only fair of me to return the favour. If you would like to go, that is.”

Draggka turned to look at him properly.

“I’d love to! But, won’t de Alliance be around? Or da draenei? I didn’t be getting much of a chance to relax da last time I be going dere ‘cos of all de patrols,” she said.

“Don’t worry. I have found a place away from prying eyes that is perfect.” Khadgar smiled. “And I might have set up a few wards beforehand that will...encourage anybody who stumbles upon it not to proceed.”

Draggka chuckled, shaking her head.

“So dat’s where ya been sneaking off to when we be killing da demons Gul’dan set loose. Don’t it be quite a stretch, though? To create portals dere?”

“A little, yes. I couldn’t do it on a whim. But every now and again, and a teleport for two I can certainly manage.” A soft grunt drew his attention, and the mage chuckled. “Oh, sorry Spike. I meant a teleport for three. But that doesn’t sound nearly as romantic.”

The raptor gave him a disapproving stare before snorting, looking away from the mage and standing next to his hunter.

“Ya did know dat we be coming as a pair.” She reminded the mage. “He always be around, except when don’t want to be.”

“I’m very much aware of this, yes.” He replied. “I would not even entertain the thought of separating you. I just feel that since he’s an almost constant presence in our lives, I think of him just being...a part of you. If that makes sense. And sometimes I forget to include him.” He explained, glancing to the dismissive raptor. “Sorry.”

“Dat makes sense.” Draggka nodded, stepping closer. “So, are we gonna go now, or are ya keep butterin’ up my raptor?”

Khadgar’s eyes flashed with magic, pink-white sparks gathering around his hands as he began a lazy gesture.

“I was just coming to that, you know.” He teased, Draggka sensing the distinctive thickening of the air as Khadgar twisted the energies around them to begin his teleport. “Stay close,” he said, before he started to murmur an incantation that made Draggka’s fur stand on end, especially as she watched the arcane wash his eyes with bright light, making him almost inhuman for a moment.

And then the magic flared around them, the hunter closing her eyes tight as they were pulled from one world to another.

The grass that Draggka’s calloused feet came into contact with was soft, as well the soil underneath it, the moisture in it not enough to make it soggy. The air was still, but warm, as if night was closing off a hot day, and her first breath of this new location brought with it the smell of water-full vegetation, and an undertone of flowers she didn’t recognise.

“You can open your eyes now.” Khadgar murmured softly by her ear.

When she did, the troll was greeted by the sight of a great willow tree standing before them, the long streams of thick blue green leaves hanging down low enough to touch the ground and the clear water the tree was anchored beside. As she glanced around, it became apparent that Khadgar had taken them to a low-lying area, where a tributary of a river terminated in these idle twists and turns and pools, one of which the big willow tree sat beside. There were other willows along the pools and streams, but none as big as the one Khadgar had set them beside, and she glimpsed the occasional flicker of a glow-fly as it darted under the branches of the smaller trees.

Night had fallen upon them, as she’d guessed it had, and the great expanse of the dark starry sky was only broken up by the odd puffy cloud, and the large orbs of Draenor’s moons, the Pale Lady especially. Draggka had known Shadowmoon Valley to be beautiful, but this was...spectacular.

“Do you like it?” Khadgar asked softly, his hand gently resting on the small of her back. For all his bravado earlier, he always seemed to fret that he might do something wrong and upset her.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

“I love it.” Draggka looked back to him, smiling widely, and delighted to see his blue eyes brighten. “It be...” She chuckled. “I be jealous dat de Alliance got to be setting dere base up here. I know it be da best place for dem an’ all, but...” She gestured. “It be beautiful.” She hesitated a moment, remembering the Shadowmoon Valley she’d first walked across. The thought that such a wonderful place was reduced to that... She shook her head quickly to dismiss the thought, saying: “Tank you fer bringing me here, Khadgar.”

“It is my pleasure.” He replied, his smile almost as bright as his eyes. “But I have one other thing to show you.”

Khadgar reached out, brushing aside some of the leafy strands of the willow curtain, and he gestured for her to walk in first. As she did, she almost gasped.

The tree had the width of one that had stood for many decades, its dark reddish brown bark patterned with ridges and whorls that reminded Draggka of the wooden buildings in Val’sharah, or an artist’s depiction of how water flowed. The tree towered above her, its thick branches holding the leaves that draped down around the tree and the pool of crystal clear water it stood beside, so lush that they shrouded whatever was behind it from view. Some of the shorter leafy trails that hung down inside the ‘curtain’ had what seemed like glow-worms dangling from wispy strings from them, emitting a soft white light that didn’t intrude on the atmosphere under the boughs of the tree they hung from.

The hunter stood on the small outcropping of solid ground that the willow’s leaves hung over, barely big enough for someone to rest beside the water that the willow surrounded. The pool was deep enough to comfortably wade in, the ground underwater covered with water-grass the small colour as the land grass (a verdant green that almost looked blue in this light). Small white flowers floated in the water, their rounded petals reminding the troll of roses, except for their luminescent glow and spidery roots hanging beneath the surface. At the willow’s base grew smaller flowers with wide green leaves, their orange heads dangling over the water like tiny bells, occasionally shaking as glow flies flitted between them.

So enraptured was she in this sight, Draggka barely heard the soft ‘shff’ noise of both Khadgar and Spike passing through the leaves, and thus she nearly jumped out of her skin as the mage laid a hand on the small of her back. He said nothing this time, but the question from before was clear in his eyes. As if he even needs to ask.

“I...I be havin’ a hard time convincing myself dat dis be real,” she said, reaching up to touch his neck, feeling warmth, and the gentle throb of his pulse under his pale skin. “But it is. It just be...so beautiful, and...perfect.”

“You know, that’s exactly what I thought when I found this place.” Khadgar said, his arm looping around her waist. “I’d come to this Shadowmoon after a particularly gruelling Council meeting to cool off. In my wanderings, I found this place, and...” He smiled at her, the smile achingly sweet and his eyes warm with affection. “I knew I had to show you. To spirit you away so we could be together for a moment. Just us.”

Draggka smiled back at him, and they shared a kiss; soft, gentle, with the sensation that the world had just pivoted to settle perfectly into place. They lingered for a couple of moments, the troll all but basking in her mate’s embrace, reaffirming to herself just how lucky she was to have him. Chaos might be raging back home, but Khadgar was her anchor, her soft place to land. And she was more than certain he felt the exact same way about her.

“Hmm.” The mage hummed then, tugging at his collar. “It’s warmer than I expected it to be. It must have been a very hot day before we got here.”

“I thought so too.” Draggka nodded, watching Spike move away from them to take a drink from the pool. “It be da first, or an odd day, ‘cos dese waters still seem pretty high. And da plants seem fine too.”

“Yes. I did check the day before, and it didn’t seem nearly as toasty then.” Khadgar gave her a lopsided smile. “I suppose even another world has its odd quirks in its weather.” His eyes suddenly brightened. “You know, I’ve always been curious about what Draenor was like before the Legion arrived, and although this Draenor is not our Draenor, it seems to be similar enough to make extrapolations, especially with firsthand accounts from the orcs and draenei on Azeroth...”

Draggka chuckled as her lover lurched off down his train of thought, keeping one ear listening to him as she began to fiddle with the laces of her leathers. Even though she wasn’t equipped for combat, the hunter preferred protective clothing over casual affairs (including a work knife), mainly because she was used to being in the wilds, where the creatures really didn’t care if you were clocked out for the day. She was also finding the heat just a little uncomfortable, and with such a large body of water nearby, it almost seemed rude not to take advantage of it.

“...I must admit to being somewhat put off by Draenor, having to survive on Outland for as long as I did,” Khadgar continued, “but since you showed me your work on the archaeology of the orcs of both Outland and this Draenor, the thoughts have always been at the back of my mind, and...and...” He trailed off, the troll having to resist a laugh, knowing that he was just staring at her now. “W...What are you doing?”

“What it look like to you, Khadgar?” Draggka flashed him a grin over her shoulders, shedding her tunic with a quiet sigh of relief. “It be hot, an’ we got dis big patch of water. All to ourselves. An’ your wards to be stopping anyone from looking at us.” Her grin widened. “Ya wanna join me?”

The archmage blushed one of the brightest reds she’d ever seen, the colour creeping around to his ears.

“O-Oh well, I, uh, you see...” He swallowed, clearing his throat. “I don’t...well, I...” He glanced away, and seemed to shrink in front of her. “E-Even if...I know that my wards, a-and Spike will stop a-anyone from seeing us, I just...just...” He touched his stomach, and Draggka understood immediately.

“Are ya sure?” She asked. “Ya know how I feel about you. Dere be nothing wrong wit ya. You or ya body.” She searched his face as he glanced up at her, his eyes sad and anxious and ashamed. Her ears drooped slightly. “But if ya feel better about stayin’ on da shore watchin’ me, den stay dere.” She slid a hand onto one of his, squeezing it.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, and the hunter’s heart cringed painfully.

“Dere be no need to be apologising.” She said, kissing him. “If ya don’t feel it, ya don’t feel it. No more. No less.” She frowned. “I just be worried dat ya be too hot in ya get-up, dat’s all.”

Khadgar tugged at his collar again.

“I...I will be fine,” he said, very unconvincingly. Draggka briefly debated whether she should try to persuade him, but she remembered that her mate’s stubbornness rivalled her own, and it was probably better to leave the issue be for the moment.

Once stripped fully, the troll tested the water with her foot. It was pleasantly cool, and she gently trudged down the bank, grimacing a little as the water hit her abdomen; it was only a minor unpleasantness, however, and quickly subsided. The water came comfortably up to her waist, and Draggka waded out, sighing softly.

“Ya be missing out, Khadgar,” she said, looking back over to where the mage stood on the bank, looking like he didn’t know quite what to do with himself. “Da water’s cool.”

“I-I’m alright.” Came his stuttering response. “You, um, cool yourself off. I’ll stay here and, um...watch.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at his words (and the fact his blush had increased too), yet the troll still felt...it didn’t feel right, her out in the cool water and him uncomfortably sat in his robes watching her bathe. Not that she minded him watching, but the imbalance bothered her. He’d brought her here clearly so they could enjoy themselves, but he wasn’t, and that wasn’t fair.

Draggka looked back to Khadgar, trying to think of a solution to this problem, when she spotted Spike beginning to jog towards the mage, who was now looking away, in a world of his own. The raptor’s posture changed as she watched, lowering his body ever so slightly as he always did before he charged- no, he’s not going to- He is!

“Spike!” She cried as she realized exactly what her companion was up to as the raptor put on a burst of speed, his eyes fixed on the unsuspecting archmage. Her shout made Khadgar snap his head around to see Spike barrelling towards him, but by then it was too late, and the raptor body-slammed him with considerable force. Khadgar yelped, flailing desperately for a handhold or maybe even a spell that could save him, but unfortunately gravity had its way and he crashed into water with an almighty splash.

“Khadgar!” The troll dived forward, knowing that swimming was much faster than running, even in this shallow water, trying not to panic. Thankfully, Khadgar surfaced with a gasp, and he quickly scrabbled onto dry land with her aid, coughing loudly as he did. “Are you alright?”

“F...Fine...!” The mage nodded, before glaring at the raptor watching them with a mischievous look in its blue eyes. “Love, do I have your permission to Polymorph him?”

The troll scowled.

“Please do,” she said.

Spike made a noise that sounded much like the raptor equivalent of a nervous laugh, and he sprinted away and out of the willow leaves, though a sudden undignified bleat revealed that he had not escaped Khadgar’s revenge.

“Urgh.” The thoroughly sodden mage grunted, brushing his soaking silver hair out of his face. “I should have seen that coming.”

“He shouldn’t be doing dat anyway.” Draggka said, looking over her mate with concern, her ears drooping. “I’m sorry, Khadgar.”

“It’s alright.” A wry half-smile twisted his lips. “We both know what he can be like.” He sighed, looking at the water dripping off the hem of his robes. “I suppose I’ll have to come out of these robes now anyway, if I want them to dry in a timely manner.”

“Yeah, unless you be havin’ a spell to dry ya out quick?” She asked.

“There is one.” Khadgar replied, grimacing as he began to shuck out of his waterlogged clothing. “But it only works with lightly damp clothing. Like after a rainfall. Not after you’ve been dumped unceremoniously into a pond by your lover’s mischievous raptor.”

