#it's hurtful to read that what you poured your soul into is 'unpleasant' to read..... i get that not everybody is gonna like what i do but

[troubadour-malin]

vent in the tags!

[seventeenlovesthree]

So I just finished Good Omens season 2 and while I obviously share the sense of longing that left most of the fandom devastated at the end, I must say... As a 32 year old woman who just started a new job after having been stuck in a profession that made her feel mentally unwell and stuck for the past 5 years, all I want to say is that this season left me with a huge appreciation for the silliness of life as a whole.

"Wait and see" is actually the best advice I'd want to give to anybody, whether they are kids, teenagers, young adults at the beginning of figuring out their lives - but also to people much, much older than me, wiser, more experienced, basically to everybody who, like me, felt lost and in despair due to the state of the world, their own lives, their purpose, whatever it may be. There may be spoilers ahead now, but I simply feel the need to summarize my feelings in regard to what I saw:

Life can be incredibly unfair. You may be seeking that promotion at work, aiming to get the recognition or the salary you feel you deserve - or maybe you just want to make a difference, make a change for things to get better. You know how difficult that can be, y'all are terribly understaffed after all, people have developed a certain sense of resignation, there is snark and sarcasm, some are doing the bare minimum, others are simply trying their best and remain positive, dealing with either imposter syndrome or have been thrown into positions they may not even be suited for. Heck, even the higher-ups may not be suitable for the positions they have ended up at...

There are times when you're asking yourself what's the use in all of this. You don't know if karma or fate have been betting against you, a lot of unpleasant things have happened and there have been many times you just wanted to give up. Feeling inept, not enough, never enough, unlovable even. It's all so frustrating and unfair. So what really is the point of all of this?

I'm telling you what it is: Sometimes you really just have to "wait and see". It may not fix everything right away, and some things may actually never change for the better, but... Chances are you may encounter something, someone that will make it all worth it.

You just need to open your eyes and mind - and stop taking things personally. Or even seriously. Humans are such silly little creatures, the older you get, the more you realize that interpersonal interactions are not exactly what we were taught they would be. There is no handbook that can give you every answer you are looking for, because people just are inherently weird. They are quirky and silly and difficult and fun and that is perfectly okay. There may also be people that have (and will) hurt you, so deeply that you think you can never trust anyone ever again - but you need to learn that not everyone is out there to get you. Because people also tend to be so focused on themselves and their own issues that they may actually not be paying attention to you. We may misunderstand each other, we may not be able to get each other, some people are incompatible and others just fit together in ways that are literally ineffable. Love comes in so many shapes, so many ways, so many colours, affection, fondness, relatability, friendship, comradeship, romance, you name it - and that's why it's so important that you actually go for the things that make life worthwhile.

Sometimes you have to dance that silly little dance, either on your own or with a person you cherish.

Sometimes you have to get that terribly over-priced coffee, because it warms your heart and soul - and without taking that moment to enjoy it, you may not even have noticed that the sound of the pouring is so much nicer to listen to than grumbling over it "ruining your day".

Sometimes you have to ramble about that weird, obscure hobby you have, because it makes you happy and, even without realizing it, listening to you may make other people happy too.

Go read that silly little book, go listen to your favourite song, go learn about a skill you've been fascinated about in a while, even if people may roll their eyes at you.

Sometimes we need to take the time to heal from the wounds we already obtained. Not everybody will remain by our side forever, some may not understand why we do the things we do. The love we feel for one person may not be enough to make them understand our ways and sometimes, separation is the only solution for the time being - to take a step back, to think, to evaluate, to process. Because it simply wasn't the right time, the right moment, no matter how long (or little) we have waited already. There will be change - because not everything will last forever. But that doesn't mean that things cannot change for the better either.

If we wait and see.

[lavendermin]

if all stars fell at once (1) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 3k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warning | eventual smut

The memory comes clear as the crystalline waters at the harbor. That day when rain poured mercilessly upon the land— the boy in a mask whose body trembled under an invisible burden. You remember the dark splotches on his body being washed away by downpour.

Blood.

Polearm supporting his body as it heaved, his face slowly turned to face you as an ominous dark mist accumulated around him. And when you blinked, it was as if he was never there; replaced by rain.

Whether it was the haze of sleepless nights getting to you or reality, you still had yet to know. Curiosity was fresh in your mind. His presence… though brief, held immense power and a tainted aura; enough to instill fear in the hearts of any who witnessed them. But you stood there, unwavering and eyes alight with awe and curiosity despite the rain that hailed mercilessly around you.

Weeks continued, and the image of the boy remained somewhere in your subconscious. Days came and went as your mind remained hazed, clouded with the fleeting memory.

The dark clouds overhead brought in strong winds; a sign of a storm rolling in. The laundry hanging outside would surely be swept away at this rate. Quick on your feet, you hurriedly pulled them off the clotheslines. Yet despite your efforts, a couple handkerchiefs you had embroidered were blown away by a harsh gust of wind.

“Ah…!” Despite your attempt, the wind plucked them out of reach. All you could do was helplessly watch as they were carried by devious winds further down the mountain.

Those were for… Ah, I guess I’ll have to redo those, you pondered anxiously. If they were all to be delivered in 3 days, you would have to stay up fairly late just to finish replacing them.

The candle light cracked and flickered as night crept over Liyue. No use stalling. With a sullen crack of your neck, you shut the windows and got to work. The relentless rain was your sole company as you worked through embroidering the replacements well into the night. Despite the nimbleness of experienced hands, numbness settled in after hours of working tirelessly to replace the delicately embroidered handkerchiefs. And with patterns and threads so intricate, they weren’t something you could rush.

The moon came and went that night, having accompanied you behind the storming clouds as it rained and ceased. Yet, late the next day when you returned from running errands, there upon your open windowsill were two neatly folded handkerchiefs safely held in place by a beautiful stone. You examined them— with no doubt, the ones that were swept away.

And as a breeze picked up once more, you didn’t dare look back but hoped the wind would carry your words to the deserving.

“Thank you.”

:

.

.

That was the first time in over a millennia that Xiao was thanked by a mortal for one of his many silent deeds.

———

Soft colors of fading blue and powdery orange iced the sky with the setting sun. You reminisced past memories fondly as you picked a few herbs from your personal garden. The day was slowly dwindling to a lethargic end, but the land ceased to fall into rest to savor most of what the day had to offer.

“Do you remember that, Adeptus Xiao?” you asked with a fond smile. It was met with silence for a moment before a voice spoke up from the roof of your house.

“So, you knew I was here. Mortals truly are something I cannot understand,” he clicked his tongue, shifting to get comfortable where he rested comfortably on your roof. “Or perhaps, it’s that our ties are too strong. Curious…” He pondered to himself, brows slightly furrowed as he contemplated.

With a stretch of your back you stood up, basket in hand. “I know my grandmother’s home is rather quiet here in Qingce Village, so I’ve noticed the roof has become a favorite spot of yours,” you observed with a small shrug he couldn’t see. “Call it a hunch.”

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Xiao knew your guess was right. With your home tucked furthest away at the top of the village, there were seldom any onlookers in the tranquil area. A perfect, stress-free corner for him to visit.

With a huff and trained grace, he hopped off the roof on playful winds and followed you indoors. There was still a cautious air about him but never the same as when you first met him all those months ago.

It seemed like you understood him more than he understood you sometimes, and it puzzled him to no end. Mortals were usually more predictable; working in routine and habits as he had seen of the many centuries that passed. Or… at least he thought. It was no secret that he found mortals to be indecipherable.

In the small kitchen, he was presented with an enticing dish that you laid out; his favorite, no doubt. “Here. I’m heading out to the harbor to run some last minute errands, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like,” you reassured him with a smile. “Thank you for keeping me company today.”

At your genuine, radiant smile, Xiao couldn’t help but avert his gaze shyly. Truthfully, it always caught him off guard to be thanked for such trivial things that were somehow meaningful to you.

Before you reached the front door, Xiao called out after you. “If you are out late, summon me— call my name. I will guide you safely home.” With firm reassurance, he held your gaze under piercing amber. “Promise me this. Do not be reckless.”

There was no fighting the grin that lit up your face. “You worry for me, Adeptus?” you teasingly prodded, and placed a quick peck on his cheek. “How unexpectedly cute of you.”

At the gesture, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his composure returned. Pensively, he folded his arms across his chest, and you swore he could practically be pouting.

“The safety of Liyue is my duty as an adeptus. As a tool to be used, and nothing more.”

There was a brief sorrow reflected in your eyes, and before Xiao had a chance to address it, you were hurriedly giving your final goodbyes with your usual warm energy.

“I promise I’ll be safe.”

Left to himself, he accepted your gifted offering of almond tofu. I love the way your eyes practically sparkle when you take that first bite, you once teased.

The memory picked up the thrumming in his chest— uncertainty accompanied by rose-dusted cheeks.

With each delicate bite, his mind upheld more questions. The feelings that burst subtly in his chest— what were they? He searched his heart for answers to describe it. Peace of mind? Loneliness?

As many times as his mind decided to go through the same painful cycle of thoughts, ultimately he was left with more questions than when he started. There were no answers within him.

Such as the moon replaces the sun and the days dwindle into night, he too would let it be for now.

And as the sun slowly retreated more and more behind mountains and thin clouds, Xiao couldn’t help but wonder why he continued to keep near you. A tie foraged with a mortal that strangely did not instill the overwhelming need to leave.

Even the room he was in caused no discomfort or suffocation. The cycle started once again as he wondered, why? He often resided at Wangshu Inn, but never in a room. The rooftop high above any wandering souls was his claimed accommodation. The balcony just below that was seldom used by guests was the only other space he occupied there— eyes able to survey the land from a higher vantage point.

However, here in this small shelter you called home there was none of that, yet he stayed. Curiously, his eyes wandered the room to take in the oddities and trinkets that were used as decorum. The bookshelf across the room posed with great importance, and as he approached it he took in the vast collection of books and small items that decorated some empty sections.

Gloved fingers grazed over the elegant, gold-foil titles of some of the books. Some he has partially read before, or listened to you read aloud while he rested on your lap under the large tree outside.

He found himself plucking one out tentatively, flipping through some pages of a thick storybook with worn corners. Another book from the shelf— a thin book of floral poems and sonnets. His mind idly worked to put together what these books could possibly say about you.

After neatly putting another book away, a small glint caught his eyes. Toward the end of one of the shelf rows was a pile of three books with a precious stone sitting atop them.

Ah, the cor lapis stone he had used when he silently returned the two missing handkerchiefs to you many moons ago. An unknown feeling settled in his chest, warm & persistent. It flourished— euphoric, almost, and not too unpleasant. He wondered if it was somehow related to similar chest pains he’d dealt with. Could he really call it ‘pain’ if it wasn’t truly hurting him? The feeling was foreign and he was utterly clueless.

He moved the stone to check the book underneath, flipping through the pages curiously. Amber eyes indifferently skimmed through a page his finger landed on, curious to what contents the vague title held.

A romantic novel from the looks of it.

The words were needlessly descriptive, the dialogue a little confusing to understand. Such flowery language was a bit bold and the more he read, the more the imagery they tried to paint became vivid in his mind and—

Xiao quickly shut the book, his face warm as he neatly returned the book to its rightful place. Well, it was an interesting book to have in your possession, to say the least. He didn’t have much experience with what it described, but the erotic imagery the dialogue described still left his face a little flushed and brows furrowed as he huffed in indignance at his flustered state.

Mortals do such things? Well, he knew they did, but he was never one to look into it more since he had no reason to.

He had no experience in such intimate matters, nor did he pay much interest in them with his hands usually full on a daily basis. Yet, somehow the thought of you now caused a swirl of emotions inexperienced by him before. Or rather, if he did, he no longer remembered. New questions piled up in his mind.

He shook his head, practically wincing at the odd sensations that kicked him low in the gut as the heat rising high on his cheeks subsided.

“How bothersome,” Xiao muttered to himself with a sigh.

On that same train of thought, he glanced out the window. The sun was merely a whisper that remained as it tucked itself farther behind mountains and dipped below the horizon.

Gloved hands momentarily clenched by his sides, flexing to ease the small seed of doubt. Mortals were unpredictable and reckless, that much he was aware of. With a sigh he watched as the sky over Liyue settled into the tranquility of night.

Though night had fallen, there was still no sign of you returning.

And so, Xiao set off on his usual routine. Out he ventured to vanquish the scattered hotspots of evil activity that surfaced. Be it from subdued gods or his own karma, Xiao relentlessly made quick work of any and all evil.

It was his eternal duty, as bound by contract from the Geo Archon himself—this he knew. If anyone should have witnessed his swiftness as he worked solemnly, they would’ve noticed how he worked just a little harder to clear out any evil nearing your usual route home.

The moon rose high in the sky, a dusty blue as it cast soft light over Xiao’s masked form. His polearm jabbed into the ground and dissipated along with the yaksha mask he donned for battle. The roads that led back to Qingce Village were all cleared, yet still no sign of you.

Approaching the marsh under blue moonlight, his gloved hands created ripples in the calm surface. The reflection of his concerned eyes stared right back at him through the tumultuous ripples that distorted his reflection over playful waters.

Under the watchful eye of the moon, Xiao diligently washed away the impurities that remained on him from battle. Clear waters surrounding him became murky before clearing once again as the blood and grime was carried further down with the current. Xiao closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask under the moonlight, taking in the rare moment of tranquility.

And then it rang out, soft and clear like a wind chime dancing with the gentle breeze.

Adeptus Xiao.

Shrouded by darkness, he answered your summons. As the thin veil of dark entity surrounding him dispersed, he found himself next to a bridge. The waterfall behind him brought a refreshing breeze, and just beyond him he could see Bubu Pharmacy below as well as the harbor.

“You called,” Xiao inquired. “It’s fairly late.”

He wasn’t here to admonish you, though it sounded very much like it. With a playful grin, you smiled up at him from where you sat on the grass next to the bridge.

The way you carried yourself without a care in the world— it was almost endearing how you looked up at him with such fondness.

“Can I ask why you’re here of all places?”

Your nimble fingers continued their work on the flowers you had in your lap, and you almost looked away bashfully. “I wanted to gaze at the stars for a bit,” you admitted sheepishly. “I finished my errands earlier, but then I ran into Mister Zhongli from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and, well… The conversation went on for a while and we ended up here.”

Silently, Xiao took a seat next to you, eyeing the handful of glaze lilies that softly glowed on your lap.

“What did you talk about?” he inquired to fill the silence. He delicately twirled one of the glaze lilies between his gloved fingers.

“Oh… this and that,” you shrugged.

Xiao hummed in response, not wanting to pry into the conversation, until he felt the softness of petals brushing his forehead.

“Mister Zhongli… he showed me how to make this.” There was hesitation in your downcast eyes, and you peered up at him through your eyelashes. “Do you like it?”