Draggka managed a small smile, relieved some of Khadgar’s good humour remained. 

“I still be sorry ‘bout dis,” she said, stepping back into the water behind her.

“It’s fine, Draggka. It’s fine.” The troll was not completely convinced by his words, but said nothing further. She decided to look away from Khadgar as he stripped off, hoping that doing so would make him feel less awkward about it all. She knew as well as he did that Spike probably did it entirely for this reason, yet Khadgar’s unease still remained about it, and she would do everything in her power to soothe it. Even if she didn’t know what exactly to do.

An anxious intake and exhale of breath made the troll look back to Khadgar, now completely naked and clearly self-conscious about it. He glanced around nervously, scratching at the back of his neck in an attempt to comfort himself.

“Dere be nobody here but us, love.” Draggka spoke softly. “No one be knowing dat we be here. And ya wards be stopping anyone from investigatin’. It be just us.”

He said nothing, but nodded, tentatively dipping his foot into the water and slowly, carefully making his way deeper in, grimacing when the cool liquid met the warmer regions of his body. He stopped when he too was waist-deep in the pool, his eyes finally flicking up to meet hers.

Uncertainty was written all over him, and the archmage seemed almost embarrassed in his own skin. Draggka knew that the ageing curse was the main cause of it all, that it had caused Khadgar to put to rest the notion that anyone would want to be involved with a man old before his time, romantically or otherwise. Although the fear had numbed with her over time, there were times it reared its head, like now.

“Ya feel a bit better outta dose robes now?” She asked casually.

“Y, Yes, actually.” Khadgar admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It, it was getting a bit stuffy in them. And it’s not...not as cold as I’d thought it’d be.” His other hand traced a finger through the water listlessly, sending ripples undulating across the surface.

Draggka waded forwards, taking his hand and clasping it between hers.

“Ya know how I be feeling about ya, don’t you? Dat ya be da most handsome human I ever known?”

“I...I’m aware, I just...” Khadgar sighed, long and drawn out. “I find it hard to believe that when I look at you. Look at you, Draggka. You are essentially a perfect body of a hunter. Almost like a panther; sleek, all muscle and agile power. Your scars speak of your past and how strong you have been to withstand them. I’m sure many in the Horde would be honoured to have you as their mate, and I dare say some in the Alliance would admit your beauty as well.“

“Next to you...I’m a disappointment. Look at me. My body is aged beyond my time, this is just...just strudel here...” He pinched a roll of belly fat in demonstration. “I have some scars, but mostly due to my own foolishness and I...” The mage looked back up to her mournfully. “How do you...Why do you want me?”

Draggka’s heart almost broke at his words, and she wished bitterly that she could pull this fear from him and hurl it into the Twisting Nether so it could never trouble him ever again. She also wished that she was much better at Common, so she could properly express how she felt about him.

Then again, she was part of the Horde, and the Horde never backed down from a challenge.

“I want ya because ya be handsome an’ gorgeous.” Draggka said, simply. “But if ya wantin’ de longer answer to dat...” She stepped forward. “None of dis I be findin’ ugly. Sure, dat curse be makin’ ya look old, but to me, ya look fine. It be...Dese wrinkles, dey remind me of da trees. None of da tall trees, da ones dat have been standing fer years have no smooth trunks. Dey be rough, wit grooves an’ marks.”

She smiled up at him. “Dey be standing against da wind an’ storms an’ drought an’ fire to be growing tall and strong. You been standing tall ‘gainst all da tings da world be throwin’ at ya. And ya still be here. Wit ya smile, an ya bad jokes. Ya be da promise of sunrise in da middle of a nightmare.”

She reached out, tracing her fingers over his stomach, following the trail of silver hair down. “Dis be no shame to me. So I be muscle an’ bone - dat don’t mean dat dis be bad or anyting to be ashamed of. It never be affectin’ ya when ya be casting. And if de Pandaren be gettin’ along fine wit it, I don’t be seeing why you shouldn’t either. “

A thoughtful frown. “If I be reminding ya of a panther, you be reminding me of a kodo, or a thunder lizard. Dey be large beasts, and dey not be as sleek as a panther or a raptor be, but dey be every bit as powerful, an’ every bit as beautiful as dey are. Kodo be beasts of endurance. Dey can be trekking for many miles across da land witout rest an’ little water. An’ ya be a fool to be doubting dem in battle. Dey might not be fast, but dey can destroy anyting dat threatens dem, or da people dey care about. And dat be before thunder lizards zap ya.”

“People always be admiring da devilsaurs an’ de raptors when dey tink of da beasts of da wild. And it be true dat I do too. But, I be admiring da kodo too. Dey be strong, constant, loyal. Jus’ like you. Ya be...ya be wonderful. Handsome. Beautiful. Incredible...” Draggka’s eyes brightened as she found the word she was looking for. “Magnificent. Dat’s it. Da first time I saw ya like dis, dat be da first ting dat I thought. An’ I tink dat every time I be seeing ya in da middle of one of ya big casts, wit ya eyes on fire and da air buzzin’ like a storm.”

“Ya be incredible. And ya be putting every other to shame.” She smiled widely. “Dat’s why I want ya, mon.”

If Khadgar had been expecting such a speech, he certainly didn’t look that way. The mage looked like he’d just witnessed the birth of Azeroth, with his eyes wide with shocked surprise, and his jaw slack. It seemed only luck was keeping it from floating on the water’s surface. It took a few moments for him to regain the power of speech, blinking owlishly as he remembered how sentences worked.

“You...You...” He glanced away a moment, as if having to remind himself where he was. “Well. That...That’s more...that’s more than I could have ever have expected. More than I ever...than I ever imagined.” He swallowed hard. “I...You...” Another swallow, his voice beginning to shudder with emotion. “Light, Draggka. I don’t know what I ever...ever did to deserve you. You are...a blessing, a blessing I could have never dreamed I could have ever earned. T-To hear, that, that you think so much of, of me.”

“It be mutual, Ba’la.” Draggka murmured. “I be honoured dat someone like you be lovin’ me. I never be tinking dat anyone like ya be even lookin’ twice at me. But...here ya are. I be so lucky.”

“And so am I, to have found you.” Khadgar stepped forward, taking her hands in his. “I never could have thought, when I first saw you talking to Go’el, that I was seeing the woman who would be my mate.” He squeezed her hands. “I love you, Draggka.”

“And I love ya too, Khadgar.” She smiled, so wide it nearly stretched from ear to ear.

“Come here.” He whispered, pulling her close, arms curling around her.

Khadgar pulled her into a kiss, gentle and soft and utterly loving, pouring every drop of his affection and joy at being with her into it. Draggka responded in kind, wrapping her own arms around his large body, her fingers bumping over old, pale scars and folds of skin and meeting his love with hers. In this secret place, away from prying eyes, under the stars and standing in a crystal pool of water, man and troll renewed their bond, stealing away from their world’s uncertainties to find a place where love was where they were.

From the bank, unseen by the two, sat a now-recovered Spike, looking on. And if raptors could smile, he certainly would be.

[chalcid]

2: The Birth Of A Friendship (Disappear)

Monday morning, I hauled myself out of bed early in the morning and packed up for school. Mom and Tilly were still asleep, heck, even the babies were silent, but Dad, unfortunately, was up.

He stepped in front of the refrigerator.

"Aren't you going to say good morning to your father," he asked.

I screeched incoherently at him in reply. Morning-me is not articulate.

He shook his head in disapproval but allowed me to retrieve my leftover burger and fries from the fridge.

I bounced on my heels as my food heated in the microwave as my dad, no doubt, was trying to summon every bit of 'How to make polite conversation with your teenager' he half-heartedly learned at some point.

"So... I heard you had a bit of trouble on your dive," he said awkwardly.

I didn't look away from my leftovers.

"You know, it's always good to be at your full magical capacity before you enter a dangerous situation."

I snorted. The microwave beeped, and I retrieved my food.

"Good chat, Merika," he told me "Have a good day at school."

I glanced at him, mouth full of burger. He grimaced.

Tilly opened the door to her bedroom, fuzzy pink bathrobe trailing behind her like a cape. "Have a good day at work, sweetie," she told my dad, kissing him on the cheek.

"Thank you," he told her, sighing like he was a man that actually did something tiring.

...

"Hey, good morning," Trite said brightly.

Poseikion scooted over to make a space for me on the bench.

I plopped down on the bench and swung my bag onto my lap "Remember the Unit 3 Test half-a-vase?"

"Not strongly," Poseikion responded.

"I think I found the other half yesterday," I informed him "The color doesn't exactly match, but it's about the right shape and a similar pattern."

"How exciting," Trite said absently "Where's Pacifinos?"

"Probably having trouble finding a shirt that matches the cute skirt she got this weekend," Poseikion sighed "She's going to miss the bus. I'll go talk to her."

"Tell her to go with something black or white," I suggested.

"I will," Poseikion replied, with a dramatic flourish of his coat as he slipped back inside the house.

"So," Trite said awkwardly.

"What?" I replied.

"After school, do you want to head down to the beach and throw chips at the seagulls," Trite asked.

"When have I not wanted to throw chips at seagulls?" I cackled. "Maybe we can train them to be our spies. Or adopt one and keep it as a pet."

"Love your line of thinking, but there's no way my parents would go for that," Trite beamed.

"Ugh, parents," I sighed dramatically "They're the worst."

"I thought your parents kind of just let you do whatever you wanted?" Trite asked.

"They do," I said, too quickly. Trite did not look convinced. "I mean, they still do. But Tilly just moved in and with the divorces and my new half and step-siblings...it feels weird. I dunno, the family used to be a small part of my life but now it's trying to take up more space."

"Well, you can't expect too much from your loser parents," Trite sighed.

"Of course," I agreed.

Poseikion and Pacifinos hopped out the door. I could hear the bus pulling up.

"Wow, love the skirt, where'd you find it?" I said brightly.

Pacifinos twirled "The community garage sale. They've got some good stuff there if you know where to look."

"Neat, very neat," I said, just as the bus pulled up.

Pacifinos and Trite began to tell some story, but I was still thinking about my family. And then, unprompted, my brain decided to remind me that "The demons are calling the sharks to their capital in the west"

I shuddered.

Avoiding home was always a good plan, but avoiding the western bays might be an even better one. ...

It was difficult to get through my morning with so much on my mind, but the math problems, as ridiculous and pointless as they may be, helped distract me.

That didn't mean I didn't eagerly await lunch.

At long last, the bell rang, and I dashed down the halls to the smelly cafeteria. Edonia was already there, absently picking at her sandwich as she stared at her book, brow furrowed.

"Reading anything good?" I asked her.

She looked up from her book "Oh, just another romanticized 'founding of Ilcodeux' stories," she told me "Only this author is apparently convinced that Madeline Haddock and Lord Elias were in love. I mean, it's pretty obvious looking at records from the time that she and Daphne were basically married."

"Ugh, that's the worst," I said supportively. The triplets sat down next to us. "Hey, you know a lot about magic, right? Would it be possible for demons to call a bunch of sharks? Like, magically?"

"Mm... maybe," Edonia said, pulling another book out of her backpack "You could check with an actual demon, though. Don't you have art class this afternoon with Deyanira?"

"Yeah, but like?" I said "I don't know her? And the magic capabilities of demons is a weird topic for a first conversation. So could I maybe have some recommended reading instead-"

"Hey!"

I turned around, momentarily terrified, before realizing it was Casey. "Oh hey," I turned to my friends and smiled. "This is the girl who pulled me out of the ocean yesterday."

Casey cringed "Um... I'm actually... not a girl," she said "She/her non-binary. I'm not really out to my family, so..."

"Oh, of course," I said "My apologies. This is Casey, the person who pulled me out of the ocean yesterday."

Pacifinos grinned "I love your hair," she told Casey.

"Oh, thank you," she said "My cousin cut it."

Awkward silence.

"Oh, shoot, if you want your flannel back, I don't have it with me," I informed her "But I could run by your place this evening and drop it off. I washed it. Is that okay?"

"Oh, that's so nice of you," Casey said. "I actually came over here to ask... well, uh.. this is going to sound kind of awkward, but I didn't catch your name?"

"Merika," I said dramatically "Merika Saltwaters."