“A crown of… glaze lilies,” Xiao noted slowly. Their soft fragrance was delicate and sweet, like the gentle presence of the moon. It reminded him of you. “I’m unfamiliar with mortal customs of exchanges. Is it an adeptal offering?”

You blinked, taken by surprise at the question before sputtering out in a fit of giggles.

“Oh– No, no! This is what we call a gift.”

Xiao furrowed his brows, taking in this vague description. “Hm… I see. What meaning does this gift have?”

You perched your chin on your finger, contemplating. The only ‘gifts’ adepti were familiar with were the offerings that few who went before them brought. Usually, an offering entailed the bargaining of a mortal’s wants and desires to come true. Selfish, wishes he was all too familiar with hearing often.

“Gifts are given to people you consider special,” you started. “To those people who are important to you, usually you put extra effort into the gift. Handmade gifts as well… embody special significance since they hold all the feelings poured into them to be given to your special person.”

The chirps of crickets and running water soothed over the momentary silence as he took in your explanation. Mortal customs were more emotionally driven than he once thought.

“I see. Then,” Xiao delicately tucked the glaze lily he held into your hair. “This is my small offering.”

The rose that dusted your cheeks as your grin lit up your features, it bloomed his chest with that foreign warmth. The weight of reciprocating the gesture without a second thought— he had just openly admitted to considering you a special person. It felt… right.

In the lateness of the cool night, you both sat side by side looking out at the display of glittering stars. He felt as your pulse would briefly quicken under his gloved hand whenever you stole a quick glance at him, and he would offer a gentle squeeze of reassurance in response. Curious, this human next to him— and yet he found himself enraptured by your simple presence.

Across the endless sky, you halted what you were idly chatting about as a speckle of light shot across the sky.

“A falling star… There’s rumors that making a wish on them will help it come true.” Xiao hummed in response, eyes closed in peaceful tranquility. “Hm…”

You pulled your knees closer to you as you contemplated your wish. Xiao watched you with one eye open, observing the way your features subtly scrunched up as you profoundly debated within you what your wish would be.

“So.”

“So?”

“What did you wish for?” Xiao asked quietly.

Mortal desires were usually the same. Wealth, power, lavish items— these wishes Xiao had heard of many times before. Yet—

“I wished…,” you scratched your cheek sheepishly. “I wished for a restful sleep.”

Your cheeks were quick to flush a deep crimson as you heard what sounded like a chuckle next to you. It dawned on you that you had never heard Xiao laugh until now. It was melodic, innocent.

“D-Don’t laugh!” you halfheartedly admonished with a playful huff. “Well, then— What’s your wish, Xiao?”

He pondered for a moment, closed his eyes and spoke soft as the flitting breeze.

“I wish to get to know you better.”

Perhaps he didn’t have all the right words at that moment, but he was bound to discover them sooner or later. Somehow, he was sure you would be the light that guided him the right way to go about these foreign feelings— feelings he was sure weren’t malignant, so he allowed them to persist.

These unsorted feelings for you... they weren’t getting in the way of anything. They were harmless, until proven otherwise.

[midearthwritings]

Wings wouldn't help you

Lindir brings you back to life.

Words Count : 1,321

Pairing : Lindir & Reader

Warning : Depression

Author's Note : Request sent by @jojo-javabean24 .

If anyone reading this is suffering from Depression, or think they might be Depressed, please reach out for help. You are not alone and it does get better.

Beneath your cheek, the pillow is hot, and wet. It is uncomfortable but you cannot bring yourself to move. The tears won't stop falling, they burn and bruise your skin mercilessly. The room is dark, blurry. Your eyes are wide open but you cannot see, the emptiness of your soul infecting your body, taking your senses away. It has been days since you had last left the comfort of your bed, and it would probably take even longer for you to leave it again. The smell coming from you is unpleasant, and you know a bath would be more than welcome. But you cannot bring yourself to care. The smallest movement hurts in a way you didn't think was possible. Would you even be able to reach the door?

The night is quiet, beautiful. Through the window, the Moon stares at you. She mocks your sick figure. While you feel empty, incomplete, she's whole and wonderful, steals everybody's attention. She even has yours, as you stare back. How you envy her, broken hearted and dying slowly in your bedsheets.

"I wish I knew how to ease your pain." You had forgotten his presence, and his voice startles you. His hand, gentle and barely touching you, caresses your arm reassuringly.

You want to answer, to let him know you are still here and that you too, would love to know. The words get stuck in your throat and you choke on them. If you try harder, you know you are going to throw up.

He does not force them out. He just stays there, by your side. It is nice, in a way, to know you are not so alone. If only it could be enough to end the tears.

When the weight of his palm disappears, you feel cold. A brutal winter wind, destroying everything and leaving nothing.

Soft notes rise, chasing the cold away. The chants of a harp. It is low, a whisper, as if he was playing from afar. But you know he's close. In the dark, you imagine his slender fingers tickling the cords, bending them to his will, making them sing for you.

The melody is new, something you have never heard before. The pounding headache is not enough to stop the pictures to form themselves in your mind. There are no words, maybe not even a title to the piece, but it is about hope, about love.

The words pour out of his mouth like the clear water in Rivendell's baths. They fall into your ears, a foreign song of which you do not understand all the lyrics. You can only catch a few words, here and there. He talks of flowers, and birds, of the sun and other stars illuminating the sky. Breathing quietly, not to disrupt his reading, you trace invisible patterns on the silky sheets. You draw the curves of each syllable, paint the rhymes as they leave his lips. The symphony of his verse warms your heart. Somewhat, it soothes the pain.

Lindir too, is beautiful. The brown cascade flowing down his shoulders, adorned with a delicate tiara makes him look divine. He reminds you of the trees basking in the pale moonlight. Perhaps one day you will have him sit for you, get his portrait done.

Slowly, his voice dies down, and with it, the beautiful words. Already, you miss them and wish for more.

"Was it to your liking?" The uncertainty of the his question makes you smile. His eyes reflects the turmoil inside him. Never had you wished for him to suffer from the sadness devouring your soul. Guiltily, you take his hand in yours. The smooth skin reminds you of an infant's.

"It would be, if only I knew the meaning of it." A light shade of red colors the tip of his ears, and your smile only grows bigger.

Many moons had passed since the first time you spoke to one another, and you still find it easy to embarass him. You know the path is still long before he feels entirely at ease with each word you say, before his shell breaks completely. Even if it never does, the love you have for Lindir will not fade.

With a soft caress of your thumb on his hand, you silently apologise for your mockery.

"Lindir, Mellon Nín, read to me again." Shutting your eyes, you listen as the soft-spoken elf lulls you into unconsciousness.

Written, the words look as beautiful as they sound. For the hundredth time, you read them, your eyes lingering on each curve of Lindir's handwriting. Although reading it yourself is not the same as when he did it for you, you never get tired of it. You know the poem by heart now, and the translation he provided is not needed anymore for you to understand.

Wildflowers and discarded feathers fill your mind. You can imagine the sun peeking through the clouds so clearly, it feels as if you were currently watching it. As a soft sigh escape your lips, the windows calls for you. The green leaves waving, pleading for you to come outside. This bed held you captive for so long. You laid there, drowning in your own sorrow, waiting for death to take you away. Now you miss the gentle wind, the birds chirping happily amongst the trees.

Quietly, the door opens and closes. He does not knock anymore. He stopped when he realized you never answered. You don't mind.

"Mae govannen, Lindir." You greet him, folding the parchment in your hands. Soon, the strong scent of sugar assaults your nostrils, sweet and enticing, making your stomach groan. "What is it that I smell?"

The bed shifts as he sits down next to you. On a silver tray lies a dozen of delicious looking pastries. It is only as you look at them, mouth watering, that you realize you are hungry.

"I baked them myself." To say you feel privileged in this instant would be an understatement. You will forever be grateful for the way he is taking care of you. Even when mortality finally parts your ways, your gratitude will remain.

Shyly, you take the smallest looking one. As you bring it closer to your face, the smell fills your nose. It is sweet, intoxicating. You take a bite and let a pleasantly surprised noise. It looked good, but once on your tongue, it is exquisite. It tastes of fresh fruits, a little bit of honey and perhaps, of mint. The ingredients balance each other perfectly. When you swallow, there is no bitter aftertaste, and you pop the rest into your mouth.

As you eat, his eyes never leave you. The worries slowly faded, replaced with hope. For a second, you look at him as if he was a mirror. Days had passed, and with it, the heartache and crippling emptiness. In your heart is now a new feeling of joy, peace.

"I did not know you could bake so well." You point out. You lick your fingertips, cleaning the sticky remainders of sugar.

"Neither did I." He replied with a smile, visibly satisfied with your words. Or maybe is he simply relieved to see you so eager to eat?

And you, too, are relieved. The harp is still standing proudly in a corner of your room, the one on which he played the softest songs as you cried. In your lap, the folded poem still lies, waiting for you to read it once more, for it was written for you. And the many little desserts he spent so much time baking, never before had you tasted something that good. Without Lindir, without his love and his care, this flicker of hope would have died down long ago. Now, the flame burns, big and strong in your heart, promise of better days to come.

Perhaps it is time to welcome the Sun back into your life.

[missinghan]

caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence 

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret. 

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han​ : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner. 

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

“Kid, I wanna have Chinese for dinner today.”

“Okay, and I should care because…?”

“Because I’m housing your ungrateful ass.”

No. No!

You drop the plastic bags in your hand, your muscles move before your mind can register what’s happening. The next thing you know, you’re racing to the heart of danger, utterly unfazed about the fact that fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. Powerful. Destructive. Heartless. In mere moments, everything you love can be reduced into nothing but sheer ashes.

“But we always have Chinese!”

“Who’s paying again? Was it you? No, I don’t think so.”

Tears blur your vision and you elect to ignore every white noise buzzing at the back of your head. Each step you take is rather a negotiation than an order. Your limbs move like they never belonged to you. This agony has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach and searing inside your rib cage. Your body concedes to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into consideration. The entirety of your existence yearns to curl into something fetal, something primeval, and all while the pain burns and radiates.

“Officer! Stop her! She’s running into the fire!”

“Child! What are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

But what you’re going through is nothing compared to his torment. He’s in there. Writhing and suffering alone. It must be so painful, so cold despite the enraged flames around him. 

When a strong pair of arms slip around your body and every motion comes to a stop, there is a scream of the mouth and lungs, the sound of his name lingers on the tip of your tongue. Because a response is impossible, there comes a scream of the eyes and soul, the kind that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart. 

You forget how to scream from that day on because you are either left with dead silence or punished with cruelty. 

Because you couldn’t save him.

one.

The housekeeper wakes with a tight knot in her stomach. Her body topples the sheets over to reach for her nightstand, flickering on some source of light. Only silence accompanies the hard throbbing inside her chest until a loud thud comes from the hallway. Her body jolts up instantly, a hand over her chest as a soft string of melody saunters into the emptiness of the night.

“When the night is falling, and you have lost your way.”

Her quivering figure quickly exits her room with a flashlight. Her right hand clutches at her other one as an attempt to stop the shaking as adrenaline sears through her vessels. With dreaded steps, the housekeeper manages to reach the staircase, approaches the end of it, and proceeds toward the living room.

“When the rain is storming, and your world’s turned to gray.” 

The voice smoothly slips through the chilling nightfall like an allure yet there’s nothing musical about it. The lullaby sometimes goes off-tune or comes out in broken waves as though whoever’s singing genuinely doesn’t care. They sound more dead than angry, more tired than irate, making her innards shift uneasily. 

“When the wolves await outside, and you feel like you’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, just remember. Remember when I said.”

And they stop. The housekeeper musters up every bit of courage left. A breath in. A breath out. 

In the darkroom, even the ticking clock has a relaxed feeling, as if it’s merely a heart-beat at rest. She feels as though the air moves like cool water and the aroma of the house owner’s scented candles infuse her far more deeply than it did in the light of day. The hollow space is etched with charcoal, the fabrics are muted hues as if they too await dawn to ignite their colors for all to see. The moment she heaves a sigh of relief, her eyes make the mistake of averting to the ceiling, unveiling a scene of unimaginable terror.

Fear floods her system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. Her heart might as well explode right now because even her jaw is shaking non-stop. Her body urges her to either run fast, away from the horror laid out flat in front of her eyes, or to stay quiet and do the right thing, calling the police. But instead, she remains where she’s standing. 

There is Mr. Yuuki, the house owner she’s been working for over three years, hung upon the crystal chandelier. His limp body lets its limbs stick out awkwardly, white eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood drips to the floor, forming a dark pool. The flashlight drops to the floor, and so does her trembling gaze. She gasps sharply when a thick smear of crimson is splattered across the wooden tiles, sinking into the cracks like poison. 

Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down on her forehead. At some point, she’ll have to move and risk the chance of getting herself killed.

Just then, a shadow comes into view and her legs go weak, letting her body collapse to the ground like a crooked puppet. Incoherent pleas pour from her lips as she screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever comes next. “Please! I’ll do anything! I won’t call the police! Just don’t kill me, please! Please!”

Footsteps are advancing toward her, getting louder by the tick of the clock. They echo listlessly until the sound slowly fades away, only a soft response comes afterward.

“Greetings to his boss for me.”

two.

The mansion has been his home for decade upon decade, embraced by nature on the outskirts of the city, away from all the noises, the buzzing flow of time people have signed their souls up for. It is all concrete and tall glass windows that give overlooking views of the clear horizon, a chance to relax and take in the changing of the seasons from the comfort of an easy chair.

Yet coming from the hollow building is a strange sound, a melodic voice of pain and sorrow, of heartache and loss. The tune is soft, like grass on a summer day, or the tenderness in the air in which only spring possesses. It can fill one with warmth while weaving a sad tale of indescribable, rather forgotten memories.

“Darling, close your weary eyes. Everything will be fine.”

“Let the breeze wipe away your tears. There is no need to cry.” 

He’s seated at the edge with his back straight, he no longer feels dwarfed by the grand piano as he used to as a kid. His fingers are limber as they glide on ivory first and ebony after, his neck slightly bent down, tousling his hair to the front while his eyes flutter shut in serene. 

“You can lay down. No one will hurt you.”

The music stand lies empty, has been so for years. He only ever reads the notes within his mind because he goes as far as playing the instrument to this day for this peculiar lullaby. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and the cracks in the walls, while at the source trembling fingers dance sweetly on.

He knows that he needs to calm down. 

“Let your fears be carried by the streams. The twilight gleam watches over you.”

In his head, he reads through the music scrupulously as though he’s practicing during the old, innocent days, beat by beat, bar by bar, note by note. His fingers know precisely where to go and how each key reacts when he applies the same, adequate amount of pressure. It’s as though he can make the hammer hit each string in a way to resonate with the most beautiful of sounds. 