Casey's face lit up "Like Prince Edociel Saltwaters?"

"He's my great great great grandad," I said. "I get asked that a lot. Anyways, do you want me to drop off your sweater later today? Is there a good time for you?"

"Sometime around five should be good," Casey told me "My house is 207 Ghost River. As the name suggests, there are ghosts, and they do come out at night."

"Are they friendly?" I blurted.

"Yes," Casey replied "They'll probably tell you all about the history of Ghost River if you asked."

"Hm. I'll have to add that of my list of things to do," I said. "Well, it was lovely talking to you, Casey."

"You too," she grinned at me. She had a lot of teeth.

She skipped off and I returned to my sandwich.

"You made a friend," Trite commented.

"I did," I said "Well, I think she's my friend. A fellow lover of topics adults find morbid, at the very least."

"Does she want to be a mortician or something," Poseikion said, scrunching his nose.

"No," I replied, "An explorer."

"What is there to explore," Trite asked.

"The Beyond," A couple of us whispered.

"Ah," Trite said "My mistake."

The bell rang. I stuffed the rest of my sandwich in my mouth and swung my bag over my shoulder "Bye guys," I said incoherently.

"See you in art class," Pacifinos said quietly.

...

I knocked on the door to 207 Ghost River. Ghosts in old-fashioned clothing danced to fiddle music. Down the river, little children were playing with an alligator. That didn't seem safe but who am I to judge?

Distant thumping from inside the house as someone raced down the stairs. Casey threw the door open, winded.

"Here's your flannel, washed and dried as promised," I presented the flannel to Casey.

"Oh, thank you," she said. "Wait, did you mend that rip?"

"My step-mom probably did that. Is that a problem?"

"Oh, no, I was just surprised," Casey said, pulling the flannel on.

"I'll thank her for you," I said politely.

"Would you like some pie," Casey blurted.

"Sure," I said.

Casey gestured for me to enter the house.

"Shoes on or off?" I asked politely.

"On is fine," Casey said absently. Three adorable little floofy dogs ran up to us and began to pant with delight. Casey tossed them some dog treats.

"Who's a good doggy," I whispered "It's you. All of you are top-notch doggos."

Casey led the way to the kitchen.

"Casey," her mom yelled, "No pie before dinner."

"It's not for me," she defended "I figured Merika would like a slice."

"Merika?" her dad asked.

"She means Decimus's kid," Casey's mom answered.

"Oh, her," he replied.

Casey handed me the plate. "What do you think?"

"It's excellent," I said. "Peach?"

"Yes," Casey's mom replied.

"Yum. Thank you."

"It's no problem, sweetheart," Casey's mom said. "I make too many deserts for the seven of us anyway. Casey, why don't you show your friend your work?"

"She'd probably think it's boring," Casey mumbled.

"Depends on what it's on," I said truthfully.

"Well, okay," Casey said. "Upstairs."

I followed her upstairs, the trio of floofballs following us. A fourth one greeted us at the top of the stairs. It was smaller than the others, and light grey.

"Good dogs, all of you," I whispered.

"I'm trying to build a boat," Casey informed me.

"Very cool," I remarked. She opened the door to her room.

There were two beds, so presumably, she only occupied half the room. One wall was plastered with boat designs, mathematical calculations, fish sketches, and to-do lists.

"Oh, wow," I said, "You have been through a lot of designs, haven't you?"

"Yep," Casey said dejectedly "Nothing works. I actually got to the point of building a full-sized model last month but it sank."

"Wow," I said "You know, you can check out old boat blueprints from the library. I've got a whole list of books about boats that might help."

"Oh," Casey said, "Um, thanks."

I admired her boat drawings for a moment longer. If that sketch was pulled off the page and onto the water, there's no chance it would float, but it was made with such love.

"Well, thanks for the pie and the boat discussion, but I should head back," I said politely "See you around?"

"Yeah," Casey agreed.

We really had no idea.

[fieryfafarfanfics]

Soothing Light

 When Berkut was notified by the maids that Rinea wanted to see him, he honestly didn’t expect to see her holding a staff.  “I…” Bafflement still forced his words down. Deep brown eyes blinked at the staff in her hands, then at the smiling lady, then back at the foreign object. “What is this, my love?”  The staff firm and close to her beating chest, she took a deep breath. “I…” You can do this, Rinea, she convinced herself endlessly. You’re doing this for Lord Berkut, after all. “I want to… I want to try something, my lord.” Enticingly azure eyes never torn from his shocked gaze, the noble only held back a squeak that tickled her suddenly dry throat.

 He didn’t reply immediately despite the many questions in his head. Again he looked at the staff, mind kicking gears at the reminders of what the steel post could do. “Are you…?” Mouth parted slightly, he threw his gaze back at his beloved. “Did you…learn magic?”  Well, it wasn’t much of a surprise to begin with, anyways.  Slowly she nodded. Pretty pink lips pursed tightly, she held another breath. “You see…” I can do this! “I know you have been busy, and that you’re doing your best for your people.” Bit by bit her confidence built up. “It has been a gruelling year for you, but you’ve kept your head held high with the strength and confidence you’ve shown.”  To hear such compliments out of the blue, as much as it didn’t affect Berkut since he knew damn well he was all that, having it said from her caused his heart to flutter madly inside his chest.  Still, his calm façade was one of an expert, so he merely raised a single eyebrow.  “However,” she continued, voice as soothing and angelic as a goddess, “I know you’ve been holding so…so much from the battles over the years.” Delicate fingers tightened around the staff. The rapid beat of her heart ached at the possibilities of a war. “You may be able to hide your wounds from the emperor and soldiers, and even to the many healers in the castle.”  Breathing kept tight inside her lungs, Rinea finally drew her attention towards him.  “But I want—I wish that you wouldn’t hide your wounds from me, my dear.”  To hear such a request, to hear such clear resolute ringing along with the charming tone of her voice, Berkut actually felt breathless on the spot.  She saw him.  She saw right through him no matter how badly he hid it.  She saw him.  Her smile slowly tickled the corners of her mouth. “Let me heal you, Berkut.”  And for that – with eyes feeling faintly warm at the thought – he was beyond, eternally, wordlessly grateful.  Unaware of the tornado of emotions she had caused him, Rinea took the silent moment as her chance to take a few steps backwards. “Now, if you trust me, I want you to sit on the bed and let me tend to that bruise on your right arm.” As confident as she was, hesitance then bloomed in the garden of her heart when she realized he was still standing in one place.  Regret clenched her heart fast when she thought she may have spoken too much. “Um…” Lost on whether to approach him or walk out of the room in shame, Rinea just opted to freeze in the place she stood. “You do…trust me, right?”  The question alone provided no hesitation. The only reason he was still quiet was that shock and awe and pure gratitude overwhelmed his chest and throat.  But above all, genuine love would always, always conquer the way he felt for her.  Always. “I do.”  A smile slowly tickled its way into shape. A nice shade of red furiously burned his cheeks aat the sight and sound of her laugh.  “Good!” Joy blooming in the beautiful noble, Rinea spun to the bed and sat on it. “Now, milord, if you please.” Right hand holding the staff, she patted an empty space on the bed.  Gods, he loved her so, so much.  Trying his very best to fight back the blush that threatened to explode in his face, Berkut walked towards the bed. The mattress bounced slightly at his weight, and the prince then turned to face her.  He wished her smile would never, ever fade.  “Um…” Blush rising fast into smooth cheeks, Rinea eyed the long sleeve around his right arm. “If… Can you…?” Words sputtered in a cute bundle of nerves, she slightly tipped her head in hopes that Berkut got the idea.  Berkut actually stifled a laugh at the fact that she thought she needed permission to touch him.  Still, knowing that his beloved was nervous enough as he was, he rolled his right sleeve. “There.” Air momentarily kept inside his lungs, Berkut slowly moved his right arm closer to her. The bruise near his elbow was still there, sometimes throbbing and causing more teeth gritting more times than he had hoped. However, due to his stubbornness, Berkut decided to ignore the swell in vain hopes that it would be gone anytime soon.  Unfortunately, his stubbornness paid a price.  Fortunately, she existed in his life.  Woe tugged a frown on those pink lips. “Oh dear…” The same woe then replaced by sheer determination, Rinea carefully aimed the gem on the staff close to the bruise. Azure eyes met deep browns briefly. Though words were absent between them, Rinea could tell from his gaze that he trusted her wholeheartedly.  She couldn’t bite back the silly smile before it was too late.  Head shaking a few times, she directed her attention at the wound. Anxiety came piling up in a blink, but the noble knew she had trained long and hard for her not to mess up.  For Lord Berkut, she reminded while her mouth started to mutter the chant. For my love, my heart, my reason of happiness.  After the second heartbeat, the light from the gem started to gleam. Both noble and prince could vividly see a soothing, white light beaming straight to the bruise on his arm. His heart raced and raced, breathing robbed at the sight of such magic touching his skin.  He trusted her.  He could and would never, ever let anyone or anything touch his body. Anyone who dared so would only be resulted with his blade pierced right into them.  But he trusted her.  And because of that trust, he felt at ease.  The light felt like a warm caress on a cold, breezy day. It slid across the injury, gently stroking it left and right until he could actually feel the muscles within cool and contract slowly. The magic itself was a calming sight; not once did he tear his gaze away from such a dazzling light.  The more he looked at it, the more it reminded him of—  “Done!”  The air he didn’t know he had kept long inside his throat was huffed out as a short, tiny gasp. Eyes as wide as they could be, he drew his gaze to the angel before him.  Unaware of the stupefied awe, Rinea was merely in distracted glee at her handiwork. “It…It worked!” Joy basically bloomed and burst from such a beautiful woman. “I’m—I’m so happy that it worked!” She needed to go and thank the clerics later for teaching her, she reminded herself. The staff pulled and placed by her right side, Rinea placed one hand onto her laughing lips. “I did it!”  Clearly, she was excited about her very first heal, for the next thing she knew, Rinea had moved her left hand to the smooth skin of his right arm.  Once her fingers brushed his skin, however, the noble then realized that she had acted without a single thought. “I-I—I mean—!” Heat swallowed the shape of her face, Rinea couldn’t dare to look at him.  Neither did she dare to pull her hand away from his arm.  Time moved too fast in her opinion, because the next thing she knew, a tiny gasp puffed right out of her gaping mouth to feel her body being pulled forward.  Heat now had sizzled straight to the tips of her ears and boiled her dizzy brain. “B-Berkut?!”  “Hmm…?”  Gods, to hear that deep, sultry voice tickling so close to her ears, Rinea wondered if anyone could die from this.  Thankfully, she was still alive. But breathing still felt like a chore when she felt her body being lifted and placed onto what she quickly assumed was—  Berkut’s lap.  She was now sitting on her lord’s lap.  Gods, he really was set on killing her, apparently.  Vision getting blurry and lips trembling terribly, Rinea tried to peek upwards as her left cheek brushed his neck. “My lord I—your arm!”  She felt his chest rumble as he laughed softly. She felt her face burn as she stifled a squeak.  “It’s fine, my love.” Chin gently nuzzling the top of her head, Berkut moved his right arm that was brushing the right side of her hips. “See?” Teeth nipping the insides of his lower lip, the prince fought back all that he could not to laugh or drown his beloved with countless kisses.  Though still bewildered by the sudden change of spot and his actions, Rinea managed to cast a glance at his right arm. True to his words, the bruise was truly gone, and the sight alone was enough to perk a wide, proud smile on the noble.  That smile trembled back to a meek purse, though, when she felt her body being pressed closer.  “Thank you…” Arms cozy around her waist, Berkut placed one kiss to the top of her head. “In truth, I feel like a new man, already.” Obviously unsatisfied by one kiss, he traced his lips to the smooth plane of her forehead.  Gods, to hear that sweet laugh, he was truly trying his best not to kiss her lips so hard until they were both breathless.  Damn him for needing to breathe.  “I’m so very glad to hear that!” Both hands levelled near her quivering mouth, Rinea placed one hand onto her chest while the other – oh she was quite proud to feel bold today – bravely rested onto where his heart beat.  It actually amused her that his heart was screaming just as much as hers was.  Berkut would never, ever dare let anyone see his most vulnerable moments. If someone did, they could only then be met with the sharp end of his sword.  “I love you…”  But for Rinea – only for Rinea – Berkut was more than willing to expose himself to her. She loved him for him. She accepted him for his strengths and weaknesses. And even when Berkut loathed those weaknesses, Rinea was always by his side, always accepting him with open arms and healing the parts where he tried so desperately to hide.  “I love you so much…”  She was truly a goddess that deserved the world.  More and more laughter filled the room. Her right hand then slid upwards to his cheek, silently ushering him to look at her.  Her smile was all he needed to move forward. Her voice was all he needed to fuel his spirit.  Words were unneeded between them. With both pairs of eyes slowly fluttered close, Berkut leaned closer until his lips happily, hungrily met her soft, sweet taste.  She was truly his empress that deserved Rigel. END

[acenancy]

I Think It’s About Old Friends

This is literally a week late and I am SO sorry. I’m legit the worst Secret Santa ever. But work and family has finally freed me (for now, anyway), so here is the fic I owed you days ago, @jerememeknox! Beware: I haven’t read or written Jily in years, so who knows if this makes sense. Also, I wanted to add a lot more and at least edit this, but alas! Time is not on my side. Maybe I’ll go back and clean this up on my day off? I hope you like this, despite everything, babe. Heads up, @thewritingcrew!