The thought of playing as a kid eases the spike in his heartbeat and clears his mind. He can still vividly remember the first time he got lifted onto the bench on his sixth birthday, his tiny legs dangled over the edge and his figure completely overwhelmed by the mammoth-sized instrument. His arms could barely span the length of the keyboard, his feet could only do so much as graze the pedal below.

“And when the morning arises…”

He recalls the mounts of sheets cluttering his father’s old bookshelves in such ways that he himself can’t remember their initial color. He recalls the tall figure seating beside him each time, guiding his hands across the keys, ones that were unfamiliar to music and the swell it can bring to one’s chest. He recalls those starry eyes staring down at him, the outburst of laughter, and the cat-like smile that brings love and harmony to his fragile soul. 

“I shall be by your side…”

Yet he never recalls a proper goodbye, only tears.

“Minho.”

The melody pauses sharply, his body stiffens at the name. Minho isn’t here.

“Minho, is that you?” Minho isn’t here, a voice inside him snaps.

A deep breath. He elects to ignore the strings that are bound to break inside his chest before pushing himself off the wooden bench. With a swift turn, he sees Mrs. Lee standing by the door with her hair in her face, her soulless eyes lighting up once they graze the sight of him. “Minho, my sweet child. You’ve come home. You’ve finally come home!” Her voice echoes in joy, a hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes brim with tears.

Minho isn’t here! His heart yells aloud, yet his mind can’t comply.

He doesn’t know what’s urging him to approach her, to let her lean on him. Perhaps, it’s guilt. Or the yearning for the warmth of a mother who abandoned him long ago. “Yes, mother, I’m home,” he sighs softly when she clutches at his shirt. “I’m never going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

Hurried footsteps flood the hallway rapidly until the housekeeper barges through the door, simply breaking the agonizing silence. “Good gracious, Mrs. Lee! Goodness, she must have forgotten about her sleeping pills again.” She then hastily rushes to his side, supporting Mrs. Lee by her waist while bowing continuously. “Young Master, please, allow me.”

“It’s alright, you’ve done enough,” he waves his hands with a small smile. “I’ll tuck her back to bed, today is my day off anyway. You may go home and rest now.”

He can’t forget how much lighter Mrs. Lee has gotten, how paler her face has been. He’s afraid that one wrong movement and he might send her frail body flying to the floor. Only when she’s fully covered by her blanket, the stars come out to play and the evening takes on the aroma of a breezy night. He likes this, the softness, the quietness of the sense of resting. Moonlight is streaming through the windows yet his mind, clouded with grey, throbs uncontrollably when he realizes the sudden pang inside his chest. 

It’s been fifteen years…

His phone rings. “Sergeant Lee Felix, Seoul P.D,” he keeps his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “I’ll be there.”

And I still couldn’t do anything for you.

three.

Light fog seeps into the depthless night when Felix exits his car, throwing on his blazer in a hurry as he staggers toward a water fountain. There’s barely any vehicles operating at this hour, leaving the streets chilling and empty. He quickly checks his watch one last time. One AM on the dot. Another sleepless night.

“Lix! Over here!”

His blank expression breaks into a grin when two familiar faces come into view. “Changbin? Hyunjin? You both got called in too?”

“Yeah, can’t believe the Chief had the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep for a simple homicide,” the taller officer, Hyunjin, has his face contorted in faint annoyance, brushing through his long locks of hair with his gloved hand.

“The night duty squad is handling another case on the other side of the city. We know the neighborhood like the back of our hands,” Changbin gives him a hard smack on the chest, only to wince quietly later to himself. Ugh, I’m so out of shape. “If anything, we have the best chance to catch up to the culprit.”

Hyunjin protests with a forced smile, “Shut up, Lieutenant, I know that.”

“Alright, let’s review,” Felix hops into the conversation, clasping his hands together in feigned excitement. “Someone dialed 911 with a murder case on the line. The culprit, escaped or not, we’re still uncertain of. But they did leave behind a witness.”

His coworkers nod simultaneously as he recaps what Seungmin told him on the phone earlier and the three of them find themselves standing right before the provided address.  The house seems oddly quiet for someone getting murdered. “Right, chances are they’re still in there. We’d better-”

The front door comes flying open. A woman dressed in her nightgown collapses to the ground instantly, fear echoing through the rumble of her voice. “Help! P-Please! Mr. Yuuki! He-He’s dying! Please, I beg you! Save him!” With her face buried in her hands, a wave of laughter bubbles up her windpipe, shaking her core tremendously. “They did it again! They’ve claimed another victim!”

Changbin is the first one to step up, helping the housekeeper to her feet. “Miss, please try your best to stay calm. Everything is alright now, we’re here because you did the right thing of calling us. You’re safe with us,” he gently supports her by the shoulders, his voice soft but serious. “If it’s okay for me to ask, what exactly happened to Mr. Yuuki? Is there anyone else inside?”

The housekeeper seems to still be shaken. Tears are threatening to fall but she bites them back, shaking her head to answer the second question first. “N-No, Mr. Yuuki has a son but he’s currently studying in Europe so I’m the only one other than…” 

Her voice trails off, the pools of tears in her eyes are clouded with those moments of horror she wishes she could erase forever. “It was horrible! I-I was having trouble sleeping before a strange sound woke me up completely. Someone was singing. Th-The culprit was singing. And there was s-so much blood. Mr. Yuuki was hung upon the chandelier when I went downstairs! So-So much blood. I didn’t know how- or why- I- I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Miss, please try to stay calm. I won’t ask you any more questions, I am not here to interrogate you,” Changbin exhales deeply, looking over at his underlings. “Hyunjin, go check up on Mr. Yuuki. Felix, look for the culprit. I’ll call Seungmin for more back-ups.”

The two officers comply, “Roger that.”

Entering the house, Felix is bathed in a whirlwind of chilling silence and utter darkness. The smell of blood makes something inside him twitch, prompting him to look over at his friend. “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down here and handle the body until Jisung or Seungmin comes.” 

The Sergeant advances up the long flight of stairs with his gun clutched between his hands. Almost immediately, he takes notice in the stream of moonlight illuminating the end of the hallway and rushes toward the wide-opened door. His figure barges into the room with caution and is met with the night breeze kissing his face and white curtains fluttering gently. 

Just then, a loud bang is heard in the distance. 

Felix feels himself tense up, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of finding- there! On the rooftop from across the streets. 

In a heartbeat, he picks up his transceiver and speaks, “I have eyes on the suspect. Pursuing on foot.” With his feet on the window frame and his arms on the tiles of the roof, he manages to lift himself while his muscles contract in pain. Facing forward, Felix begins to sprint. 

The wind screams into his ears, his feet flying over steel and leaves. His shoes pound heavily across the hard surface, causing what’s remaining of the downpour this morning to slash up his legs. From one rooftop to another, his calves burn tremendously yet he keeps darting past houses, buildings, and trees with his eyes glued onto the shadow before his eyes. 

Adrenaline courses throughout his system; he can feel his whole body working, his leg muscles running warm, a thin layer of sweat covers his nape. The cold air keeps biting at his blood and lungs but he keeps his breaths as steady as he can, pushing harder and going faster. For a split moment, his foot slips when his mind is frantic with cloudy thoughts. How is it possible for one to move this fast?

The hooded figure a few feet ahead of him speaks volumes in the silence; they’re running. They’re running like the devil himself is in pursuit. Only it’s worse because the felon is flesh and blood and means to send people straight to hell just the same way. His breathing quickens at the thought process, trying to appease his need for oxygen. 

Several thuds of footfalls later, he finally decreases the proximity although fresh air now shocks his lungs, making him want to spurt and pass out in exhaustion. His body trembles from the consistent pace he’s forced himself into, yet his hands lift the firearm swiftly, his gaze shaking with the pounding inside his chest. 

It only takes so much strength to pull the trigger. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. Felix stops himself completely, regains his composure, and raises his gun once again. He elects to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, the throbbing of his anxious heart, and squeezes the trigger. 

The bullet cuts through air and comes flying toward the wanted figure, missing them by a strand of hair. His face contorts in anger as he mumbles out a curse word. He missed. He shouldn’t have. He can’t miss. Missing isn’t an option. 

Felix pumps his legs, gaining momentum with each push. But it feels gut-wrenching all of a sudden after a few thrusts forward—his body is giving in. He watches the culprit quicken their pace until their steps turn into leaps. Just a few more feet and they’ll jump the other side of the neighborhood. 

He won’t make it in time. 

Three. Two. One. The figure gathers enough strength and takes one final leap into the night. His heart immediately drops to the pit of his stomach, every movement comes to a full stop like the sudden stretch of silence within his rib cage. 

“Shit!” He perks up at the scream and glass shattering. “Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ugh…” And...dogs barking?

“Oh come on!”

four.

His feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, his breaths coming out in spurts, hot and nervous as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. Perhaps jumping off someone’s rooftop in a time crunch wasn’t the smartest decision. 

“Give me a break. Do you have any idea how much time it took me to outrun those dogs?”

“I won’t let you slip away. It’s best for either party if you cooperate. Don’t do anything foolish and mercy might be an option,” Felix clicks a bullet into the chamber, gaze falling onto the hooded figure.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Moonlight lights up the pathway for him, making it easier to back the felon up into the corner. 

“One more step, officer, I dare you.” A warning like poison pours into his ears.

Although something seems different this time. They sound more frantic. Is there something that’s bothering them? “You just committed murder, you filthy scumbag. One more step, I dare you.”

“Oh, you’re so unoriginal,” they clutch their right arm and chuckle lightly. Felix squints his eyes with the limited source of light; inevitably, they go wide upon seeing crimson dripping to the ground. But as the second ticks by, less and less blood pour from the wound as though the muscles and skin are simultaneously closing up the seams. 

What the hell am I looking at?

A smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.”

What are they... Wait, shit-

At the kind of speed he never thought humans could acquire, the hooded figure approaches him in what seems like seconds. The sudden whiplash blows the hood back and allows them to bathe in the moonlight raw.

 “Say, what are you going to do with a filthy scumbag like me again?” Something sharp and shiny comes into contact with the warmth of his flesh but he can’t bring himself to register or counter it.

Your features flash before his eyes, glowing from within, leaving him in complete awe. Although you’re talking nothing but venom, pain is evident in the crease of your lovely brows and the way your lips are pressed into a straight line. Your eyes are deep pools of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. There’s something so damn familiar about you. Felix almost finds himself resonating within your agony. He almost gasps.

In this growing light, your dark silhouette becomes full colors. 

But why aren’t you moving? He’s completely open like this.

“You!” Your voice suddenly trembles and so do your pupils. “You-You’re-”

Snapping back to his senses, Felix leaves no time for you to finish your sentence and grabs your armed limb with one hand while striking a harsh blow at your stomach with the other. You let out a hushed wince at the impact, falling to the cement ground along with the blade in your palm. He swiftly flips you over, cuffs your hands, and puts his gun at the back of your head. 

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Oh, spare me, Robin,” you involuntarily snort. “I’ll be gone before you can finish reading my rights.”

He nearly sneers, “Move an inch and I’ll put a bullet through your head. Your hands are cuffed, don’t you try to make your face worse than it already is.”

“I’m an Ace, darling. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me.”

His grip on the gun grows a fraction tighter, his heart starts beating faster at the name. “You work for the House of Cards?” The name rolls off his tongue bitterly, leaving a lick of fury consuming the rational side of his brain.

House of Cards—thieves, terrorists, assassins, dealers—the largest criminal organization that has been the dread of the country for decades. Just like the playing cards, the organization consists of four main groups: Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, and Spades. The Kings and Queens lead these groups for they’re either new or incompetent for the higher ranks. The Jacks come second in commanding and are often advisors while the Jokers remain anonymous to all as messengers. The four Aces are the most trusted by the chairman and only take orders from him themselves.

“I do,” you reply flatly, a sigh going unnoticed. “Shouldn’t you be fleeing by now upon receiving this information?”

“A murder. A gunshot right across the street. A living witness,” he grits with a timid smile. “All that and you call yourself an Ace? We’ve encountered worse than amateurs like you. You’ll be rotting behind the bars before you know it.”

“I like your optimism, officer. Genuinely, it's a blessing for you to bring us light in this time of darkness,” you turn sideways, smirk, and make sure that he sees it. “Ignorance is truly bliss sometimes.”

Something inside him snaps, water overflows the cup and he instantly grabs you by your head, burying it further into dust and cement. “I don’t know who you think you are. But you clearly don’t know what I’m capable of and the fact that I will stop at nothing to bring your boss down. I will make him face justice as you’re hearing it from the news in prison. I’ve promised. I’ve sworn.”

“Oh?” You dare to glance at him again. “I never knew cops detested my boss so much. Or is it just you? Is your hatred personal? You’ve broken a protocol from the get-go, haven’t you? Is it the reason why you even became an officer in the first place?”

Shit, Felix curses inwardly as your words stab him in the chest, twisting the tip of the blade deeper and deeper as though you’re not allowing him to breathe properly. His hands start shaking; the vibration against your nape makes you exhale, drawing yet another grin on your lips. “Tell me, who did they kill?”

To hell would he ever tell you.

“A family member?” Focus. 

“Your loved one?” Cover your ears. 

“Or a close friend, perhaps?” One wrong move. 

His shaking freezes midway, his voice comes out monotonous. “Shut up.” And you’ll die. 

“Bingo,” you feign excitement before clearing your throat. “Also, I wouldn’t pull the trigger if I were you. Because I am your best asset to get to my boss. You and I aren’t so different, trust me. After all, we both want his head.”

He yelps in surprise when you twist your back slightly, swinging your arm and elbowing his jaw while disarming him simultaneously. With a swing of your leg, he loses his balance on the knees and lands harshly on his back. 

With your knife pointed at his neck, your orbs bore onto his like you’re about to set him on fire. He gulps nervously, “What? How did you?”

“Listen up, I have a deal for you.” 

You were injured, how could you risk tearing your wound up like that? His chest rises then falls inconsistently, eyes darting to your forearm. It’s no longer bleeding. There’s no way! 

“...what are you?”

“Call me what you want. Murderer. Killer. An assassin. A monster.”

Felix squirms under your grip, spatting in aggression, “If so, you’re daydreaming if you have the audacity to believe that I will get my hands bloodied with you.”

“I’m not telling you to pick a side, officer. I’m just trying to say that I know something you don’t and you know something I don’t. If we pool our information we might actually have a good shot at capturing the bastard. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me. But if you pretend like our encounter never happens, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

“What feud do you have with your boss so bad that you’re willing to work with a police officer like me?”

“I never considered him as my boss. I never considered the organization as a place that I belonged to. No one knows who the leader is. I’ve been tracking him down for years already.”

“...what? That’s-“

“They killed someone very important to me, too.”

five.

Chan murmurs tiredly at the knock on his door, “Who’s there?”

“Sergeant Lee’s present to report on the assassin from last night, Chief.”

“Come in.”

Chan fixes his collar as Felix closes the door shut, strides straight into his office, and collapses on the nearest armchair. Usually, he’d be complaining about the lack of sunlight in the Chief’s working space. Because like any other civil office, there are enough windows for one not to choke to death but Chan has made a habit of keeping them close. Now, he decides to open the blinds and lets the light in completely, prompting Felix to throw an arm over his eyes dramatically. 

“Shut it. The lights are killing me,” he groans aloud, forehead creasing in frustration. Focus. 

Chan says pointedly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, “But you look like shit.”

“Of course I look like shit. You should try chasing down an Ace yourself some time. Really, it’s been a pleasant distraction from my unfinished paperwork and impotent stress,” the junior officer mumbles, dropping his arm and staring blankly at the space ahead. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chan sighs, sitting back. “It just makes sense, you know. Yuuki and his neighbor were moles the Yakuza planted in that filthy organization. No wonder their leader had to send one of the four Aces to finish him off.”

Felix closes his eyes for a moment, resting his arms on his knees, the muscles are still aching from last night’s incident. His fingers unconsciously reach for his bare neck, tracing the shallow cut as goosebumps bubble upon his skin. Focus. “Enough being mopey,” Chan grins and slaps something cold against his cheek, causing his friend to jolt up in surprise. “Aren’t you here to report?”

He flashes Felix a cheeky smile when the younger clenches the cold towel on his face in annoyance. Nonetheless, there’s a twinge of faint nostalgia and affection lighting up inside his stomach—the kind that comes from long-time friends. “Alright, I gotta come back to my desk before Changbin goes off about my productivity anyway.”

“Good, elaborate,” Chan whips out a pen with his crusty notebook, eyes narrowing and turning serious. 

“The Ace escaped,” Felix starts, “After checking in with Yuuki’s housekeeper, Hyunjin and I went inside the house. He handled the body while I was heading upstairs. I pursued them as soon as I heard the gunshot from across the streets. I only managed to wound them from afar, but it’s not enough to slow them down. They were too fast so I was outpaced at the end.”

The Chief raises a dark brow, eyeing the cut on his throat, “I can see that you’re injured, too. Did they shoot you? Seungmin only found a semi-auto pistol next to the second victim.”

“No… I did this to myself during the chase,” Felix touches his wound again, gulping, “They only carried a knife, of all the things.” Don’t be obvious. You can’t risk getting them to suspect you. 

“You couldn’t get close enough to see if we’re dealing with a man or a woman, right?” Chan then casts a meaningful look at the mountain of unfiled paperwork upon his desk, feigning interest in the light reading that awaits him for the rest of the day. 

“Unfortunately, no. They have a good physique, clearly well-trained and more skilled than the little fries we’d managed to throw behind the bars,” Felix shakes his head, eventually pushing himself off the black armchair. “What about the housekeeper? According to what I’m able to recall, she did, in fact, see the Ace.”

Chan wants to scream at the mention, fingers massaging his temples. “That woman is far too traumatized to even speak a word right now. She’s been giving Seungmin headaches all morning.”

“Yeah, about that...sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” Felix bites his lips as he can feel his own lies suffocating the space around him, filling his lungs with water and squeezing at his windpipe. He needs to get the fuck out of here. 

The Chief chuckles lightly and waves his hands, “No, no, we’re all kinda impressed, actually. No one has ever been able to propose a mere chase with them before. It’s already a miracle that you came back alive.”

His heart instantly sinks, his fists curl up unconsciously. Felix could have died. He should have died last night. But you hesitated. Why? Why would you spare him? And why were you looking at him like that? “Hey.” A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Don’t worry about it. You should take a day off today. You look unwell.”

“But-”

A figure lands soundlessly on Chan’s balcony, swiftly turning around to face Felix.

His brain stutters for a moment and his eyes take in more light than they should, still, they widen when shock riddles his senses. Every part of his body tries to catch up and his thoughts go on a dreadfully long pause. It’s you. Standing in broad daylight without anything to cover up. Distanced a few feet from his grasp. 

One shout and you’ll be cuffed in mere moments. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me. His precinct has been desperate, ramming into one dead-end after another for a single lead to House of Cards. 

Felix can turn you in right here. Right now. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me.

“That is an order, Sergeant,” Chan grins, not noticing how pale his friend has gotten in such mere moments. “You’ll collapse the moment you head out for patrol, trust me.”

“No, Chan! You don’t understand, I-”

“Do it,” you mouth, sealing his lips instantly. 

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll take a nap in the infirmary.” You slap on a devilish smile at his words, wiggling your phone high enough for him to see.

As soon as Felix closes the door behind him, the spike in his heartbeat finally falls with the stiff smile on his face, his breaths short and uneven. The urge to punch something is cut short when his phone vibrates timely. A message from an unknown number: “Ten PM. The waterfall in Yellow Woods. You’ve got one chance.”

six.

Felix has underestimated the cold since nightfall. His muscles ache and shiver all at the same time, momentarily yelling at him to turn around to head back to the comfort of his family’s mansion. Yet the dark Yellow Woods seems to silence time and space, only leaving him with the urge to march forward. 

He lied to Chan about your encounter, lied to Changbin so he wouldn’t have to go on his night shift, lied to Hyunjin that he’d go home and rest like his friend always told him to. Humans have been taught not to lie but deception still exists and one cannot escape its grasp. Even Felix never knew there would be a day where he’d become this desperate. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit, utterly disgusted. 

Clutching his gun tightly, he begins walking faster into the light fog. 

“My my, look who it is.” His frantic steps come to a halt, his head snapping back immediately. “Someone was so hellbent on giving me a headshot the last time we met. What changed?”

Felix raises a brow in confusion. “What the- Didn’t you ask me to meet up at the waterfall?”

“The waterfall is the other way, you fool,” you jerk your head back, clearly unimpressed. 

“Cut me some slack, my phone was dead! Wait, how did you- were you stalking me?!”

You can’t help but stifle a chuckle; his face is priceless. “Tracking sounds more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You-”

“You’d better pick up the pace if you want to survive this little partnership of ours, officer.”

Eventually, he complies and stumbles through the woods with you, his feet feeling like they’re being dragged across cement. During the day, Yellow Woods is alight with the serenity one yearns for at their lowest, birds chirping and leaves rustling to one united song of Mother Nature. In contrast, it is now hollow, colorless, almost empty to a sense with all this darkness around him. 

“I never said that we had a deal,” Felix says while trailing after you, cautious not to trip over any branches. 

You turn around for a meager moment, giving him that sly grin of yours. “Suppose that you do, we need a contract. Some simple protocols between comrades. What do you expect from me? Keep it simple. Excessive details bore the shit out of me.”

“First, no with-holding information. If you know something, I need to know it and vice versa. Second, no personal questions. I don’t want you in my life nor do I want me getting my hands dirty with you.”

You hum in response, “Hmm, short and sweet. But I have my own as well.”

He gulps, “Go on.”

“I don’t work with dogs. I don’t care if it’s licensed as emotional support. I won’t hesitate to shoot if you even let one do so much as breathe in the same room as me.”

“...that makes way too much sense.” So that explains why-

“What about you? Afraid of the dark?”

“I wasn’t born this morning.”

To the East lies the waterfall you’ve mentioned this morning, which you lead him down a dirt road and right behind it, straight into a small cave. There are two paths diverged that catch him by surprise but there’s nothing he can do other than taking the left side, hastily following the source of light from your phone. Your final destination unveils before his eyes as a small, underground lair.

Felix suddenly feels cold for no reason. “How do you even sleep?” He scrunches his nose while rubbing his hands together. 

“I don’t,” you say without looking at him, exhaling and shrugging off your coat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go heat up some tea before you freeze to death.”

Not knowing what to do with himself, his eyes roll around the seemingly confined but commodious space in curiosity. Your working desk is as big as the one in the conference back at headquarters, mounted with an overwhelming amount of files. To the right, the wall is lined with weapons, target boards, and rag dolls; you seem to prefer blades over firearms. The whole place is lighted up with candles all around, giving it that eerie feeling like something straight out of an old movie. 

Still, not bad.

His careless feet drag him across the concrete, subconsciously reaching out for the files on your desk. He can’t fight the urge, he can’t resist it. Before his mind can register and his conscience can yell at him, the plastic binder is already yanked open. Experiment #180108–Y/N, it reads. “What the hell… Enhanced strength and agility… Instant self-healing… Metamorphosis? Is this what they’ve been doing under our noses all this time?”

“No, only my parents.” Your voice snaps him out of it, prompting him to drop the files. “Your office was giving me anxiety, by the way. Thank god for home sweet home.”

“What the hell were you doing in my-“ A dagger flies past his head, missing him by a strand of hair and ending up embedding itself on the bull’s eye of a nearby target. “Daughter of a bastard,” he breathes out in disbelief, eyes boring holes on you. “What kind of tea was that?!”

“Lee Felix. Only son of the Prime Minister. Ranked Sergeant at the eighth precinct, Seoul P.D. The precious heir to one of the five great families.” Words leave you. You only stare into those bright, brown eyes burning with anger, his heart almost falling silent. “Gosh, you’ve got quite the profile. Shouldn’t you be worried about the image of your family instead of shaking hands with the devil like this?”

Felix clenches his jaw, everything is slow and warbled as he looks down, shaking violently. “And yet you still thought I’d be crazy enough to make a deal with an Ace?”

“You’re not crazy,” you sigh, grinning internally. “Just extremely desperate-“

“I am not desperate!” A lie spats out, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I have no reason to be.” Focus.

A mocking shrug. “Right, you’re not desperate. You just followed me all the way here without taking out your gun or rambling on with your boring death threats. Like a little, perfect pet. Exactly what I needed.” 

“Death threats don’t work on monsters,” he croaks, fists balled and eyes wide. Even so, the way you gaze darken still goes unnoticed. “I’ve seen your kind kill anyone without hesitation. Getting blood on your hands without even blinking. You, all of you, aren’t humans anymore. You’re all a complete write-off of a species.”

Felix lifts his head, pupils trembling at the sight in front of him. For a moment there, you look sad and broken. Raw, naked, and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. It makes him ponder, how can humans be so weak yet so cruel at the same time?

“...why? Why are you doing this?” he inquires shakily, head racing with a thousand thoughts. “I don’t understand. Actually, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.” No! Focus, you idiot!

“You don’t have to.” Finally, you speak after the long dread of silence, combing a hand through your hair tiredly. “You know. It’s funny how the same thing happened to us. And now look at where we ended up individually.”

His brain pauses and chokes up. “What are you saying?” Cover your ears. Do not be misled!

You look away, simply knowing that you won’t be able to hold it in if you’re making eye contact. “I know you’re not the rightful heir of the Lees. You weren’t part of the bloodline in the first place. You’re simply a replacement. A second option. Nothing but an afterthought-“ 

“No! Shut up! Just shut u-“ Cover your ears. Do not trust anyone!

“—the real heir supposedly went missing during the Eiji Station tragedy where my organization ordered a bombing fifteen years ago. It’s been over a decade and they’ve already concluded his death even though a body was never found. Am I right, officer?”

Choose the wrong path. 

Felix buries his face into the palms of his hands as streaks of silvery tears burn his cheek. His exhausted shoulders shake in each rake of emotion through his frame, the fire of anger and despair boils past the seams he can no longer hold together. With his knees weak, he can only sob and drops down on his knees, screaming with all his might. 

And you’ll die. 

But even you, the devil itself, can’t save the man who’s drowning himself in his own tears of hell. 

“Welcome to the team. The name is Y/N,” you offer him a hand, blankly eyeing his quivering figure. He finally picks himself up with difficulties, eyes glowing with tears and fury. After a split moment of hesitation, his hand reaches for yours, firmly clasped and sealing your deal. 

Because he’s falling down the same bottomless abyss with you. 

Because you both couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Minho. 

epilogue.

__ fifteen years ago

“Hey, Minho, you’re really good at playing the piano. Are you gonna be a musician?”

“Hmm, I do like music. But I’d rather become a police officer. 

“Why? Didn’t you say that you like music?”

“I’ll become anything for my mother.” 

“Then, I’ll be a doctor when I grow up! And we can save people together.”

“Okay. It’s a promise, Lix.” 

[shadows1nger]

OUR IMMORTAL SOULS

Chapter two

The soul has moments when it can only understand the rain.

-Jmstorm

Song;

1837

London, England

The storm raged on all day. The roaring thunder nearly shook the estate. The rain pattering against the windows was a relaxing escape from Lady Maddox's constant nagging.

Clean this. Don't forget that.

Her voice irritated me more than usual. It was the type of voice that reminded me of screeching children and annoying cocking of crows. Even that can't quite grasp the unpleasantness of her voice. I think it's quite funny her husband is near deaf. I would be too if I had to hear her for the rest of my life; in morning and in night.

I finished the last of duties fairly quickly day. I might even make supper if the rain would just let up. I blew out an exaggerated breath as I watch the rain pour harder than before.

"Do you need to be somewhere?" A man asked.

I turned, startled to see Lady Maddox's son.

William Maddox.

In expected fashion, he had small leather book tucked under his arm. He asked me a question. I should answer him. It would be rude not too. I look around for Lady Maddox. "She's in the study with Father. You can speak to me, I won't tell." He smiles, and I hope it's genuine. He has a nice smile. I guess that is to be expected when you're as handsome as he is. "I am waiting for the rain to stop, so I can return home." I say, quietly. I still fear Lady Maddox might hear me.

He stares at me for what felt like forever before speaking, "You can ride with me if you'd like."

My eyes widen at his words. Is he jesting? He can't be serious truly. His mother would gut me.

"I—I don't think that would be wise." I stutter out look to the ground. He seemed to know the reason of my unease. "She'll never know. I'm going to meet some colleagues, I'll drop you off on they way."

I took one more look at the pouring rain before nodding. He smiled again and I was captivated by the softness in his honey brown eyes. He stuck his arm, "Come along then, Miss—"

"Ophelia."

"Well then, Miss Ophelia. We should be off now before mother gives you more tedious chores."

I smile at that. He is nothing like his mother. Though, I guess time does that to a person. I find it hard to believe someone is born bitter.

William insisted I sit inside the carriage with him. He said the cold rain is no place for a lady. He is too kind. I am not a lady. I have but only my name and the small amount of money his mother gives me. I am dressed in rags and have coal smeared on my cheek I'm sure.

I watch as he reads. His eyes scanning the pages with such speed like he wanted to devour the book as fast as he could. "May I ask? What are you reading?" I say and voice is small. I'm surprised he heard me.

"The Way of the World by William Congreve." He answers, his eyes never leaving the pages.

"It's quite good. Have you read it?"