(ao3)

Rated: T Word Count: 7,961 Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Jily

1971

Not once since she met him has Lily found James Potter funny. Not when James convinced Emmeline Vance brooms are ridden bristle-side front, not when he jinxed his own friend Sirius’ feet to dance all through History of Magic, and certainly not any of the times Severus was caught at the wrong end of James’ buffoonery.

Lily has never even chuckled. Never even cracked a smile.

But when she steps into Charms the week before Christmas and candy canes are floating around the classroom, dangling themselves over light fixtures and fingers and long hooked noses, Lily can’t help the tug that pulls at the corners of her lips; nor can she stop the breathy laugh that escapes her when a candy cane loops itself behind the shell of her ear.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Marlene asks, sidling up beside her

Lily’s eyes follow Frank Longbottom as he jogs between desks, a candy cane chasing after him. The shrieking laughter of her classmates cottons Lily’s ears. The sticky skin of crystallized sugar bumps against her hand.

“It’s...” Lily blinks at the sight of her classroom, dressed red and white around her. She can’t think of a word to describe the warm feeling this small bit of magic has filled her with.

“It was James,” Marlene tells her, nudging Lily with her elbow, “and Sirius and Remus and Peter. But it was James’ idea.”

And as though his name alone conjures him, Lily meets James’ eye across the room, through the throng of sugar he’s made dance in the air. He grins at her, lopsided, and only then does Lily remember to wipe the smile off her face. She replaces it with a scowl that she knows does not meet her eyes. Her small act of defiance is only cause for him to grin wider.

“It’s a nuisance,” Lily mumbles, pointedly averting her gaze from James. She pushes the candy bouncing in front of her out of her way before marching to her desk. “How are we supposed to get anything done with these things flying around?”

Marlene groans behind Lily, then snatches a candy cane from thin air and points it at her. “You need to stop being such a Snooge, Lily.”

“Do you mean Scrooge?”

“I mean you need to lighten up.” Marlene sticks the cane in her mouth and continues to speak around it. “You don’t have to hate good things just because James Potter made them happen.”

Lily responds by flicking a candy cane from her desk to the floor.

Marlene rolls her eyes, groans again, then slinks away.

Lily tries her hardest to ignore the candy cane debacle all throughout class, but it can’t be avoided when they’re dismissed and something taps her shoulder. Turning around, Lily comes face to face with James, who is looking at her from over his glasses, smirking, holding out a candy cane.

“Forget to take one, Evans?” he asks.

Vision trained on his offering, unimpressed, Lily shakes her head. “Nah, I didn’t.”

She almost laughs again when she walks away and hears James yell “you’re a real Snooge, Evans!” after her.

*

1972

It’s always been obvious to James that Remus is a werewolf.

He eats his meat dripping blood, becomes sickly one week each month, disappears during every full moon, and, while he isn’t a terrible liar, he can only make up so many stories to cover his tracks before the excuses become outrageous.

“Tell me again why you won’t be around next week?” James asks, careful to keep his voice low in the empty corridor.

Remus tugs James’ invisibility cloak more snugly around his shivering form. “We’re celebrating Christmas a week early,” he says.

“And why’s that?”

“Family tradition.”

James huffs. “What kind of tradition is that?”

“I just told you,” Remus says. “A family one.”

James snorts, disturbing the piece of cloak falling across his face. It bothers him that Remus doesn’t trust him with his secret, but James doesn’t push the subject. If Remus chooses to tell him and the others, he’ll do it on his own time. Until then though, all James can do is enjoy his friends awful fibs and sneak him to the kitchens for chocolate when he can.

And sneaking to the kitchens is exactly what they’re doing.

As they lurk along the halls, the topic of conversation changes to quidditch, then pranks, then how much oil they could wring from Snape’s hair; then, before they know it, they’ve tickled the pear and stepped into the kitchens.

Their conversation comes to an abrupt halt, however, when they snuck inside and see Lily Evans sharing a plate of gingerbread cookies with a house elf. At the creak of the door, she spins around from where she sits atop a bar stool. Her eyes narrow when she sees no one there.

“Hello?” she calls. Her sight is set dead upon James, and he swears the intensity of it will burn a hole straight through his cloak.

“Dinky thinks it just be a ghost, miss,” says the house elf. “The ghosts always opening Dinky’s door.”

Slowly, James closes the door behind them. Remus chuckles at the suspicious expression Lily wears as she watches it seemingly shut on its own.

“I think there are some things about this world I’ll never get used to,” she admits to Dinky, eventually turning back to the elf with a frustrated sigh.

“Dinky thinks Miss Lily is just fine. Dinky thinks Miss Lily is the best witch she knows.”

At that, Lily laughs, and James wonders how he could have spent almost two years around her, never having heard it before. The sound of it vibrates in his chest, tickling his heart, igniting sparks of confusion in his twelve year old boy brain.

“I didn’t know Evans knew how to laugh,” James whispers to Remus.

Remus shakes his head, fixing James with tired eyes. “She’s the smartest witch in our year,” Remus reminds him. “She knows how to do a lot of things.”

Frowning, James elbows Remus in the side, urging him to skirt the edges of the room. They proceed to raid the kitchens as discreetly as possible, searching for chocolate that evades them. All the while, James keeps an ear open to Lily’s conversation with Dinky the House Elf, listening to her speak in a way he never has before.

Lily has only ever spoken to James with agitation and biting words, but he still knows she’s a good person, in a vague sort of way. She looks after Remus when he’s not feeling well and patiently tutors Peter who can be thick as a rock when he wants to be; apparently she spends her nights sharing gingerbread cookies with house elves too, which is thoughtful if not a little lame. And she only has nice things to say about Marlene McKinnon who’s a real crab to most people, and Mary MacDonald who is so sugary sweet it makes everyone hurl; she even has nice words for her sister Petunia, who once sent Lily droppings in the post that she claimed her owl left on their doorstep back home.

It’s a side of Lily James never had the chance to see; a side of herself she refused to show to him.

He wonders how Remus seems so unperturbed.

“Maybe because my attention is focused on not knocking every pot and pan in the room over,” Remus mumbles.

James huffs in response. He’s only knocked over two pans when Lily’s stories distracted him. Five pots tops. He’s not going to apologize when she is really the one bungling up this mission.

Especially when James stubs his toe and curses, and Lily has the indecency to blow their cover.

“My friend Remus is lovely too,” she tells Dinky out of the blue. “I wish he were here to try these gingerbread cookies.” At that, she looks away from Dinky and directly at James and Remus, still hidden by the invisibility cloak. “But he’s more of a chocolate person, anyway. He would really love the chocolate that’s stored in the dessert freezer.”

James and Remus turn to each other, defeated. Beaten, they inch their way to the chocolate in the freezer while Lily continues on rambling to Dinky. They don’t even bother with subtly as they open the freezer, snatch the chocolates, head back to the ticklish peach, and steal a gingerbread cookie on the way out.

The next morning, James approaches Lily at breakfast, only the slightest bit embarrassed. “Those gingerbread cookies were good, Evans. If you can’t think of anything else to get me for Christmas, more of those will do.”

Lily doesn’t spare him a glance when she says “the only Christmas present you’ll be getting from me is some advice: check to see who’s in a room before you enter it. You may just barge in discussing how to collect oil from someone’s hair in front of their best friend.”

James feels the pull of a grimace setting on his face but he catches himself, pushing any guilt he may have aside. Instead of apologizing like he knows he should, James changes the subject to something more pressing than Snape’s personal hygiene. “Aren’t you going to ask how you couldn’t see us?”

“No.”

“You’re not the tiniest bit curious?”

“I am.”

“But you don’t want to know?”

“Potter,” Lily starts, setting down her toast. “You’re either going to tell me or you’re not. Since we aren’t exactly friends, I’m going to assume you won’t. So, this back-and-forth between us? It’s pointless-”

“I have an invisibility cloak.” Before he can consider it, James blurts the secret out, low and hushed, a confession. Watching Lily’s eyes go wide, he wants nothing more than to slap himself for being such an idiot. Why would he tell someone about his cloak? Why would he tell Lily Evans about his cloak?

Maybe because he wants her to talk about him to Dinky. Maybe he wants Lily to tell house elves he’d risk a month’s detention for being out after hours and the confiscation of a rare treasure just to get his friend sweets. Because James wants her to experience the same thing he did last night, when he learned her laugh and saw her heart for the very first time in the kitchens. He wants Lily to know who he really is, too.

“Why did you tell me that?” she asks him.

James lifts one shoulder, glancing around to make sure no one else heard him. “Because I want you to know, I guess.” He continues scanning the Great Hall. He can’t meet her eyes. He feels hot and raw, as though he’s stuck beneath a spotlight.

“I’ll talk to you later, Evans, yeah? The cookies really were good.”

He doesn’t risk looking at her when he speeds away.

Not until that afternoon when she sets a gingerbread cookie on top of his coursework in the common room. “Merry Christmas?” She says it like a question.

James nods. He smiles, small and sure. “Merry Christmas.”

*

1973

A suitable punishment for James and Lily’s disruptive bickering would be to separate them, Lily thinks.  Put James in one corner of the Potions classroom and stick Lily in the exact opposite; remove them from one another’s lines of vision; make it as difficult as possible for James to jinx Severus or for Lily to fume at James so violently that his cauldron bubbles over onto his lap.

Professor Slughorn had other, less practical ideas.

Which is why Lily found herself partnered up with James for the foreseeable future, until they learn how to get along.

It’s tremendously stupid, both Lily and James agree. Not only do they have more ample opportunity to be at each others’ throats, but now they’re more of a distraction to their classmates than ever. James doesn’t mind the latter since his engine is fueled by attention, but Lily has always loathed being a nuisance, which James has undoubtedly made her.

Lily must admit, though: they’re a tremendous team. Between the snappy remarks and petty pranks since they began working together, they’ve managed to develop a partnership that is unparalleled to any of the others in class. With Lily’s uncanny knack for brewing potions and James’ willingness to get down and dirty, the last three potions they’ve brewed together have been near perfect. If they hadn’t already had high marks, Lily is sure hers and James’ grades would be soaring higher than ever.

It’s not something Severus if fond to discuss, especially when they’re assigned to brew Christmas Spirit for the holidays... and one of the main ingredients is mistletoe.

“You know Potter is going to pull something...funny,” Severus warns her. It takes everything in Lily not to roll her eyes.

“Potter is an arse, but I doubt he’d go so far as to corner me under mistletoe,” she assures him.

“You’re right, he and his dumb little cronies never go far,” Severus seethes. “Not when they charmed your hair green for two months or when they left dungbombs in my shoes or when they literally tied your friend Marlene’s tongue into a knot.” Lily does roll her eyes at Severus’ last point. He thought what happened to Marlene was just and funny until he realized who’d done it to her. “But no,” Severus continues, “Potter wouldn’t go so far as to catch you under mistletoe.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Lily groans. “I’m not saying he’s an angel, Sev. I’m not trying to defend James Potter. All I’m saying is I highly doubt he’ll try to kiss me under some mistletoe just because it’s at hand and just because he thinks it would be funny.”

“He likes you, Lily.”