"No sir, I fear I have not." I admit, my cheeks turning red.

"I'll lend it to you when I am finished." He says, and I bit my lip trying not to smile. He is way too kind for this world. I don't admit I can't read. I don't want to ruin the feeling I'm experiencing right now. Im warm and my stomach feels strange but in a good way.

I've heard that you're life flashes through your eyes when you're near death, but I fear that is not the case. It all moved very, very slowly. Glass cut my cheek as the carriage swerved and I'm thrown out onto the icy covered ground. I can't move. I can't even breathe, the air fills my lung but leaves in an instant I can't soak it up. Everything hurts. The rain stings like it's made of fire. I can only stare up at the storm clouds that hide the light of moon and stars. I maybe getting my freedom sooner than I'd like. My eyes weighted down. I could feel my heart slow until eventually it stopped. And nothing hurt anymore.

I felt nothing in fact. Not even cold like what I assumed death would feel like.

"It's time." A soothing voice said. It was Death.

She is beautiful. Her eyes are warm and caring as she reaches out a hand. It's over. My life I barely got to live. Twenty-two years of life over in an instant.

"What of William? The coachman?" I ask.

"It isn't their time yet," She answers and her voice is like a melody luring me off to the afterlife. I reach out grasping her hand, their soft and welcoming.

Lightning strikes my body, her dark brown eyes widened as I'm yanked back. I breath and it doesn't hurt. She's gone. Death has left me.

And I feel. I feel everything the coldness of the air, the wetness of the rain, my heart pounding against my chest. I'm alive. Nothing hurts. I'm as well as I was this morning. I sit up to see the damage of the crash. The carriage torn to shreds folded in amount itself. The horse gone.

I get up and run towards it, "William!"

He lays unconscious along with the coachman. He nearly unscathed besides the small cuts from the glass. He's alive. His breath is shallow but he's alive. Tears sting my eyes, we're alive. It's isn't over. I can live. Death has pardoned me. I take a deep and much needed breath.

I hear the laughter of women. I whip my head around to see three women appear out of thin air. A maiden, a mother, and a crone.

They speak in unity,

"You, the escaper of Death.

Endless ending.

Worlds dividing.

Light and darkness.

You hold it all in you're hands.

You are a destroyer and preserver.

You can bring them together or tear the apart.

The choice is yours."

"Who are you? What does that even mean!" I ask.

They frown, "You're asking the wrong questions!"

The rain stings my eyes, "How am I alive?"

They laugh in unity and it's send chills to my spine,

"Not even Death knows."

[cxptain-carol]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐡𝐣𝐩

⇰ summary: on the night of the yule ball, y/n finds that the best place to let confusing romantic feelings for your friend culminate is during a slow dance.

⇰ pairing: harry james potter x reader

⇰ word count: 1.3k

⇰ warnings: none

⇰ genre: fluff, romance

⇰ no pronouns used (but reader wears a dress) and no race specified; reader is gryffindor but it doesn’t matter that much

⇰ a/n: i found myself totally obsessed with christmas canon by t.s.o. so feel free to play it while you read - it’s the inspiration for the slow dance :))) i am in such a hp mood these days so send in some ideas, i’d love to write since i’ve got the time

Was there a better place to let loose than the Yule Ball?

You had long since forgotten about the strict instructions to ‘behave yourself’ in the company of the visiting schools and were dancing freely with any fourth-year who looked even half as cheerful as yourself. It felt unbelievable recalling that just days prior, you were swept up in the drama of picking dates.

You knew that Hermione was going with Krum, Neville was taking Ginny, and Lavender ended up with Seamus. Ron, Harry, and you hadn’t found dates by then. You considered asking Harry as a friend but the thought of it made your stomach turn, so you pushed that to the back of your mind. Still confused, you turned down two Ravenclaw boys on Christmas Eve, just as Harry and Ron found Parvati and Padma. Despite it leaving you a little disheartened, you chose to attend the ball on your own.

But what a brilliant choice that was.

Decked out in a shimmering dress of Gryffindor scarlet flecked with gold, you danced to your heart’s content, laughing each time your partner managed to trip over your swishing skirt which dragged along the ground.

You rushed around the crystal floor, making sure to dance with each of your friends before the music slowed and you’d be left dateless. Hoping to find one last partner before the slow dance, your eyes landed on an unsuspecting figure in bottle green dress robes.

Harry was seated at a table with Ron and Hermoine, who were talking angrily in hushed tones. Sensing that he needed to be saved from the rather unpleasant situation, you hurried over.

You stopped abruptly at the table, looking down at Harry and extending your hand to him before even saying a word.

“Wanna do something fun?”

“Like what?” He sat up straighter, eyeing your expression curiously.

“Like this.”

You tugged him from the seat by his arm, dragging him to the dancefloor as he hurriedly tried to keep up. But the moment you found a spot, the lively music died down and was replaced with gentle piano notes and the soft voices of the Hogwarts Frog Choir.

“Oh,” you mumbled, cheeks heating briefly from embarrassment before you grinned, looking up at Harry.

You felt your stomach turn again as your eyes met and the words you meant to say were lost somewhere in your throat. Piercing green stared through your soul and your mind froze in its tracks. You had never seen Harry this up-close before — it was… different.

Remembering what you had dragged him out for, you hastily placed one of his hands in yours and the other on your waist. You began to move with him, step by step along the floor, stifling giggles.

You leaned in towards his ear, whispering through a laugh, “I actually don’t know how to dance.”

He laughed along with you, leaning in to reply “Neither do I.”

Before he could say no, you spun him around and started to dance at a pace far too fast for the song. You grinned as you watched his face change from panicked to joyful and shyly looked away when you met his eyes.

A few couples made noises of disapproval as you two spun by, but you didn’t care — you whispered plenty of stupid jokes and Harry tripped over your dress a few more times before the song ended. You barely noticed until you saw a few pairs halt their movements and wander off the dancefloor. But before you could step back from Harry, the piano started again, this time playing a wonderfully familiar tune.

“Care for another dance, champion?”

“Will it be slower this time?”

You only grinned as the Frog Choir joined the music, filling the Great Hall with the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

Your hands found their places and eyes locked on the other’s (this time with more confidence) as you two glided along the crystal floor. The soft silver light washed over Harry and his green eyes sparkled as you stared into them, involuntarily breaking out into a smile.

“I love this song.”

“Yeah, me too.”

You didn’t even think it was possible that his adorable awkwardness would make your cheeks heat up.

Your consciousness shifted to his hand at your waist, gently holding him close to you. As the music grew even louder, a chorus of string instruments reverberating in the air, you found yourself drawn to his eyes. He watched you carefully under his boyish smile and you beamed, drowning in the moment as something stirred within you. His hand brought you even closer and your cheeks grew hot. It was so strange to think of Harry Potter like this: he was just a friend.

You refrained from staring to the point of freaking him out, but it was hard; you were seeing him in a whole new light. He had clearly tried to tame his hair for the night, but a few parts still stuck out in odd places. You admired the few freckles that dotted his face and the gentle creases of his smile lines. The scar you took note of on his left cheek (from after his battle with the Horntail) was slowly fading. You took in the way he looked, covered with a light sheen of sweat with his bangs sticking to his forehead and tugging a bit of his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked down at you.

To him, you had never looked more beautiful. His night had been so bland before you arrived, like a shining beacon of light, dragging him out to dance. His stomach gave a weird lurch each time your eyes met and his heart beat faster as he held you so close to him. The past few weeks had been so lonely, with the Triwizard Tournament and all the students’ tormenting, but he grew even closer to you. You were always there; offering a dumb joke or a helping hand. The way you looked at him  — with nothing but warmth in your eyes — was overwhelming. Every late night you spent with him and his friends in the common room, laughing until your faces hurt, every time you ambushed him in the corridors because “you missed him,” every lingering hug that made both of your stomachs turn, and every word you spoke to him alone, soft and gentle as though you only wanted to care for him — they were stars in your beautiful eyes that crinkled by the sides as you smiled.

You felt the air between you two change. It was no longer lighthearted: you two had both clearly discovered something you had hidden in the back of your hearts for months. It made you nervous, but the last thing you wanted to do was let go of him. You tore your gaze from his eyes and looked down, watching your dress shimmer gold as you danced.

But as the song approached its end, fingertips gently guided your face back up and soft lips met yours in a kiss.

Your heart melted contentedly and you threw your arms around Harry’s neck, breaking the kiss to give him the brightest smile of the whole night and watch his pretty green eyes crinkle at the sides. You leaned in and kissed him as sweetly as you possibly could, pouring out every wonderfully heart-fluttering emotion of the past few months.

You barely broke apart as you whispered “Meet me in the common room at four” against his lips.

They ghosted over yours as he replied “Definitely.”

Remembering the probably numerous eyes on you, you two tentatively looked around. Stares from every part of the room were on you and you looked back to Harry, who had turned completely pink. Giggling as you took his hands in yours and stepped off the dancefloor, the song ended in a resounding note. 

And just as you had done minutes prior, you broke out into a run, tugging a clumsy Harry by your intertwined fingers, through the crowd and out of the Great Hall.

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 7,295

Chapter Warnings: swearing, injury, blood, aftermath of (temporary) character death, mild disassociation, slight s.uicidal ideation, references to past abuse

Chapter Summary: The emotional fallout is intense, but they don’t have time to stop and deal with it. Wilbur doesn’t particularly like where they decide to hole up, but beggars can’t be choosers.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Twelve: nowhere to run

The sun is too bright in his eyes. Too bright, and wrong, somehow, that it should be shining like this. Should still be shining, after the loss they’ve just suffered, after watching his brother crumple to dust in front of him. But the sun hardly cares for things like that, so they all stumble out of the hole in the ground that serves as the entrance to the spider spawner and beyond, and the daylight surrounds them, unforgiving.

“Where do we go, what do we do,” Tubbo is chanting, and Ranboo is muttering under his breath, a continuous litany of, “I can’t believe he’s gone, I can’t believe that happened—” His own lips feel glued shut, his throat devoid of sound. His skin buzzes.

(the two images interpose: Techno hanging from the vine, head at an unnatural angle, Techno wavering on his feet, blood pouring from his throat, and there is a flash of light and there is ash all at once, as if the first caused the second, as if instead of healing him, shoving his soul back into a body clinging to life, the totem burned him up from the inside out, and unlike the phoenix there was no rebirth)

“We can’t stay here,” Puffy says. Her eyes are wide, and her hands are shaking, but her voice has the same determined cant to it as it always does. “We need somewhere to hole up.”

“And where is that supposed to be?” Sapnap demands. His breathing is unsteady. “Where the fuck are we supposed to go after that? Where isn’t the thing gonna be able to reach? With, with Dream being, being, what even was that? Why was he—how was he—?” He breaks off, sparks crackling at his fingertips, and his face is a mask of distress, of questions

(was he always like that and did I not see or did something happen to him did something make him like that is that my friend or is there something inside of him something behind his eyes that is not him at all and if that is the case how did I not notice how did I not notice how did I not save him)

that Wilbur feels he recognizes. Or would, if he let himself. If he let himself care.

His eyes drift over to Phil. Phil, who stands silently, blood dripping from his wings, a thousand old injuries reopened by thrashing thorns. Who stands with Tommy in his arms, Tommy, who is curled up as tightly as he can reasonably manage, his face tucked into Phil’s shirt. Trembling. Quiet.

(he will die and I will kill him, the Egg says, and I have already begun, and you cannot protect him, you do not have the strength, except by what I can grant you)

“Church Prime,” Puffy says. “It’s the only place that might be safe.”

“Who’s to say it would be?” Sapnap snaps. “You saw it in there! The vines have never moved like that before, and Prime knows what else it can do now. And maybe the Egg wouldn’t be able to get in, but who’s to say that would stop—” He cuts off again, face contorting.

His leg is beginning to hurt, now. All of him is, actually, now that his adrenaline is wearing thin, now that the horror is sinking in, but it’s concentrated in his leg in particular, and he looks down to see that his left pant leg is all but shredded, blood dripping down in steady streams and splattering on the grass by his feet. The vines got him worse than he thought, then, and he bites his lip against the sting.

He’s had worse, though. He’s had so much worse. This is practically nothing, and Puffy and Sapnap are still arguing, and Tubbo and Ranboo are huddled together, eyeing the vines around them with deep suspicion, unmoving as they are just yet, and Phil is silent, and he’s going to stay silent, because Wilbur recognizes all too well the strain in his eyes, the way he’s holding onto Tommy with a death grip.

(he’s watched two of his sons die, now, and Techno will be back, will still have two lives left, but that does not heal the hurt, does not assuage the pain of seeing your brother, your son, your family die in front of your eyes before you can lift a finger to stop it, and Phil’s eyes shine with a grief almost beyond what Wilbur can understand. except he understands all too well, in the end)

He’s had worse, and someone needs to step up.

(the old mantle settles across his shoulders, and if he closes his eyes it’s like nothing’s changed at all, and the sun sets on the city he is determined to give everything for, still standing, walls still strong)

“Boxed in like a fish,” he croaks, and Puffy and Sapnap turn to him as one. “That’s what we’ll be, if we go to Church Prime. Whether it protects us in the moment of not won’t matter once we run out of supplies. We need somewhere better situated. Somewhere we can defend, that might withstand a siege, if it comes to it.”

Puffy makes a frustrated gesture. “I’m open to suggestions,” she says. “The prison, maybe, if we have to? We could probably keep people out as easily as—ah, shit, Sam.” She pulls her communicator out and taps out a quick message, and then frowns. “It’s telling me it can’t go through. Why isn’t it going through? Sam had all three lives, he should be—”

“Admins can read private messages,” Phil murmurs. “Wouldn’t surprise me if Dream could fuck with the whole system, whatever the fuck he is.”

Wilbur reads between the lines. Techno, for the moment, is unreachable. He processes the information and moves on, refusing to let it get to him, refusing to let himself be overpowered by

(Techno’s unreachable Techno’s unreachable Techno’s respawned and he’s on his own and they can’t talk to him can’t get to him quickly and what if something went wrong what if something happened)

emotions.

“Sam will make his way to us,” he says. “I’m vetoing the prison. Like hell are we staying in there. Other thoughts?”

“What gives you vetoing power?” Sapnap asks.

“Somebody needs to make a decision,” he says, and it is with strength he doesn’t feel, confidence he is only pretending at, a force of command that comes from some unknown place, since he feels as though he is miles away from himself, “and I don’t see you coming up with anything. Either help or stop complaining.”

Sapnap’s face reddens, and he opens his mouth, to argue, no doubt, but then Ranboo breaks in with, “Foolish, maybe?” and hunches his shoulders when attention turns to him. “Sorry, it’s just, I’m pretty sure Foolish isn’t, um, a big fan of the Egg or anything, so maybe he could help?”

Wilbur has no idea who the fuck Foolish is.

“Nah, he’s too far out,” Tubbo says. “It’ll take ages to get to his place. And we need somewhere close, but not too close, so we still have a good place to fight back from, right, Wilbur? If we leave now, the Egg’ll just take over the whole SMP with nothing to stop it.”

“My thoughts exactly, Tubbo,” he says, and again, it is just like the old days, and they are standing atop the L’Manberg walls, and Tubbo has just said something particularly clever, and warmth and pride curl in him before he remembers where they are, what they’re doing. They need to decide, and soon. They’re just hanging around near the entrance, and sooner or later, someone’s going to come after them, whether they let them go at first or not. “Is there anyone else who has a good position, location-wise and resource-wise?”

“Wait,” Puffy says. “Eret’s castle.”

“Eret’s castle doesn’t have doors,” Sapnap says.

“No, but I stopped by earlier to see if they wanted to join us,” Puffy says. “They weren’t there, but the grounds were completely free of vines. And sure, there aren’t any doors, but between all of us, I’m sure we could make some. Eret’s got plenty of supplies, last I checked.”

Eret. The name evokes a wealth of associations, most of them unpleasant. His first instinct is to reject this idea like the last, to avoid placing their lives in the hands of one who has already betrayed him, who led them all into a death trap, who almost ended their revolution in one fell swoop. But Puffy has a point. Eret’s castle ticks all the right boxes: it’s defendable, well-supplied, and if there are no vines to clear, all the better. They’ll have to build doors, but between the lot of them, that’s easily manageable.

(a wealth of associations and many unpleasant but there is Eret offering them supplies offering their fragile rebellion help and they tried so dearly to redeem themself and he could not have seen that then wrapped in his own shadows as he was but perhaps he can see it now perhaps he can better appreciate it, give a little more benefit of the doubt, and if he is given a second chance after everything after committing the worst crime of all then who is he to deny them absolution?)

(another memory, more blurry: he is scared but stalwart as they go through the motions, and he does not want to die, is terrified of that endless void, but he knows that the server needs a leader and his living self must be that leader, and Eret is here, and Eret agrees, and Eret acts out their part, and Eret is trying so hard, and he cannot see their eyes behind their glasses but he imagines that if he could, he would see a fool’s hope in them)

“Eret, then,” he says. “We go to Eret.”

And no one disagrees. It’s strange. They have no reason to listen to him, really. They have far more reasons not to listen to him, more reasons to think that following his lead will end in disaster than otherwise. But Puffy nods, and Sapnap backs down, and Tubbo and Ranboo both look to him for direction like it’s the war and he’s in charge of child soldiers once again. Phil looks to him, too, but his expression is inscrutable, and only a slight tightness around his eyes shows that he’s in any pain at all.

So they go to Eret. Staggering through the grass, tripping over vines that still don’t move, thank Prime, and then along the Prime Path, and his leg hurts worse with every step, pain jolting up into his hip, it seems, and it’s not long before he’s walking with a limp. But they’re all hurt in some way, so he hides it as best he can. He can deal with it when they’re safely behind stone walls.

And then, Tommy says, “Put me down, I can walk.”

Wilbur glances over. Tommy’s face is still buried in Phil’s shirt.

“You sure, mate?” Phil asks softly.

“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” Tommy snaps, louder now, turning his face outward, pushing against Phil’s chest. His cheeks are flushed, his breaths coming short and fast, and he’s trying to pass it off as anger, and maybe part of it is. But Wilbur knows him better than to think that that’s all. Knows him better than to think that he would have let Phil carry him in the first place if he was alright.

“Okay, then,” Phil says, and swings Tommy down. Tommy wavers for a step, but slaps away Phil’s hand when he extends it, muttering a sharp, “Fuck off.”

And then they keep going. Tommy doesn’t say anything else. Wilbur keeps glancing at him, but he’s refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, even Tubbo’s. And—that’s another thing that’s going to have to wait. He wants nothing more than to stop now and make sure that Tommy’s going to be okay, but they don’t have time, and the general in him will not call for a halt until the retreat is over, until he is sure the enemy is not biting at their heels.

(retreating from Dream once again, and it is familiar and not, the same and not, and history runs in a circle, echoes and rhymes)

Eret’s courtyard is indeed free of vines, just as Puffy promised. Wilbur half-expects them to be nowhere in sight, based on what Puffy said, but they are standing right there, next to a skeletal horse they’re frantically saddling, and they’re checking their communicator every now and again, with the jerky motions of someone who doesn’t particularly want to but can’t make themself stop.

Then, suddenly, they look up at the sky. Wilbur follows their gaze to the flock of crows wheeling overhead, a dark mass of beating wings, each bird barely distinguishable from the others. All of them completely, eerily silent.

Eret stands there a moment. Just staring. Wilbur can’t tell what the look on their face is, but their shoulders are tense. And then, they look back down, and realize that the lot of them are there, stumbling in under the gate, and they visibly startle.

“Hey, Eret,” Puffy says, before they can get a word in. “Can we crash? And build some gates?”

“What,” Eret says. “What is—Puffy, what is going on? How did Dream manage to kill Sam and Technoblade? Is he—” They run a hand through their hair, and then start striding forward, their cape flaring out behind them. They haven’t said anything about him yet, haven’t reacted to his presence. “He’s out, isn’t he? I was going to come and see, but he’s out?”

“He’s out,” Puffy agrees. “We were kind of hoping you’d help us out on this one.”

“Of course,” they say quickly. “Of course, anything you—anything you need.” They’re rattled, clearly, more than Wilbur has ever seen them, perhaps. “I just—how did this happen? I thought the prison was secure, I thought—are you all okay?”

“Aside from the obvious?” Puffy says. “Yeah, we’re great. You haven’t been around much lately, I don’t know how much you know about the Egg and all of that, but that’s an issue too, along with Dream. And some other stuff that I’ve got no idea about, that we really just kind of need to all sit down and talk about.”

“The Egg? I’ve—I’ve heard of it, I think. I’ve been elsewhere for a while.” Their lips twist into a smile that isn’t quite a smile. “Doing a bit of soul-searching, you might say. Found more questions than answers, unfortunately. Alright. I can get you all whatever you need, you can absolutely stay here if that’s what you’d like, but what was that about gates?”

Right. This is taking too long.

Wilbur still feels a bit outside of his body as he steps forward, but that’s alright. He’s limping, but the pain is distant, and he can let his brain work on autopilot, let his mouth move on its own without regarding the consequences, without thinking too much about

(this is Eret and you know them and they betrayed you and you hurt them and now you’re back and here is a test here is a true test it shouldn’t matter how they react to you you shouldn’t care for their opinion but you do you know you do though you pretend you don’t pretend they’re nothing but a traitor to you but you are a traitor to yourself and you know that between the two of you you are the worse and here you both are and you only need one more and everyone will be back together again like the old days like the old days those good old days)

what happens next.

“Right, then,” he says, straightening his spine and stepping up to be visible just behind Puffy, to the side and a few feet back. Eret’s head whips toward him. “To summarize: the Egg is bad, Dream is also bad, they’re now working together, also with Bad, Techno is gone, we’re all in rough shape, a mind-controlling potentially demonic entity is likely to try to take over the server, and also, I’m here, despite my best efforts. Does that paint enough of a picture for you, or should I elaborate further?”

Eret stares at him. He stares back, doesn’t let himself fidget. He’s putting the general on display, and it has never felt more like a disguise, like yet another mask,

(and didn’t he tell Tommy he wasn’t going to do this anymore?)

but a familiar one, one that’s almost comfortable. He can force himself into the general’s shoes and worry about tactics and battles and numbers and strategy, and tuck the rest of himself away for when there’s time for it. Can think of this as just another alliance to be made, a debriefing to be held rather than

(Eret traitor friend ally enemy the place in your heart is curdled and sour and you do not know if you are capable of starting anew)

and his losses are statistics and cold facts rather than

(Techno’s eyes golden and glittering and then they go dim and pale red pale and staring the light in your brother’s eyes gone out and it is not the first time you have watched a brother die in front of you but Technoblade never dies is never supposed to die never to go to dust never and you cannot make sense of it cannot make sense of the world turned on its head)

“Wilbur?” Eret asks, after a very long moment, and he doesn’t understand why their voice breaks in the way that it does. “You’re—it’s you? Not Ghostbur?”

He spreads his arms, lifting an eyebrow.

“Do I look like Ghostbur to you?” he asks.

“No,” Eret answers right away. “No, that you do not. Um, has this been a thing, or…?” They trail off, and Wilbur can’t figure out exactly what their feelings are, but it’s too late to back down, even if he wanted to.

“For a bit,” he says. “Not for too long. Can we move on? We’ve got bigger issues to deal with at the moment.”

He means multiple things, with that. He means, there’s bigger things to worry about than why I’m here. He means, there’s bigger things to worry about than our history, and as so long as we’re on the same side for the moment, it can’t matter right now. He doesn’t know if Eret catches all of that, but whether they do or not, they nod, seeming to steady themself.

“Of course,” they say. “I—for the record, it is good to see you, Wilbur.” There is genuine relief in their voice, a tone that says they’re actually glad he’s here, more than glad, even, and he really doesn’t have time to unpack that at the moment. They need a plan, and fast, and they need some goddamn gates. And medical attention, probably. The cut on Puffy’s head looks nasty, and Phil’s wings are still dripping blood, and it’s difficult for Wilbur to look at them for too long,

(grief rises up guilt rises up crushing choking your father is grounded and it is your fault)

but it concerns him, how little Phil appears to care for their current state. So there’s that to handle, and it’s almost too much, almost. Almost too much for someone who has spent the majority of the time since he’s been brought back to life cringing away from meeting people, all the confidence he once displayed gone, shrinking, left in the void or in Pogtopia or on the podium from which he announced his own defeat, perhaps. But even still, he remembers how to be the general. He can hide in the general, present the general on the outside, be useful even while he thinks he might be on the verge of collapse, internally. He has been a general, and so he shall be again.

What comes first, then?

He pulls out his comm, scrolling through the messages. There are quite a few in the general chat from just after Sam’s death message, people from all over the server demanding to know what’s going on. His eyes drift over Techno’s, then, and he winces, but keeps reading. There are even more messages after that, capitalization usage increasing dramatically, and his eyes trace over familiar names, a pang in his heart. Niki. Fundy. Quackity. Several from Eret as well. Some from names he doesn’t recognize, like this Foolish person, and someone named Hannah.

But then, they all cut off. There have been none in the past half hour. Since they escaped from the Egg.

Out of curiosity, he taps out a few words: dream and egg have teamed, regrouping at eret’s. Upon hitting send, the screen goes fuzzy, giving him an error message he’s never seen before. So comms truly are down, then, and it’s probably just as well; Dream likely knows where they are, but if he doesn’t, there’s no reason to give him the information.

(and do these old allies old friends deserve to learn of your return from cold words on a screen do you not have the courage to face them yourself face your son your son you have not seen your son)

(the last time he spoke to Fundy, he disowned him. he doesn’t know if he still has a son)

(if he does not, he has no one to blame for himself, and perhaps that is why he is too cowardly to check)

“Right, then,” he says, looking back up. “Gates are the first priority. They might not do much against whatever the fuck that thing is, but it’s better than nothing. Eret, I assume you’d know the best way to go about it?”

Eret’s lips quirk into a slight smile, one that is, perhaps, slightly sardonic.

“It is my castle,” they agree. “The more hands I have, the quicker it will go, but I can get it done.”

“Anyone who’s not bleeding profusely, help them with that, then,” he says. “Anyone who is bleeding profusely—I assume you’ve got pots somewhere, Eret?” Eret nods, gesturing toward the inside. “Anyone who is bleeding profusely gets a pot. Once we’ve got that all covered, we’ll reconvene, come up with a plan for where to go from here. Everyone got that?”

He gets a few nods, and no one dissents, so he’ll take that as a yes. His gaze travels to the kids then, standing clumped together, and Tommy’s eyes are still shadowed, and Tubbo is shifting his weight between his feet, and Ranboo looks lost, awkward, and he wishes he didn’t have to ask anything more of them. But that’s not how wars work, and this has certainly turned into a war.

(child soldiers once again, and how history echoes)

“Tubbo, Ranboo, I want you on the gates as well,” he says, and tries to soften his tone at least a little bit, even if that’s all he can do. “And then afterward—Tubbo, I need you to go through with all of us exactly what you know about—what did you call them? Dreamons?”

Tubbo looks slightly miserable, but he nods. “Right,” he says. “I can try to ward the gates if you want. With, um, anti-demon stuff. I don’t know if it’ll work. I guess last time we didn’t manage to do much of anything at all.”

“Anti-what,” Eret says, but Wilbur shakes his head.

“We don’t have time for that. Tubbo will explain later. We—”

“The fuck am I supposed to do, then?” Tommy breaks in, crossing his arms. “You haven’t given me a job.” He glares, but it is so very obvious that it’s all a front, all a show, and Tommy’s expression dares him to challenge him, but Wilbur thinks that if he does, he just might break something in him. Tommy has always been so much more fragile than he presents himself as, so much more fragile than he likes to believe he is.

(despite it all, despite it all, he is only sixteen, only a child, a child grown old before his time but a child nonetheless, and now a child who watched his brother die for him, an estranged brother perhaps but still a brother, and Tommy has always cared so much and so deeply, no matter how much he pretends otherwise)

He hasn’t given Tommy a job, and he doesn’t really intend to, because Tommy, of all people, needs to sit the fuck down and rest for a moment. They all deserve a break, but in this moment, Tommy is the one who needs it most, and also the one least likely to accept as much.

If the general gives the order, Tommy will follow it, he knows that much,

(because he made his brother into a soldier he made his brother into a soldier and soldiers follow orders)

even if he’ll be angry at him for it, but Tommy angry with him is a sacrifice he’s willing to make. And perhaps directing his anger at him will help. Perhaps it would be better for Tommy to be angry with someone within reach rather than someone out of it.

(because Tommy is hurting, and the cause of that hurt is not here, and so perhaps if Wilbur offers himself he’ll feel better, will feel more in control, because Tommy needs control, because his abuser is out, is wandering free, and his abuser has killed their brother and told him that it is his fault)

But then, Phil breaks his silence.

“I’d like him to stick with me,” he says, with a smile that is obviously strained. “I’m not going to be able to reach everything myself.” He makes a vague gesture toward his wings, still dripping blood, and there is so much of it already drying on his feathers, sticky, tacky, almost blending in with the darkness of the feathers

(but stark against the grey-white of exposed bone)

“Why the actual shit—” Tommy starts.

“Good idea, Phil,” he cuts him off. “Tommy, help him with the wings, would you?”

“Why do I have to—”

“You too, Wil,” Phil says, and his mood sours immediately. “You think I don’t see that leg? C’mon, Eret, show us to the pots.”