The wings of her heart flutter against her ribs. Lily ignores the feeling like she does every time Severus brings up James Potter’s supposed crush on her.

“I know you think that,” Lily says, “and you know I think you’re wrong. But if you’re right and Potter does like me, why would he do something that he knows would only upset me?”

“Because he’s dense as a stratus cloud?” Severus suggest. “Because he has no respect for anyone, including you?”

James can be foolish and he is undoubtedly a bully to some, but in the three years she’s known him, Lily has found that neither of Severus’ statements are necessarily true. James is smart when he chooses not to be dumb and his heart is big and open to everyone, even Lily, unless you’re a Slytherin. She understands wholeheartedly why Severus can’t stand him, but she refuses to entertain untruths because her best friend refuses to acknowledge every facet of a person’s personality.

“I’m not having this conversation,” Lily says. But she can’t help but reconsider her stance when she enters Potions and sees Sirius and Peter hanging mistletoe over Severus’ and Slughorn’s desks.

If they would pull pranks with mistletoe, wouldn’t James do it too?

But for the remainder of their project, everything is business as usual. The only thing James does with their mistletoe is grind it into pretty flakes and sprinkle four cups into their brew, pestering Lily while she stirs it clockwise 25 times.

They’re the first pair to finish, and when Slughorn announces their Christmas Spirit is flawless, he allows them to take a spoonful each as reward. The classroom feels cozy and warm then, everyone surrounded by a warm, cheery glow; the scent of cinnamon and holly hangs heavy in the air; Lily is excited for the holidays at once, and thankful for her friends, and her family, for Slughorn, and for her potions partner.

Lily and James peer at each other from the corners of their eyes. They smile. And for the rest of the lesson they have a pleasant discussion about the intricacies of fruit cake.

However, it all goes South when, from behind them, they hear an obnoxious cough and the snickering of their classmates. They turn in their seats. Standing there is Sirius, hanging mistletoe over their heads, sporting a devious grin spread ear to ear. “Well go on,” he tells them. “Show us what a real Christmas miracle looks like.”

Lily’s jaw falls halfway to the floor. She looks to James to gauge his reaction, only to see he’s already staring back at her, forcing down his laughter. “What do you say, Evans?”

It turns out the quickest way to defuse Christmas Spirit is to find someone to fill you with disgust and disappointment. The Potions classroom is dingy and cold again; her laughing classmates don’t flush her vision with affection but dampen her mood entirely; James Potter isn’t the best potions partner she’s ever had and a surprisingly decent conversationalist but the same old ugly bully he’s always been.

Severus was right all along.

“What do I say?” Lily fumes. Her voice is low so only he and Sirius can hear her. The heat of fury steaming from her is so strong that the mistletoe hanging over them sizzles and burns. Flakes of ash fall like snow onto both Lily’s and James’ heads. “I say I can’t believe I thought you were decent enough not to embarrass me like this and make me feel uncomfortable in front of half our year. I thought you were better than to have your best friend set us up like this, just so you can say you got Lily Evans to kiss you. I say Severus was right – you are an indecent human being.”

“Evans, wait a second,” Sirius interrupts. Lily barely listens to him. She’s fighting down the guilt rising from her stomach like bile at the wounded look on James’ face. She shouldn’t care if she hurt his feelings. He hurt her too. “James had nothing to do with this,” Sirius tells her. “I just thought it would be-”

“Funny?” Lily guesses. She turns her attention to Sirius, who looks annoyed at this turn of events but also just the smallest bit embarrassed. “Am I laughing, Black? Is James? Are you? Is anyone in this room laughing?”

The room has, in fact, fallen into an uncomfortable silence. Lily is sure her classmates are straining to hear whatever it is she is whispering. She refuses to give the Marauders the satisfaction of an outburst.

“I mean, they were-”

“Mate,” James groans.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lily tells Sirius. “I don’t believe you anyway.” She stuffs hers things into her pack, ignoring James’ quiet pleas for her to look at him. Sirius continues to stand awkwardly behind them, only speaking to tell the kids around them to sod off and stop eavesdropping. “The only person at fault here is me for letting my guard down and trusting you.”

She leaves the classroom then, ignoring Slughorn’s inquiries as to where she’s going and the whispers as she storms away. She ignores Severus too, who doesn’t look pleased but doesn’t look too angry either. He told her so, after all.

Lily doesn’t see James again until they return to Hogwarts after Christmas break. Luckily, Slughorn has smartened up in the meantime.

James and Lily are seated at opposite ends of the room.

*

1974

This last full moon has been particularly rough. Something to do with its size and the alignment of stars and mercury being in retrograde, which sounds like a load of unicorn shit until it isn’t. The strained political climate doesn’t help; neither does the stress of Christmas.

It’s all culminated in Remus tearing himself to sheds, slashes marring his already scarred face, tendons cut, bumps and bruises disguising the Remus James knows.

This time around, his pain is so severe that Madame Pomfrey gave him a sleeping drought to keep him under for days. He’s been in such a deep sleep, he didn’t even wake when the rest of the Marauders accosted Pomfrey and demanded to know why she couldn’t magic him back to health the way she usually does with everyone else and they had to be escorted out when her answers weren’t to their satisfaction.

But really. How can the woman set broken bones with a flick of her wand and not be able to vanish the scratches of a wolf? It’s illogical.

And the older Remus gets and the more the world changes around them, the worse his full moons are becoming. It’s devastating to witness. It’s frustrating not to be able to help; even more so when James thinks about how long it’s taking him and the others to become animagi. It’s been two years, and the most they’ve managed to do is give themselves snouts.

He doesn’t think that makes them terrible friends, but. They should probably be trying harder.

James has set up camp at Remus’ bedside for the evening, ignoring Pomfrey whenever she’s warned him about the time.

Visiting time ends in three hours, Potter. In two hours, Potter. In an hour and 43 minutes and 12 seconds, Potter.

He would supply her with a healthy dose of attitude if he were paying attention to her nagging at all. As it is, James is focused on his friend, beaten and bloody by his own hand, unconscious on a lumpy mattress.

He doesn’t even register when the doors to the hospital wing creak open and Lily Evans tiptoes inside.

“Visiting time ends in an hour, Ms. Evans,” Pomfrey informs her.

“I’ve just come to wish Remus a Happy Christmas,” Lily assures her. “I won’t be long.”

“You and every other rebel rouser who has caused a scene in here today,” grumbles Pomfrey, marching angrily back to her office.

James only spares Lily a glance when she sits beside him, returning his attention back to Remus just as quickly.

“How is he?” she asks.

James shrugs. “Well he won’t be skipping through daisies anytime soon but,” he smooths a hand down his tired face, “he’ll live.”

They sit in silence for a moment, James taking stock of every one of Remus’ injuries for the thousandth time and Lily examining his wounds for the first time, in horror. James can practically hear her heart breaking beside him.

“What happened?” she asks.

One thing Lily is not is an idiot. James is positive she knows Remus’ secret, even if Remus hasn’t told her himself. It took him almost two years to tell the Marauders after all, and while Lily is a good friend of his, she’s not nearly as close to him as they are. But she’s smart. She’s observant. And she cares with her whole damn heart.

James knows she knows. So he simply looks at her, steady, and doesn’t say a word. An understanding passes between them. Neither of them will admit the extent of their knowledge concerning Remus and his ailments but they will sit there, together, and put their differences aside to help him anyway.

“Thanks for stopping by,” James says instead.

Lily almost look offended. “Of course,” she says. “Remus is my friend.”

James nods. “I know.”

Awkwardly, she fishes something from her satchel, then sets it on the table at Remus’ feet. “I brought him chocolates, for when he wakes up,” she says “whenever that will be.”

“Pomfrey says not for another few days,” James tells her. “He’ll miss the Express back home. Probably sleep through Christmas.”

Heavyhearted, Lily exhales deeply, eyes closed. “He’ll be here all alone.”

“No,” declares James, aghast at her assumption. “No, he won’t be. I’m staying here over break. And so is Sirius. Peter, too. We canceled our trips home.”

James can feel Lily staring hard at the side of his head. His heart stutters in his chest. He refuses to meet her eyes. It’s no secret that James and Lily aren’t friends. Anyone could tell you that. But no one can tell you about the moments, like this one, when they take off their armor and reveal their hearts on their sleeves, only to each other. When he proves he’s not always the dick he acts like, and she studies him with shining eyes, parted lips, awe. When she shows him compassion, radiating from her so brightly, it hurts his eyes to look. That is the thing no one knows – the way they melt around each other, for each other, until their truest selves are on display.

“Right,” Lily says, blinking hard and looking away. “Of course. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Evans. It’s easy to forget what a great guy I am.”

She snorts, and they glance at each other, sharing a smile.

“You’re a good friend, James.”

He frowns, but nods. He could be better. “You are too, Lily.”

They sit there, at Remus’ side, discussing nothing and everything all at once, until Pomfrey gives them a ten minute warning. James ignores her like he has the rest of the night, and he hopes Lily will do the same. She doesn’t though, and she stands to leave, but not before placing a soft kiss on James’ cheek.

The skin her lips touched tingles and stings. He can hardly believe she’s real.

“Happy Christmas, Potter.” Her voice is a quiet hush, a lullaby. “You’ll figure out how to make this better. I know you will. Because you love him.”

James can feel tears sting his eyes. His throat shuts so tight he can’t even answer her. All he can do is smile, grateful, and watch her walk out the door.

*

1975

Lily doesn’t have much Christmas shopping to do. She bought a kettle that whistles actual tunes when it comes to a boil for her parents, a simple blouse for Petunia, and small trinkets for her friends. The only people she really has to get something for is Severus and Benjy Fenwick.

Severus is easy enough. He always gives her something sentimental but prefers receiving practical gifts himself. Since he’s burned a hole through the bottom of his cauldron, she figures she’ll buy him a new one. Benjy, on the other hand, is more difficult to find something for.

Lily has been seeing him for two months. He’s incredibly sweet, and caring, and kind. Everyday he walks her to her classes, sits with her during meals, kisses her goodnight. He makes her smile. Lily is incredibly fond of him and his company.

It doesn’t matter that he never gives her butterflies; Lily doesn’t think you should feel nervous about liking someone, anyway. It also doesn’t matter that she’s never particularly eager to see him, or overly comfortable around him either. All of that comes with time, doesn’t it? She’s sure she’ll get there with Benjy eventually.

For now though, she’s only focusing on getting him something for Christmas and remembering to meet him for an early dinner later in the afternoon. Until then, she’ll mosey around Hogsmeade with Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary, and perhaps even sacrifice some time to the Marauders if her friends see fit.

Which, Lily assumes, they will. Marlene and Dorcas have had their eyes set on Sirius and Remus, respectively, so Lily has found herself in their company more often than not as of late. Lily wishes she could say it’s been torture spending time with the Marauders but it’s actually...not.

They really are genuinely fun to be around; Sirius with his outrageous schemes, Remus with his quiet wit, and James with his all-around wonderful sense of humor. Even Peter can crack a joke now and then. Lily has never denied that those elements of their personality were there – they’re the most blatant traits the Marauders possess – but she’s never allowed herself to indulge in them either. Now that she has...well, she’s never laughed as much in her entire life as she has this semester with them.

Much to Severus’ chagrin.

And, sometimes, much to Benjy’s too.

Lily supposes that’s only natural. Severus is an old friend, but a possessive one, and he often becomes jealous when Lily spends time with other people. The fact that she spends more time with the Marauders than him now surely hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Benjy’s jealousy is more specific. While Severus is resentful towards every person Lily hangs out with that is not him, Benjy has his sights set specifically on James Potter. Lily can’t say she blames him. She and James have always had the most palpable tension, and now that they get along, the nature of their relationship has become gossip fodder for the entire castle. It doesn’t help that James teasingly asks her out every chance he gets despite the fact that he knows she’s with someone else.

Though, to be fair, he’s been asking her out longer than Lily’s been seeing Benjy.

It’s not like James is serious, anyway.

“Of course he’s serious,” Dorcas insists. She and Lily along with Marlene and Mary are strolling around Hogsmeade’s town square, enjoying the crisp air and crunchy snow beneath their feet. “He wouldn’t keep asking if he weren’t.”

“He’s a jokester,” Lily reminds her. “He’s only joking.”