When faced with that, he has no choice but to agree, really.

(he wouldn’t have ignored it. he wouldn’t have. He knows better than to leave a wound untreated in wartime. Even if something whispers at him that he deserves the pain, even if the bite of it brings him closer to reality. But his better sense knows: pain is not the penance that is asked of him, not a recompense that will do anyone any good)

**********

They meet again half an hour later in Eret’s throne room. Half an hour later, and his leg is bandaged and tender and no longer an open wound, and Tommy is frowning and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, and the state of Phil’s wings is still bothersome, because he didn’t let either of them touch them beyond what was necessary,

(and he recollects countless nights spent running his fingers through soft, silken feathers as his father told him how to preen them, told him that it was a sign of trust, an activity that only family, only flock is allowed, and now Phil will no longer let them near him, will no longer even take care of them himself and it makes him sick to his stomach to think of what has been lost)

but they are no longer bleeding, and that has to be what matters.

The throne room is not the best location for this, he thinks. It feels awkward. But it’s a room big enough to fit everyone, which is the point, big enough to fit Puffy, presence looming and forehead now bandaged, to fit Sapnap, fidgety as he is, like a caged, snarling animal, all restless energy. Big enough for Tubbo, for Tommy, for Ranboo, for Phil, for Eret and for himself, and big enough that there is an obvious gap at Phil’s right side where someone else should be standing.

Eret eyes her throne, glances at everyone else in the room, and then seats herself at its base. It’s a pithy gesture, meaningless, but Wilbur has more important things to do than to call her out on it, even though the existence of the throne itself grates against him.

“Let’s call this meeting to order, then,” he says, and Eret frowns. Perhaps she doesn’t like that he’s calling the shots in her own

(ill-gotten, dearly kept)

castle, but tough. He’s brought out the general for all of their sakes, so the general is what they’re all going to get.

(it’s a mask again and masks crack but he can keep it up for long enough he can he can they need a leader so he will lead he will lead them)

(you were so good at compartmentalizing, once, go good at shoving it all away in boxes in dark shadowy corners never to be opened to gather dust and cobwebs and faded recollections but the boxes cracked and the demon’s escaped and Pandora was too weak to stop them and it all ended in a bang and he cannot tell if hope remains but that isn’t the point because the box is opened and once opened it is not so easily closed and you are putting on a show a lie and lies come back around again they always do and you should know better than to pretend at strength you do not have you will lead them to ruin again ruin and gunpowder smoke and what gives you the right)

“Yeah, alright,” Puffy says. “Can we start by talking about—whatever that was? What were you talking about, dreamons? What’s a dreamon?”

“That sounds like a made up word,” Tommy mutters.

“I wish it were made up,” Tubbo says, and he winces when all eyes turn to him. But a moment later, he straightens, setting his shoulders squarely, holding his head up high. “I’ll tell you all what I know. Even if that turns out to be not as much as I thought.” He pauses, clearly struggling for words.

“Start from the beginning,” he suggests, and Tubbo nods at him gratefully.

“Okay, right, the beginning,” he says. “In the very beginning, me and Fundy were messing around, and we found some old books. We went through them for a laugh, and we learned about these things called dreamons.”

“Wait, that’s what they’re actually called?” Tommy interjects. “Like, properly?”

Tubbo shrugs. “It’s what the books said,” he says. “We weren’t about to argue over names. Even if it did seem like a weird coincidence. But yeah, that’s what they’re called.” His voice falls into an odd cadence here, recitative, like he’s telling a story, and Wilbur crosses his arms, gripping at his elbows. “They come from the darkness of the void, lurking around the edges of a server’s code. Once they get in, their only goal is to cause chaos and destruction. They corrupt everything they touch, and they can possess people and turn them into their puppets. They have unknowable powers, because they’re a sickness, a rot, like an infection in the code of the server itself. It’s really, really difficult to get rid of them, but it can be done if you have the right tools. Or—” He blinks, stuttering a bit, his voice landing more naturally. “We thought so, anyway.”

“What does this have to do with Dream?” Sapnap asks, stopping his pacing, looking to Tubbo with an expression in his eyes that hurts to look at, a bit, wobbly and desperate and pinched, like he already knows the answer but hopes that he’s wrong, hopes as much as he is able, even though he knows it will be fruitless.

Wilbur has put the pieces together. As best he can, anyway. And Sapnap’s not a stupid man. He can see where this is leading.

“Dream got possessed.” Tubbo sighs, gaze drifting toward the floor. “It was a whole thing. Honestly, we were surprised nobody else noticed. But we—we performed an exorcism. And it was really scary, to be honest. But it worked. We could see it leave, all oozy and black and gross, and Dream was better afterward! He was! So we thought we got it out.”

“But it tricked you?” he asks.

“I don’t understand how it could have,” Tubbo replies. “It’s not—it’s not like the kind of possession that you see in a TV show, where the demon can pretend to be the person or something like that. It’s obvious. It’s too—it’s too wrong to blend in, if that makes sense. It made his voice go all funny and deep, and the way it moved—” He shudders, and then continues, miserably, “The way it moved, there’s no way you could mistake something like that for a human. That’s why we were so sure it worked. Because afterward, he seemed back to normal.”

Something about this doesn’t make sense.

“Tubbo,” he says, wheels spinning in his mind, “when was this?”

Tubbo blinks. “Manberg days,” he says. “Um, that’s why we never told you about it, I suppose.”

He barely bats an eye at the reference. It doesn’t make sense. Because he has sensed that wrongness, as Tubbo puts it, has been sensing it from the moment he set foot in that prison cell for the first time. On some level, he knew that something was deeply wrong, even if a demonic presence was the last thing he would have guessed. But if the whole thing happened during—during that time, and the signs of possession were as obvious as Tubbo says, he would have noticed, wouldn’t he? He had plenty of interactions with Dream during that time.

(unless his own shadows stretched long, stretched far enough to cover Dream’s, to cover the thing piloting him)

But no—his shadows were of his own making, not supernatural. If anything, his mindset should have made him more receptive to suspicious wrongness, not less. So what—

(Dream smiles, and you know what it’s like, to have something whispering in your head, he says, once you let something in, there’s no going back)

“Maybe the first bit was a fakeout,” Phil suggests, arms folded, head tilted. He’s perplexed, which is worrying; it’s rare to come across a being that Phil knows nothing about. “It made itself obvious to lure you in so it could slip under the radar. Faked leaving to put your guard down, maybe.”

It’s plausible. But somehow

(and Dream stands atop the Egg and he says, he says, I tried to fight at first, but it turns out it was right all along, and he says it he says it like it’s separate from him like there is not something else something other speaking from his mouth after all and he tried to fight it he tried to fight it and what does that mean)

“They’re the same,” he breathes, and doesn’t know what he means, not quite yet, “they’re the same, and the Egg controls people, and he was talking about fighting something, about giving in—”

He runs a hand through his hair. Shakes his head.

“Wil?” Phil asks.

“Oi, Wilbur,” Tommy says, almost at the same time. But he needs to—he needs to focus as the pieces click into place, faster than he can process, and he has a conclusion but not the words yet—

He holds up a hand.

“Tubbo,” he says, “you said it can corrupt things. What did you mean by that?”

“I dunno, really,” he says. “It talked about it in the books some, but it was all weird metaphorical language. Couldn’t really makes sense of it. We were more focused on the bits that told us how to get rid of them.”

(he says, you know what the void is like, and Tubbo says that they come from the void, and)

That’s alright. He’s not sure he needs a hard answer to that, because he thinks that if one were to describe the feeling of the corruption, it would be

(it is dark and it is peaceful and there is static at the edges eating away at what makes him himself eating at his soul at his sense of self and it is what he wants, to be nothing, and he does not imagine what it would feel like if it were not what he desired, if he tried to resist it, resist the void all-consuming, all-devouring, resist the void that takes all things into itself and is never satiated)

something familiar.

“Alright,” he says, and steeples his fingers together. “Let me paint a picture for you. Someone gets possessed. You exorcise the thing. But these things can corrupt, you say. So maybe you get rid of the thing itself. Maybe Dream’s pretty much back to normal. But maybe it leaves little bits of itself behind. Maybe he’s not possessed, but maybe that doesn’t matter so much anymore. Maybe it changed him regardless. Maybe it’s still changing him, even though it’s no longer there. Maybe a corruption took root, and there wasn’t any going back from it.” He tilts his head, closes his eyes. “Suppose that the Egg is the same type of thing. Something that forced its way through the cracks of the server, something that’s been smart about it, biding its time. The things that Dream was saying reminded me a lot of what the Egg was doing, you know? Manipulating people, making them into things they aren’t, or into their worst selves.”

He strings the words together as he goes. He’s not sure he’s getting his point across. He used to be so much better at this.

“Wait, so you’re saying you think he isn’t possessed?” Sapnap asks.

“I’m saying we don’t really know,” he answers. “Not unless we get it from him. But Tubbo’s the expert here, and if he says Dream’s not acting like he’s possessed, I believe him. But even if he’s not possessed outright, that doesn’t mean there’s no—influence, perhaps.” He keeps his eyes shut; the darkness on the back of his eyelids is a natural one, but he can almost pretend that it isn’t. That it is darker, deeper.

(void)

“He was right that I know what it’s like,” he says. “I’ve felt the Egg in my head. And I was in the void for—a long time. It felt like forever. I know what it feels like, and there’s some of it in him, I think. Him and the Egg both. They’re the same kind of wrong, the same kind of unbelonging. I’ve never been possessed by a demon before, but if it’s made up of void stuff, that’s the sort of thing that stays with you. Whispering.”

He opens his eyes. Everyone is staring at him, varying expressions of horror on their faces.

He goes back over his words. In retrospect, he can see how they probably came off sounding.

“Wil,” Phil says softly.

“I’m fine,” he says, not at all convincingly, he’s sure.

(once he starts thinking of the void of the peace and of the rest it’s hard to stop even though his desires are now tinged with red and he knows better than to listen but he cannot help himself)

“This is all speculation, anyway,” he continues. “Might not matter at all, in the end, what the particulars are. We just need a way to stop them. Can dreamons be killed, Tubbo?”

Tubbo takes a moment before replying. “I don’t think so,” he says. “Fundy might remember better. But I think the only thing in what we read was the exorcism.”

“Which doesn’t help us much if Dream’s not actually possessed,” Puffy says. “Unless it might work on the Egg? If the Egg’s a—a dreamon too?”

“Worth a shot if we can get to it again,” he says, “but I don’t like risking so much on a maybe.”

“The less we mess with forces beyond our understanding, the better,” Eret says suddenly. She frowns, pushing her sunglasses further up her face. “As I said earlier, I’ve been away a good bit recently, so I haven’t been tracking the Egg’s progress as much as perhaps I should have. But I did notice an increase in activity—well. It was shortly after we tried to resurrect you, Wilbur.” She inclines her head toward him. “I fear that in our efforts, we might have interfered with something we shouldn’t have interfered with. Weakened a barrier of some kind, between our existence and—something else.”

She speaks with a strange kind of gravity. But her words make an unfortunate kind of sense.

He doesn’t look at Phil.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tommy states. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I’m with Tommy on this one. What are you talking about?” Sapnap adds.

“We’re getting off track,” he says, snapping his fingers. “We’re going about this wrong. We don’t have enough information, and we don’t have enough power. Those are our problems. How do we solve them?”

“The obvious would be to get the word out,” Puffy says. “Comms are down, but we can go by word of mouth if we have to. Kinda risky, with the amount of vines on this server, but the nether portal’s right across the way. No vines in the nether, I think.”

“I have lots of old books myself,” Phil chimes in, eyes skyward. “Might be something in there to help that I’ve read and forgotten about. And I’ve got another source of info I’ve barely begun to go through. Old shit I found. It might be worth a shot.” He looks back down. “We need to go get Techno anyway.” He says the last in a tone that brooks no argument, and Wilbur doesn’t try, even if it’s perhaps not the most tactically sound option.

(he wants Techno back too, wants to lay eyes on him, hold his wrist in his hand and count his heartbeats, each one a reassurance, because he knows what it is for a brother to die and come back but that has never made it easier)

“It’s better than nothing,” he says. “Alright, I’ve got a plan, then. Some of us go to the tundra, get Technoblade, and go through whatever books Phil has. Some stay here and fortify the defenses as best we can using what Tubbo can remember that he thinks might work, and a couple of us go around through the nether and tell as many people as possible what’s going on. Gather allies, resources anything else we might need.”

It’s not much of a plan. But based on just how outclassed they are, just how little they know, just how much exhaustion shows in their faces, it might be the best plan they’re going to get for now. To throw themselves back into a battle so soon would be folly.

It never sits well with him to bank so much on a hope, though, a mere possibility that things will go their way.

(but certainties were ripped out from under him the moment Dream killed the unkillable, the moment he saw his brother  crumple to ash before his eyes)

“Great,” Puffy says, grimacing. “What could possibly go wrong with that?”

The silence that greets that statement serves perfectly well as a response.

He closes his eyes again. The darkness is no comfort.

[pretty-bratty]

Baby Can You See Through The Tears Teasers

I'm finally doing it.

Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reads, loves, waits this fic and keeps up with my procrastinating ass. It truly means the world to me. Thank you all.

Special huge thank you to @dracula-incarnate who not only hyped me to post these teasers and to write in general, but also hypes and supports me in everything all the way, and also proof read everything as my beta. I wouldn't post them without you, thank you so much.

So, under the cut are the teasers - different bits of future chapters. At the beginning of each one there's a short explanation of the scene. The warnings are the usual for this fic, and it makes sense to read it only reading fic, but just in case: dom/sub stuff and the beginning of the punishment-spanking scene. Uh...I think it's all.

If you like it, it would mean so much if you let me know your thoughts.🌠 I'm nervous and really hope it lives up to your expectations, uhhh.

Baby Can You See Through The Tears Teasers

1. (The boys want to radio Eleven to calm Steve down over the fact that his blood got in the water at the end of the previous chapter): 

It takes Billy quite some time to find the walkie-talkie in the mess that Harrington turned his room into. The scolding he wants to give him is dancing on the tip of his tongue. He wonders if he's ever going to have a nice, relaxing, calm day with Harrington. And the most obvious answer leaves him unpleased. 

Steve stares at him with those baby deer eyes, full of fear and hope. Fear of the darkness, and hope that Billy is going to save him from all the monsters inhabiting it. And dammit if Billy isn't going to do exactly that.

"You think it's gonna work?" Harrington's whisper is barely audible in the thick silence of his room. 

Billy honestly has no idea, but Steve doesn't need to know that.

"Yeah. Of course it is, pretty boy." 

He still has no idea when he finally ends up finding the walkie - thrown on a chair in a tangled mess of jeans. Really, Steve? Billy kind of toys with the idea of radioing Max first; and he would, if it was a bit earlier. 