“Sometimes I wonder if he’s not,” Mary chimes in. “Like the other night, when we were in the boys dorm drinking firewhiskey-” Lily whines at the memory “-and he was staring at you with such adoration. Merlin, I’m getting gooseflesh just thinking about it! And he just whispered, so sweetly, ‘go out with me, Evans.’” Mary clutches her chest dramatically. “If only a boy looked at me the way he looks at you.”

Lily purses her lips. “He was drunk, Mary. Peter also accused Marlene of plotting murder against his toad that night.”

Marlene shrugs. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“My point is you’re all making something out of nothing,” Lily concludes. “Just because we laugh with each other instead of fighting now doesn’t mean he’s in love with me.”

“Au contraire, Evans.” The sound of James’ voice rings from behind her, and the girls spin around to watch the Marauders saunter up to them. “You’re my sun and my moon and my stars, and I adore you.”

“Almost as much as he adores me,” adds Sirius.

“Almost as much as Sirius adores detention,” Peter says.

Remus snorts, patting Peter on the back. “Nothing can compare to the romance between Sirius and detention, Wormtail.”

“You have me beat there, Paddy.” James stops right in front of Lily, toes of their boots nearly touching. He grins down at her, wide as the sky, and Lily can’t help the smile she gives him back. “Where are you ladies off to this fine afternoon?” he asks, eyes never leaving Lily’s.

Marlene, who has looped her arm through Sirius’, is already trying desperately to drag him away from the group. “I want to show Sirius that new Nimbus I was telling you all about,” she says.

Lily can’t recall Marlene ever mentioning anything about a new Nimbus to her, but she bites her tongue and plays along. “Mhm...”

“New Nimbus? I would have heard about a new Nimbus,” Sirius grumbles. “Did you hear anything about a new Nimbus, Prongs?”

“There is no new Nimbus, Padfoot.”

“James Potter says there is no new Nimbus, Marlene.”

“James Potter isn’t half as educated about brooms as I am,” Marlene says. She tugs on Sirius’ arm some more.

James guffaws. “Absolutely blasphemous.”

“I don’t know,” says Lily, “Marlene has never been wrong about a broom as long as I’ve known her.”

“Well!” Sirius exclaims. “If Evans says so...” He blows a kiss to James, “sorry, Prongs,” and allows Marlene to whisk him away. “Come along, Moony!” Sirius calls behind him.

With a shrug, Remus jogs after them, Dorcas and Peter trailing in his wake. It’s just James, Lily, and Mary then, until Mary jabs her thumb in some vague direction.

“I’ve got shopping to do for that person,” she announces, sly grin plastered across her face. “I’ll see you two later?”

Mary doesn’t wait for their response. She scurries away faster than a mouse after cheese, leaving James and Lily by their lonesome.

“You think she wanted to get us by ourselves?” James asks, rolling onto the balls of his feet.

“You noticed that as well?”

They snort in unison, then continue to walk around town, no destination in mind.

“So what shall we do while our friends look for this Nimbus that definitely does not exist?” asks James.

“Well, I have to buy Severus a cauldron-”

“Ooh, another expensive gift for Snivellus that the slimy bastard doesn’t deserve-”

“Shut up, Potter,” Lily scolds him, almost as an afterthought. “I have to buy a gift for Benjy, too.”

At this, James remains silent, simply bobbing his head in thought.

“I have no idea what to get him,” says Lily, filling in the silence.

“What does he like?”

“I don’t know?” Lily glances at James, grimacing when she considers how little she actually knows about her boyfriend. “I’m a terrible girlfriend.”

“It would seem that way,” agrees James, and he nudges her playfully when she scoffs. “You’re not a bad girlfriend, Evans,” he assures her. “Fenwick is just a dud. Nice bloke and all, but a dud. He probably couldn’t tell you what he likes if you slipped him a truth serum.”

“Don’t be mean,” Lily chastises, though she’s afraid James just may be right.

“Is it mean if it’s the truth?”

“Potter.”

“Sorry.”

They stop in front of The Three Broomsticks, James holding the door open for Lily to step inside.

“Buy him some liquor,” James suggest, pulling out a seat for her in the middle of the room. “What he really needs is to loosen up a bit.”

“He’s not uptight.”

“Just a bore. You’re right, Evans, there’s a difference.”

“You really don’t know how to be nice, do you?”

“Yes, I do! Did I not call you my sun and my moon and my stars before? Was that not nice?”

A group of students a year below them pass by the table as James says this, sharing wide eyes and whispering scandalously to one another.

Lily groans, rubbing at her temples. “The whole castle is going to be talking about our torrid love affair by sundown now. You know that, right?”

“Then Fenwick will break up with you and you won’t have to worry about what to get him for Christmas.”

“Thank you for your positive outlook, Potter.”

“That’s what I’m here for, Evans. Butterbeer?”

They order their drinks, and they talk, and they have a wonderfully pleasant time in each other’s company.

And, just as Lily predicted, by sundown everyone is talking about how she is cheating on Benjy Fenwick with James Potter. The icing on the cake is when Lily loses track of time and completely forgets about dinner with Benjy. So she’s truly not surprised when he storms into The Three Broomsticks, catches sight of James and Lily in a fit of uproarious laughter, and stomps right up to their table.

“Lily?” Smoke is quite literally billowing from Benjy’s ears. The sight sends James and Lily into another bought of laughter. “What is this?” Benjy seethes.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Benjy,” Lily apologizes. “I was just listening to a story James was telling me about-”

“Why are you with him to begin with?” Benjy snaps. His eyes flick between the pair of them, sitting across from each other, onto their third butterbeers of the night.

“We were just hanging out, Benjy,” explains Lily. “We’re...” Despite how splendidly they’ve been getting along, Lily is still hesitant to call her and James friends.

“You’re what?” demands Benjy

Lily glances to James, looking for a possible answer to Benjy’s question. James only shrugs, casually pushing his glasses up his nose. “Dunno,” he supplies.

Lily turns back to Benjy, shrugging the same way James had. “I don’t know.”

Benjy shuffles from foot to foot, gnashing his jaw and glancing around the room to see who is watching them.

Everyone is.

Lowering his voice and leaning into her space, Benjy hisses. “You’re telling me you don’t know the nature of your relationship with James Potter?”

Lily considers his question thoughtfully before giving him an honest answer. “Yes.”

Leaning away from them, Benjy casts his eyes between James and Lily once more before taking a slow, deep breath. “Alright, Lily,” he concedes, eyes cast down at his feet, rage barely under wraps. “I see how it is.”

“Benjy!” Lily cries, reaching out a hand. “Oh, please. It’s not like that!”

But the damage is already done. Benjy is flying out the door, humiliated, and Lily is left with her head in her hands, equally embarrassed.

“Like I said before,” James offers, bumping her shin with his foot beneath the table. “One less gift to buy.”

“Shut up, Potter.”

*

1976

James is in love with Lily. He’s not sure how long his heart has been hers, but he thinks it has been since sometime in Second Year, after the kitchens. She’s always been a part of him, the same as his friends, and his glasses, and the organs in his body. James wouldn’t be James without her.

It’s as simple as that.

It’s just a shame he didn’t realize it until after he made a fool of himself by the Great Lake.

It kills James to think of all the time he wasted fighting with Lily, teasing her, thinking all they could be was adversaries who sometimes got along. He could have been her friend, or more, or at the very least there for her when she could have used him the most.

It takes a summer of groveling and three months of being nothing but the most wonderful friend he could possibly be for them to even get to where they are now: sitting in their handmade igloo, a jar filled with fire between them, passing a mug of hot cocoa back and forth.

It’s strange to think only last September they truly became friends, when he held her shaking frame in his arms as she cried over Snape, and her sister, and her sick father, and the terrible names thrown her way like confetti; when James mouthed his apologies into her hair, rocking her back and forth, drying his own tears in her waves; when they fell asleep wrapped up in one another in the common room, waking up grateful that they’d finally made their way to each other.

So James thinks it’s safe to say he’d do anything for Lily, and she would do anything for him. Sometimes the things she needs from him are just so incredibly torturous that he fancies himself an idiot for ever falling in love with her.

“You need me to be what?” James balks, shoving the cocoa her way.

“My date to Slughorn’s Christmas party,” Lily repeats. “The only other person I know who’s going is Severus, and I know it’s only so he can corner me again.

“Lily,” James groans. He conks his head against the wall of their igloo. His eyes are squeezed shut as though he’s in physical pain. “Slughorn’s Christmas party? Really?”

“I mean, I can ask Remus if you don’t want to,” Lily grants him, “Or even Sirius or one of the girls. You’re just – well I would rather take you, is all. But I understand if-”

“Lily, you already know I’m going.” James laughs when he catches her pouting. “It’s just...Slughorn.”

“I know.”

“And Christmas.”

“I know.”

“And Snape.”

“Yeah,” Lily sighs, “I know.”

“Right. Well.” James claps his hands in front of him, rubbing them together mischievously. “When is it?”

The party is the weekend before Christmas and their last week before winter break. Lily wears a flowing navy dress that sets James’ blood running and a smile that makes his heart sing when she sees him. She holds his hand when they enter the party, and only introduces him to a handful of people. When Slughorn targets them for small talk and gloating, Lily allows him to step away for a while, and when Snape tries to capture Lily on her own, James swoops in and guides her onto the dance floor.

They make a dashing, unsocial, avoidant team.

Just like they always had.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” says Lily. James has one hand on her waist and the other wrapped around her smaller, softer one; her smooth cheek is pressed against his stubbly one; her breath tickles the skin of his ear. If anyone should be thanking anyone, James should be thanking all the Gods he can name, and Lily Evans for being in his arms. “I don’t know what I would have done without you,” she admits.

James tsks, guiding her across the floor. “Taken Remus or Sirius, like you said you would. Or Marlene or Mary or Dorcas. Or Peter if you were really desperate.”

“Not nice,” says Lily, and he apologizes.

“My point is, you had options,” James reminds her.

“Okay,” she allows, “but Sirius would have set Severus on fire if he came near me. Remus would have felt obligated to talk to Slughorn and driven himself mad with boredom. Peter would have scurried away hours ago-”

“Not nice,” says James, and Lily apologizes.

“My point is, no one else could have saved the day like you did.”

James presses a smile into her cheek. “The nights not over yet, you know.”

She hums, untangling her hand from his and wrapping her arms around his neck. He follows her lead, heart swelling and soaring, and wraps his arms around her waist.

“We can leave whenever you like,” she tells him.

James only holds her closer, feeling her heart beat in time with his own. “No,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper. “Not yet.”

*

1977

“Are you scared?”

“No.” James is practically bouncing out of his skin, nervous energy setting his entire body on edge. “Are you?”

“No.” Lily is nibbling at her cuticles, beads of blood pooling around her nails.

“You’re a terrible liar,” James tells her, and Lily drops her hand, smiling at him as if he’s the greatest thing she’s ever set her eyes on. And he is, she realizes. He really, truly is. “So are you.”

James grins back at her so wide that Lily is afraid his face is going to split in half. “We’re cowards and terrible liars together, then.”

“I suppose we are.”

They break into a fit of anxious laughter, not stopping even when James pulls Lily’s face to his chest. “Why are you scared?” he asks her, resting his chin atop her head. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No,” say Lily immediately, shaking her head into his sweater. She tilts her face up to look at him. “I’m just nervous they’ll say we’re rushing into things. Give us problems. You know our friends don’t keep their opinions to themselves.”

James presses a firm kiss to her forehead. “Sod ‘em if they think we’re wrong,” he mumbles into her skin. “But I don’t think they will. They’ve wanted this longer than we have.”

“And how long have we wanted this again?” Lily asks.

“Second year for me. Fourth year for you. You were a little slow to catch up to the rest of us.”

“Guess that’s why I never made the quidditch team.”

“That, and your lousy arm.”

Lily nips at his collarbone, causing James to squeeze her body to his tighter.

“Why are you scared?” Lily asks. Her arms are wrapped around his waist, ear pressed right against his slow, happy heart.

“Because saying it out loud makes it real...and I never thought it would be,” James confesses.

Lily shuts her eyes, breathing the smell of him in deeply. “No second thoughts?” she checks.

James snorts, as if the answer is obvious. Lily supposed it always has been. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Right.” Stepping away from his warmth, Lily laces her fingers through James’, then turns them towards the Fat Lady. “So are we ready?”

“As we’ll ever be.”

The Fat Lady rolls her eyes. “Just get a move on, will you? I can’t wait here all day.”

Frowning, James tells her the password, then opens the door with a little more force than necessary.

In the common room, their friends sit around the fire, chatting amongst themselves, enjoying the last of one another before they all go their separate ways for the holidays. Sirius is the first to spot Lily and James, and he throws his arms in the air and cheers when they squeeze their way into the group.

“Long time no see, lovebirds,” says Dorcas, smiling adoringly at the sight of them. “Ready for the holiday?”

“Hardly,” Lily tells her. She shares a frightened, secret smile with James, who kisses the back of her hand, still entwined with his.

The exchange does not go missed by their friends, who glance at each other suspiciously, then knowingly, then with big stupid grins.

“Why?” asks Peter, the only one still oblivious.

It’s Marlene who grabs Lily’s left hand, gawking at the simple band slipped over her ring finger. “Get out!” she yells, jumping to her feet. “Really? Really, really?”

Surprised by her friend’s reaction, Lily blinks, then smiles, then nods her head emphatically.

Marlene shrieks, followed by Mary, silenced when they’re pushed to the side as all the others gather around Lily to admire the engagement ring on her finger.

Peter continues to stare at them all with a furrowed brow. “What?” he asks.

“Lily and I are getting married, Wormtail,” James explains to him, minutely.

Understanding creeps upon Peter. “Oh!” A slow smile spreads across his face. “Oh, congratulations! What a happy Christmas this makes.”

James ruffles his wispy blonde hair. “Thanks, mate.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon?” Lily asks the group. Her eyes, however, are trained mostly on Sirius and Remus. “We’ve only been dating four months.”

“Too soon?” repeats Sirius. “You and James have been seven years in the making, Evans. I don’t know what about that reads as too bloody soon to you.”

“I guess that answers the question,” she deadpans.

James nudges her in the side with his elbow.

“I have to agree with Padfoot, unfortunately,” says Remus. “This has been a long time coming. The two of you together, now more than ever...it just makes sense.”

The smile Lily spares him is small, but whole and nothing but grateful. “That’s how we feel too.”

“My only concern is your surname,” says Marlene. “You’re going to keep Evans, right?”

“Well, no.”

Sirius hands fly to his scalp, tugging mightily at his shaggy locks of hair. “Oh, but Lily Potter sounds terrible, Evans. Don’t change your name just because you’re marrying this dolt. Please. I beg you.”

“Shut up, Padfoot, or you’re not invited to the wedding.”

“Like hell I won’t be.”

And they continue on that way for the rest of the evening, reveling in the company of their friends, their family, and most importantly, each other.

It’s not until everyone’s gone to bed that Lily and James are alone again, sitting in the light of the Christmas tree in the Gryffindor common room. James tugs a decorative candy cane from one of the tree’s branches, holding it out to Lily beside him. She takes the offering from him, memories of floating candy canes and a different James dancing across her memory. Lily takes his face in her hands, kissing him, her old nemesis, her best friend, the love of her life with all the love she can hold in her heart.

When they part, James smiles against her mouth, whispering what she knows now has always been true. “I love you, Lily.”

She smiles back at him, their past flitting through her brain, their future waiting on her mind’s horizon. “I love you too, James,” she tells him. She loops her candy cane over the shell of his ear, and they laugh, falling against each other. “Happy Christmas.”

[celebrationnebula]

Old Man Keith

Chapter 2: Meeting the gang 

Another late start to the day and another wakeup full of creaking bones and sore muscles. Really being old hasn’t changed much for him.

Except he was slower. So much slower. Keith was actually starting to frustrate himself with how slow he was. To get out of town he had to climb these stairs that lead up and down a walkway above the train line. On the other was an old lady, arms full of groceries she descended one slow step at a time. But before Keith could feel any sympathy pain, a young man walking by gave her hand. Keith started from across the way with envy. Why didn’t he get offered help too? He was clearly struggling, what with all the grumbling he was doing. Being old is frustrating. And slow.

It was night by the time he made it to the edge of The Waist Lands. And he dreaded spending it out in the elements with his frail old man body. In quite the Deus ex Machina fashion, just over the horizon, Keith saw a large structure moving. It was a mess of a building walking on four legs at a pace only slightly faster than Keith’s. Which is to stay it was fairly slow. A patchwork blob that can walk and is the size of a small castle… yup, definitely the work of magic. Mission checkpoint one! Next on the list is convinced whoever’s house this is to fix him. Keith hurried to meet the structure as it passed, he would only have one chance, since, well, it was walking faster than him.

It was a difficult got to the entrance, it bobbed a bit as the structure walked but Keith managed to stumble onto its welcome mat and pry the door open.

…

It was dark and cool inside the moving thing. The interior was much more cohesive than the exterior. Hardwood floors and late century furnishings, woven rug, a soft fire in the hearth, with a cushioned couch in front of it.

Keith and his old bones made a B-line for the couch. Relaxing into the cushions, he started to doze off, the fire’s face shifted out of focus.

The fires face. His eyes must have been going…

“That one ugly curse.” What.

“You’re gonna have trouble breaking that one.”

The fire. The fire spoke. Keith saw it. The mouth moved and everything. Slowly and with great effort, he pulled himself forward; wide eye like a child Keith stared at the fire.

“Names Pidge. I’m a fire daemon and boy do I have a deal for you!” the fire chirped.

“Why- ” Keith started but stumbled on his words. This world of magic shore did leave him stuttering a lot. “Who in their right mind would make a deal with a daemon?” he finally got out.

“Listen, you’ve got a pretty though curse and all any magician is gonna do is give you the old runaround. Me on the other hand, I need your help and you can count on that. If you free me from my contract with Lance I can then use my powers to break your curse.” Explained the fire. Explained Pidge.

“Why can’t a magician just break my curse for a reasonable fee, ya know, instead of me going through the trouble of figuring out how to free a fire demon?”

“Nah, all those clowns care about is casting spells, they can’t fix nothing!” burst the fire in exasperation.

“Oh I see is this how you got stuck with this Lance?” Keith smirked.

“Yeah it is and since it’s my contract I cannon break my own curse.” Complained the fire.

Keith mulled it over for a moment and agreed, “alright but I’ll need a place to crash.”

“NooOOoo problem” retorted the fire, “Lance has rooms to spare!”

“That’s good… my old bone can’t take the cold out… side...” Keith trailed off as he dozed.

“What! Wait! He- augh” grunted Pidge, “you’ve gotta be kidding. Some help you’re gonna be.”

…

The next morning Keith woke to heavy footsteps down the stairs. A tall sturdy-looking man bounced down the steps while chatting with the fire. With a quick spin, the man swung himself around the corner expecting to see his dear friend Pidge.

“Oh hello, there sir” greeted the man clearly taken aback by the surprise of Keith. “What are you doing here?” Unsure of what to answer Keith looked to Pidge for answers. Was it okay to let other people know about their deal? Their deal was about breaking another deal, so it might be better to keep that sort of planning under wraps…

“I dunno” Pidge shrugged, “he just wandered in from the Waists.” Keith couldn’t help the groan he let out, this fire just put all the hard work on him.

“I’m Keith.” He said hoping to stall for a bit of time.

“Oh um hi Keith, I’m Hunk. So not to be rude but ah, who are you? Or rather why are here?”

“I’m... cursed… so… uh..” Keith never was good at lying, he was much more straightforward kind’a’guy, direct and assertive. This might be why he got into so many fights but it’s also how he won them.

“Oh haha I see so you’re here to ask the Wizard Lance for help.” Hunk sighed in relief, “well, he’s not home right now but you’re welcome to stay here until he returns. Hold on for a bit and I’ll get breakfast ready.”

“Ah yes thank you…” Keith said, sounding remarkably like an old dazed person. Pidge snickered at him from her place across the couch in the hearth, earning a glare from Keith. Lance…now, where had he heard that name before…

“The witch!” Keith exclaimed from the couch.

“What?” squeaked Hunk in alarm.

“The old lady who cursed me! The last thing she said was ‘Lance know how to find me.’” Keith explained while trying to bottle down his growing resentment of a wizard he hasn’t even met yet.

“ooh this has got to be his fault then!” Chimed Pidge from the Hearth.

“Old lady huh…” Hunk hummed as he walked with a pan and basket of food over to Pidge. “Did she have on some old purple robe with-”

“-gold trimmings.” Keith finished.

“Yah that’s her, Hagger. She’s a mean one. Head druid of the Galra Empire.”

“So what does she have against Lance? And why would she bring me into this?”

“hhmm… that’s not really my business to go spreading around- ”

“Except it's clearly my business now so spill.” Interrupted Keith.

“I would but to be honest I don’t know all of the details myself.” Hunk explained as he finished frying the bacon.

“Great” Keith growled as he leaned back into the couch. “So when is this Lance guy coming back?”

“Weeell...” Hunk drew out. Keith groaned again with dread. “Lance always comes back… but sometimes not for days at a time.” There it was. This time Keith let out an even louder exasperated groan and he let his head fall back to rest against the couch.

…

Breakfast went quickly, it was pleasant and tasty and full of great conversation. Hunk is a real chief in the kitchen, and pidge is a real spitfire in conversation. After the dishes were done Hunk showed Keith around the castle, which is apparently what Lanced called it. Which seemed a bit generous considering the messy looking exterior, but indeed the inside was large. There were a dozen cozy looking bedrooms, some bathrooms, a few studies, a library, a couple of recreational rooms, and Keith’s favorite, the balcony. It wasn’t large, in fact, it was just big enough for two people to stand close together, but the view was breathtaking. After the tour pidge gave him an audaciously dramatic wink, probably implying Keith should begin the search to break their curse. Instead, he found his way back to the balcony.

The castle was still moving pretty slowly but the rhythm was soothing. Right now they were passing over the peak of a hill giving vantage to a sparkling lake in the distance and a backdrop of ridge white peaked mountains, which were a stark contrast to the soft green rolling hills they were climbing over. Keith sighed in bliss. The air was cool and fresh and clean. Nothing like what he had breathed all his life is the overcrowded city. Magic may have made him old but it also seemed to be gifting him some of the best moments he could remember.

Don’t get him wrong, the Shiroganes had been nothing but good to him, they treated him like they treated their own son. It’s just that the Shiroganes adopted him pretty late in the game at 17, things before that were pretty shitty, and even after being adopted Keith always felt guilty or unworthy of the kindness the Shiroganes would show him. It wasn’t like that with magic. The walk through the sky, this wonderful view, the curse of old age; these things didn’t really feel like something he needed to be deserved they simply were as they are.

“Enjoying the view grandpa?” Chimed a voice from behind him. Keith wiped around to see the wizard from this morning leaning up against the window frame, a smirk plastered on his face. Just as suddenly as he had been shaken from his trance, Keith felt a familiar annoyance well up inside him.

“You’re Lance?” Keith gawked.

“Hm? Well yeah. Of course. This is my house. The real question is who are you, old man?”

Something about all these pet names, this guy’s smug face, and now the pieces were falling into place -- the witch cursed him because she saw Lance and him walking through the air the morning-- Keith just could hold back his anger anymore. “Ohmygod this is your fault!”

“Excuse me-”

“A WITCH CURSED ME! ALL BECAUSE OF YOU?!” Keith wildly gestured at Lance.

“Excuse you but I'm a perfectly acceptable reason to be cursed. Just look at cheekbones!”

“augh” Keith groaned as he rolled his eyes so hard he gave his old body a headache. This was exasperating and frustrating and just- just- so unfair! All that sappy crap about deserving being irrelevant in this mystical world of magic was just the scenery talking, Keith absolutely didn’t deserve this!

“Your pretty rude old man” Lance snorted.

“Enough with the damn nicknames!” Keith snapped.

“Well you never actually told me your name, genius. Even though I just gave you the perfect opportunity at the beginning of this little conversation.Remember? Or did you forget already.”

“Keith,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Well, Ke~ith, it’s been a pleasure meeting you we really must do this again sometime.” Lance winked and began to turn back toward the hallway behind him, the wind tossing his hair gently around his face.

“Ah! No, wait” Keith blurted out, almost forgetting the whole reason he was out in the Waists. “I came here to ask for you to break this cures.” Keith said, knowing that was enough and that Lance looked pleased enough with that to help, Keith couldn’t help himself but to add in a sort of pouty mumble “Especially now that I know it’s your fault…”

Lance’s smile quickly turned to a frown as his brows creased together. “hmpf, well if you’re going to be like that who says I want to fix your damned curse. It’s not an easy thing breaking a spell you know!”

Pidge’s words echoed in Keith’s head, ‘…all any magician is gonna do is give you the old runaround… all those clowns care about is casting spells, they can’t fix nothing.’ So the cheeky fire daemon was his only hope. Either way, Keith would need Lance to let him stay in the castle longer. “No,” Keith sighed as he swallowed his pride, “sorry, can you please fix this curse.”

“That’s much better” Lance said as his smug smile spread across his face again. God how mad it made Keith.

…

Just like that, the first day had gone by, somewhat uneventfully and somewhat unsuccessfully. After his encounter with Lance, Keith went to the library to try and read up about magic and more specifically about breaking contracts and curses. He found nothing. Figures, if Pidge had to go for outside help then it’s unlikely the info was written out in some step by step guide in this ‘castle’.

Keith lied in bed staring at the ceiling thinking. He really hadn’t planned to be gone much longer than this. When he left, Keith didn’t even bother with a note. He really regretted that now, if he was gone too long, for the Shiroganes it would be like to have a second son go missing. Keith’s adopted older brother had been missing for a few months now and the police have all but given up the search. Keith rolled over, tears pricking at his eyes. Would the Shiroganes call the cops once he had been missing long enough, how bad would it hurt them to lose another son in the same way. Left knowing nothing. Would Keith be gone long enough for the cops to also give up on his search? Would Keith ever get to go home, if he truly was unable to turn back could he face the Shiroganes again. After causing them such grief.

…

The next few days went by, all equally unsuccessful. Sometimes Lance was there, sometimes he was wasn’t. When he was, him and Keith usually got into some sort of petty argument.

Next->

[troubleshooting-phoenix]

Escape

That’s what the train tickets were called, and it felt like a good description for that whole trip.

Hey. I said I would give some more details about the trip I was talking about last time, and here I am.

I worked until 7pm the day before, and was up until midnight finishing packing and getting ready. Not that it mattered, I have chronic insomnia and the excitement and nervous energy for the trip and the show was going to make sleeping nearly impossible. I did sleep for at least 2 or 3 hours though. And then at butt crack in the morning, my aunt drove me to pick up my travel buddy and drove us both to the train station.

She talked about wanting coffee, but I was pretty focused on keeping myself from exploding in fiery ball of excitement. I don’t like coffee anyway. (Shh... no one tell Jack. I don’t want to be disowned from the fan base!) She had also warned me that she would likely sleep on the train ride, so I had brought along Jenny Lawson’s Furiously Happy which I had been meaning to read forever, colouring books, notebooks, playing cards and of course my cell phone of music and games, to keep me occupied. Yes, like a small child, I need to be occupied.

She did not sleep on the train ride.

Instead, we ended up having rather deep and intimate conversations, on a public train. My favourite part is that these stories are things that would likely be somewhat disturbing to other people, but were of little concern to either of us, because they were things we had accepted as normal for years.

Just to give you an idea of the subject matter... a lot of conversations that weekend involved our dead, alcoholic fathers, as well as abuse, neglect, anxiety, depression and suicidal thoughts. I feel like that makes it sound like I’ve had such a rough life. I personally don’t think my life has been that bad... my friend’s life has been much more difficult. There are definitely some things in my past that as an adult, I have learned, are not normal, as I always thought them to be. Live and learn!

She also had to listen to me ramble on about Jacksepticeye at points, and try to figure out if there were things she would need to know about him before the show. She’d seen a few of his videos, and I knew she’d enjoy his sense of humour, since she’s a Markiplier fan. Which is... totally not my fault. I definitely didn’t talk about Mark so much that she started watching his videos, and then realized that he also calmed her anxiety, causing me to drag her into the fandom further. Does that sound like something I would do? ... It’s totally something I did. I’m actively trying to convince her to be a Jack fan as well, but it can take a bit to get past the screaming... especially for anxiety cases with horrifying flash backs that are tied to men screaming. For similar reasons, I also took a little while to get past the abrasive TOP OF THE MORNING TO YA LADDIES! I actually find it soothing now. Go figure.

Of course, we flipped back and forth between these subject matters and sprinkles of other things, like areas we passed through, or general life things. At one very distinct point, I may have exclaimed, “Look! A wind turbine!”

To which she responded, “Yes? Have you never seen one before?”

“Not in the wild!” I explained. It made sense in my head, but she burst into a fit of giggles at the thought of ‘wind turbines in the wild’ and it became a recurring theme of the trip. It’s fine. I can laugh at myself. Besides, I know that I’m crazy and some of the non-sense that falls out of my face, doesn’t register the same way in other people’s brains.

It was a four hour train ride, but it felt like nothing. That’s what good friends are all about. I don’t have a lot of friends, but they’re good ones. Ones that I get along well with, click with and can depend on.

We eventually arrived in Toronto. I had looked up the route from the train station to our Air BnB, because I was very prepared for this trip. Being prepared, almost overly prepared for things, is how I manage the anxious voice in my head constantly going “something is going to go wrong... any... minute”. As prepared as I was, I had no idea where the bus station was, so I gladly followed my friend, who decided that she needed to take care of me, the poor, innocent, child-like, small town girl.

I didn’t help my case, by staring straight up and going, “Holy shit! These buildings ARE tall!”, and then just standing and staring up at them every time she stopped to try and figure out where we were. She tried to complain about the buildings being all you could see and I’m pretty sure I responded with, “I’m being a tourist! Let me have this!” and she agreed that I was a tourist. After wandering around what seemed to her at least, like forever (I was in my magical land of absorbing my surroundings), we found out that I hadn’t gotten bus routes at all. I had found subway routes to our Air BnB. We don’t have a subway in Ottawa, I had no fucking idea what the icon looked like. I know now, I guess. “I hate the subway.” My friend said, and would repeat, at least 20 times during our trip. It became another theme, along with me using the excuse, “Yeah, but I can’t tell the difference between a bus and the subway.”, for basically every other stupid thing I said or did.

We survived the subway. I quite enjoyed the experience actually... which is strange, because I used to take panic attacks on buses at one point. I think I just had so much adrenaline coursing through my body that it couldn’t focus on all the people around us. I was also trying to make sure my friend didn’t take a panic attack herself, since she “hated the subway”. Also, in my defense, I said we could FIGURE out the bus route, and she declared that the buses were terrible and the subway was faster, and wouldn’t help me figure out a bus route. So we took the subway.

We killed some time at a restaurant and then checked into our Air BnB. It was a really nice little bachelor pad, that I booked for the night, for a decent price and was in walking distance of the music hall. Being the fucked up anxiety cases we are, we discussed how it nice it was that it didn’t seem like we were going to be murdered.

The show. Oh the show. I had warned her I was going to be crazy, and luckily I had warned her so much, she said afterwards that she had expected me to be worse than I was. One thing most people don’t seem to understand is that excitement... is pretty close to anxiety. So when I get excited, I can get really over the top excited, in the same way that I get really over the top anxious. We are talking... wiggling, dancing, jumping around because I-literally-cannot-stand-still excited. 

When we got to the music hall, we had to walk for 10 years, down like 3 blocks to get to the end of the line that had formed, to get in. 10 years is an obvious exaggeration, while 3 blocks is probably an understatement. If you have ever needed a visual representation of what 1,400 people looks like... don’t go sit in the theater with them, walk the fucking line at the front door. It makes me wish Jack could have walked along it, just to feel how many people it really was. But let’s be honest, that would cause a scene.

My poor Toronto Sherpa had to listen to me ramble on about Jack, while I was bouncing around and desperately trying not to poke at her, because she hates that. When we finally got inside, I had a moment where I was so overwhelmed that I had to let the energy out and I excitedly clapped my hands and jumped a little. The sudden clap surprised her and she shook her head. “You’re cute.”

Normally, I fight the statement, “You’re cute”, and yes, it’s not the first time I’ve been told I’m cute. In that moment though, I was more happy to be called cute, than get a “could you not do that?”, because honestly, there was no promising that it wouldn’t happen again.

We stood in the merch line and I got a poster (because I have a thing for posters), and a pin (because he has a thing for pins, and I knew he was proud of this one). I also handed over the strange package I had thrown together for him. I have literally no idea if he got it, but hey, maybe he’s better off if he didn’t. It was a bunch of glow sticks... because if he’s the man I think he is, he likes glow sticks. ( I don’t know. Are there people who DON’T like glow sticks? ) There may have also been a ridiculously sappy, and novel-length fan letter. Oh boy. I had been back and forth on actually handing it over and then the words, “Can we leave stuff here for Jack?” fell out of my mouth and the super friendly merch lady said, “Absolutely!” and then suddenly she had the package and my purse was slightly lighter. I don’t know if it was a good decision, but it happened and if he read that fucking letter... I just hope it didn’t come off too crazy and he felt appreciated.

We were guided to out seats, and I just enjoyed the energy in the room. That’s the best part of live... anything. The energy you get from the crowd. This crowd of people who are there, with you, for the same reason you’re there... to enjoy the thing you have come to see. The energy at this show was perhaps better, because it was a small fraction of the community there with you. Earlier, when we had gotten off the bus, someone had seen my hat and asked whether we were going to the 4 or 8 o’clock show. Normally being approached by a stranger freaks me out, but I LOVED that moment. I loved that a random person on a train, recognized my hat, and was also going to be at the 4 o’clock show. He was somewhere in that energy, that day too!

I mentioned this before, but I’m saying it again. Apparently I shook violently through the whole show. “Yeah, it vibrated my seat. Probably helped to keep my back from hurting, so thanks.” My friend told me. I didn’t notice it at the time, but I guess it makes sense. I was on an absolute excitement high. I was hyper focused on everything that happened, and my concentration has been shit for months, so it was pretty amazing.

Jack was hilarious, but I knew that he would be. More importantly, he was real and close enough that I could see him without the binoculars my mother had sent with me. What I wasn’t expecting was the journey, that show took me on and the message it ended with.

I needed that.

I didn’t know it was what I was getting, but I needed it. Somehow Jack (and I keep calling him Jack, and will continue to, so this doesn’t get confusing, but his name is actually Sean, just for clarity)... somehow Jack always seems to do exactly what I need, without even knowing I exist. It’s part of the magic of youtube, I’m pretty sure... even if this was a live show.

I slept worse that night, but I was happy. Ridiculous, crazy happy. Which is not something I often experience. I spent a good portion of the night reading the book I brought, which only helped to push me further in the right direction.

By the way, things get weird when you’re trapped in a bachelor apartment with someone trying to sleep when your insomniac ass can’t do that thing. The best part was my friend, who also has anxiety and sleeping problems, woke up a lot through out the night, and would experience snippets of my insanity. I started out laying on the floor, watching youtube videos until the internet crapped out. Then I listened to some music in bed, to try and sleep. Played some phone games. Then I decided to read and shut myself into the bathroom for like half an hour so I could use the light in there, when I remembered that I had brought some red glow sticks.

I brought red glow sticks in case I chickened out giving the green ones to Jack, and I could break them all and have a glow stick party in the room to make myself feel better. But I gave the green ones to Jack, I already told you that. So I was sitting in the bed, reading by glow stick, when I heard, “Are you alright?”

I glanced over my shoulder and sighed. “Yes... I’m just reading my book...” I held it up and then lifted the red, glowing stick. “With my glow stick.” There was a long silence before I turned to face her more. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not. That’s actually kind of genius.” She admitted.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been awake in a hotel room with other people sleeping.” I explained, and then went on to explain why I had the glow sticks.

“I have no response to that.” She muttered, and then tried to go back to sleep. I mean, is a glow stick party really that crazy?

Anyway, that’s it. That’s the day that returned to me, my will to live. I was a little worried when I got home and felt the weight of life hit me again, but as of today, I can happily admit that I am coming out of my depression. I love how all the colours feel brighter, and Jack’s videos sound louder. Yes, I have reached a point where I like it when his videos sound louder!

I’m still not in a great place, perhaps not even a good one yet, but I’m on the way now. I’m finally recovering. There’s more troubleshooting to do here though. Wish me luck!

~ Phoenix