But the second he turns the walkie on, it comes to life with a calm and collected voice. 

"I am here." 

Billy jumps. Steve gasps, almost knocking the nightlight off the drawer. 

"How...what are you doing here, kid?" Billy cringes immediately. First, it's kind of a stupid question since he’s the one who originally was going to reach out. Secondly, he sounds exactly like the Chief. 

"You needed me." El's voice is clear and somber. Billy pictures her serious, concentrated face. Sometimes he feels like they have a lot in common; something deep down in the girl's eyes speaks to him in a language he feels only he can understand. "You needed me and I am here." 

2. (Just some atmospheric bits):

It's still warm, despite the pouring rain. They dragged the loungers under the porch awning and now sit there. Watching the streams of water falling everywhere. Watching it dance on the pool's surface. Playing the fastest drumbeat Billy's ever heard. He can't say he loves the rain.  Actually, he really doesn't like it at all; but this, today's rain… it brings some much needed peace to his soul. 

Harrington seems to appreciate it as well, considering how he hums contentedly, laying across the loungers, head in Billy's lap. He only stirs a few times, squirming, nose scrunched. Billy supposes it's because of his freshly spanked ass touching the lounger's hard surface. He chuckles under his breath at the thought, scratching the boy's head. 

Harrington looks up at him with big brown eyes that are red rimmed and tired, yet warm. Always so warm and comforting. He gives Billy a little content smile and lays back down, cheek pressed to Billy's thigh, skin on skin. 

Billy cards his fingers through this wild, absolutely lush mane of brown hair. And it suddenly shoots through him… this boy is his. Not just simply his. Not like he was Wheeler's - okay, Billy, better not think about it. No need to get angry - but in many, many more ways. 

Harrington trusts him unconditionally in everything. Absolutely everything. And Billy's has way more power, belonging, and responsibility than he has ever dared to have before. 

He cuddles the boy in closer to himself. His hold on him perhaps a bit too tight. His heart chattering wildly. Harrington looks up again; eyes a bit puzzled, questioning, but Billy gives him a calming smile and a gentle tug on his hair. 

(...)

The rain is soothing. Heavy streams drumming everywhere in the Harringtons' posh backyard. Making everything wet and fresh and transparent green. Somehow still so full of light. Like you're looking at the world through a green-glass bottle. 

"I was kinda afraid of swimming before that, y'know…" Harrington says suddenly, without moving. Billy doesn't see his face. "Before B… before B-Barb." 

He shivers when he says the name, and Billy holds him closer, frowning. 

"How come? I thought you loved splashing in the pool and all?" 

3. (Some Billy, Steve and Max snippet, at Steve's place): 

"Let's build a pillow fort!" Harrington throws all these gigantic pillows and blankets on the floor in front of TV. Almost knocking down some vase in the process; Billy's pretty sure it must cost a small fortune. Mrs. Harrington would be really grateful to Billy for catching it at the last moment. 

"Jeez," Max breathes out. "Pillow fort, ice cream and movies? Everyone else will lose their shit!"

"We won't tell them." Harrington frowns, apparently not wanting any of his gremlin gang to feel left out. Billy rolls his eyes so hard it hurts.

"Oh no," Max smirks. "We're definitely telling them!"

Billy snorts. Harrington looks between them, a smile playing on his lips.

"You two sure you're not blood related?"

4. (Same part, they're going to watch a movie, Billy told them no scary movies):

Max smirks.

"Let's put on a scary movie. Billy will want to know how it ends so he'll grumble but watch it."

Billy watches them quietly from the kitchen doorway. He's on his way back with their bowls of ice cream, and that's when he hears Max mentioning a horror movie. Now he's too curious about how Harrington’s going to act since he's not directly with him. 

Yesterday he'd definitely put it on, just to spite Billy. Let's see if today's lesson taught him anything.

The boy squirms in his spot, wide eyes darting around.

"But he told us not to. He'll be pissed."

Max just rolls her eyes.

"You realize he's not as scary as he thinks he is, right?

Billy gapes at the statement, because true - but excuse her! 

Steve's voice is low.

"Mmm- well, yeah. He's not, but..."

'...But his belt on my ass definitely is!' is clearly written across his face. Billy puts a hand over his mouth, juggling the bowls and trying not to snort out loud and blow his cover. 

Harrington bites his lower lip.

"But he specifically told us not to. I think it would be nice to listen to him, don't you, Max? And like, a comedy sounds pretty good to me right now."

Billy can just burst with pride for his boy.

Max rolls her eyes once more, but only for the sake of her reputation. Then she gets up and picks a comedy. Secretly, she's actually pretty excited about it. At least from what Billy can see. 

5. (Different bits for the spanking scene):

"Now, come here. And bring me that brush," Billy squints at the wooden hairbrush laying on Harrington's desk. 

"What?" The boy knits his brows together in confusion. "You gonna… brush my hair?"

"Oh darling," Billy chuckles darkly, shaking his head. He almost feels guilty due to Steve's innocent, obvious confusion. "No. I'm gonna make sure I ingrain the consequences of giving me attitude, like yesterday's little outburst, in your precious head."

(...)

Billy swirls the brush in his hand. It's pretty heavy. Wide too. He feels bad for the boy - well, almost.

"Sit."

He jerks his head in a curt nod, and Harrington sits near him nervously. Billy taps the brush on his palm, making a thud, and hears a quiet sharp inhale.

"I'm going to punish you now," Billy looks at Harrington closely, catching every little detail. How he licks his lips, throat working. How he squirms, big brown eyes watching Billy's every move. "You got my belt a couple of days ago, so it might be too soon for a second round on that lil' ass of yours." 

The boy's cheeks and ears were growing darker and darker shades of red.

"You deserve something harder than just my hand though. Acted like a total spoiled brat too; so s' pretty fitting, I guess. Dontcha, Stevie?"

Harrington just whimpers weakly, eyeing the brush in Billy's hands.

"I asked if you think it's fitting, Steve?" 

Billy let's some steel slip into his tone, and the boy shudders. 

"It's-it's gonna sting..." his voice is small, but he's still whining.

Such a brat. Billy growls.

"Yes, it is." He fixes Harrington with a stern look, slapping the brush on his own palm at the same time. "Your spankings are supposed to sting. It's a punishment. And you deserve a punishment, don't you?"

Billy's setting his jaw, asking for the last time. If the boy decides to keep being a brat, he can take the belt after a brush too. And apparently, Harrington senses it.

"I do." He whispers miserably. Glancing at Billy and correcting himself immediately, licking his lips and flushing more. "I do think I deserve this punishment, Billy."

Billy nods, spreading his legs wider and laying the brush on the bed next to him. 

"Get over my lap."

"What??" Harrington flushes red to the roots of his fluffy hair. "I...what...No! I'm not some fucking toddler!"

Billy flares his nostrils, breathing in and out. If Max ever dares to accuse him of lacking patience ever again, so help him...

"Could've fooled me." He speaks in a quiet, terrifying growl. "Acting exactly like one."

Harrington gulps.

"Up. Bend. Over my knee, ass in the air." Billy orders in a low voice, no room for discussion left. "Tell me 'No' one more time during the punishment, and see what happens, pretty boy."

Harrington inhales sharply and almost jumps up, legs wobbly. Then tiptoes around and finally lowers himself across Billy's lap; eyes squeezed shut, cheeks and ears tomato red.

Billy immediately manhandles him into position. Leaving one knee under Steve and hooking the other leg over the boy's thighs, holding him successfully in place. Gonna come in handy when Harrington starts squirming and trying to kick - and Billy already knows it's gonna happen. 

Billy looks down, sees Harrington's messy mop of brown hair. His hands nervously fidgeting on the floor. Billy yanks his shorts down rather harshly, and there's a gasp, followed by a little, scared whimper.

"Gonna squirm again, huh?" Billy bounces his knee a bit.

"Uh...y-yeah," a quiet, honest, reply from Steve surprises him.

Billy hums, running his hand up and down Harrington's boxers-clad ass.

"I'll take that as I should hold you during all your punishments from now on, hm, baby?"

There's a sniff and a quiet ‘please’ from Harrington.

"Sure, pretty boy. Setting it as a rule then." Billy puts his hand on the small of the boy's back, holding him in place. He hears almost a relieved sigh.

"No fighting. Sit still. You're not allowed to cover your pretty ass, got it?"

"Yes, Billy."

Billy watches his own hands on the waistband of Harrington's Calvins, snapping it at his skin lightly.

"Tell me why are you getting spanked now, baby?" He smirks, feeling how the boy flushes at the word ‘spanked’; emphasizing it for a bigger effect.

[more-pokeimagines]

Stone Cold Body [07] - Chapter 6

A/N: First of all, I want to apologize for abandoning this fic for a while. I just couldn’t motivate myself to continue it since I felt like most people weren't interested in this series but I finally managed to finish the new chapter. I revamped the plot a bit and removed some filler scenes, so I hope it won’t take me too long to get the next chapter done. Anyway, have fun reading! Feedback is always appreciated. <3

Warnings: mentions of violence

Taglist: @piershoesz, @alovestruck-fool, @shaak-ti-s, @spair-m

Past

Bede was exhausted. He had spent the entire weekend with his sister’s future husband, showing him around the kingdom and taking him to a hunting trip to the deep forests at the borders of Galar. Although the young man probably wouldn’t become king himself, Lewin I. had advised his son to introduce Carlina’s fiancé to every important person in the North, including the Duke of Hammerlocke who had invited them to join their hunting party. Now, he was on his way back to the castle while Carlina and her fiancé had decided to stay at the Duke’s palace for a little while longer to spend some more time with each other.

The young prince sighed. He knew that Carlina didn't love her fiancé but he hoped that he would make her happy nevertheless. She was the purest soul he had ever known and deserved nothing but the best. At least for once, Bede and his father agreed.

Star, his dapple-gray mare, nickered, almost as if she wanted to express her approval of his thoughts, and he leaned forward to ruffle her mane. “I know you’re tired. When we get back home I make sure to find some nice green apples for you, alright?”

He always did that; talking to his horse like it could actually understand him, no matter how often others made fun of him because of that. To him, Star had always been a part of his family, his best friend; the one who patiently listened to him when he needed to pour his heart out to someone. Aside from Carlina, the mare was the only one who actually cared about him. Sure, his mother had always tried her best to shield him from his father’s wrath, especially in his early childhood, but not even she could convince him to carry out his strict educational methods.

Bede shook his head, trying to get rid of the unpleasant memories that crept up on him in the back of his mind. He didn’t want to think about these things now; it only reminded him of all the bad things that had happened in the past and the unbearable weight he would carry on his shoulders as soon as he became king. He had spent so much time wondering if he could be equal to the task, hoping that he wouldn’t disappoint everyone who lived in the kingdom, but at the same time, he knew that he didn’t have a choice anyway. He was the firstborn, the heir to the throne, and there was nothing he could do to escape his fate. Sooner or later, the well-being of an entire kingdom would be in his hands.

Star nickered again but this time, it sounded like she disagreed with him. He knew that he was imagining things but it was oddly comforting to interact with her. “It’s so hard to figure out how to be a good king,” he said and patted her withers. Then, a lot more quietly, he added, “I just don’t want to be like my father.”

He went silent after that. In less than an hour he would be back at the castle where he needed to report every single detail about the trip to the king, including everything Carlina had said about her fiancé. Bede was tired of being his father’s spy but since he knew that King Lewin only wanted the best for his daughter – just like Bede himself – he didn’t mind it too much this time.

It was only then when Bede realized the unnatural silence that surrounded him. The birds had stopped chirping, and there was no wind that was breezing through the leaves. Even the sound of Star’s hoofbeats had almost lapsed into silence.

All of that supported only one conclusion: there was some kind of magic in play, and Bede knew the sorcerers and their rightful anger all too well to hope that they weren’t here to hurt him. In the end, he was still part of the royal family, and they would take every opportunity to take revenge.

Star let out a piercing whicker and reared up when two people stormed out of the forest. They were both wearing dark cloaks; the hoods were pulled down so far that Bede couldn’t see their faces. One of them – a young man, judging by his figure – grabbed the reins, trying to hold Star back. The mare rolled her eyes and whickered again as she started to buck.

Bede was being flung forward, barely holding onto Star’s back. The next second, the other sorcerer grabbed his lag, effectively pulling him off the saddle and tackling him to the ground. Bede’s head dashed against a rock, and then, everything went dark.

*

When Bede woke up, the first thing he noticed was the terrible pain that pulsated through his skull. He reached up and felt his temple, realizing that there was dried blood on his skin. Every bone in his body hurt. For a second, he wondered if it felt like that to be trampled down by a hard of cows but his head hurt way too much to think about things like that for longer than a moment.

Bede slowly sat up and let his eyes wander, inspecting his surroundings, although it was so dark that he could barely see anything. But after a while, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough to realize that he was sitting in some sort of cell, maybe in an underground dungeon because there was no window, only masonry from which droplets water were dripping to the ground in a steady rhythm. Right in front of him, he could see a cross-bared prison door, reaching from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. If he hadn’t already suspected it, he would’ve realized that someone had locked him in by now. And somehow, he knew who was behind all of it.

Although he could only remember the attack and the following fall vaguely, there was no doubt about the fact that the sorcerers had taken the opportunity to kidnap him. He just didn’t know why. If they thought that his father would stop persecuting them just because they had the prince in their grip… well, they surely would be met with disappointment. There was no way King Lewin would give up the witch hunt, not even if they used his son as some kind of leverage.

It would be a whole different story if they had kidnapped Carlina instead, Bede thought with a hint of bitterness. If the sorcerers had threatened her, the king wouldn’t have hesitated to send an army to get her back. Bede knew that he was far more important for the kingdom than his sister but he wasn’t under the illusion that his father loved him enough to do everything in his power to free him. Especially now that Carlina had a fiancé who would be the heir to the throne in case of the prince’s death, his father wouldn’t risk starting a war and losing his supporters during the course of the battles just for the sake of getting his son back.

With a quiet sigh, Bede shook his head, trying to get rid of the hurtful thoughts. Surely, it didn’t matter whether his father tried to get him back or not; he wouldn’t be able to find him down here anyway, so it was probably better to come to terms with the facts – he would never get out of here. At least not when the sorcerers didn’t want him to.

It was only then when he realized that he wasn’t alone. A few meters away from his cell, he could see a woman, dressed in a simple skirt and blouse, a dark cloak around her shoulders. The hood was hiding her face but not enough to hide her self-satisfied smile as well.

“So, we meet again, little Princeling,” she said softly, slowly approaching the cell. “I must admit that I always assumed it would be harder to capture you. But you were an easy target.”

“You,” Bede replied through gritted teeth. He didn’t need to see her face to recognize her; her voice was enough to know that this was the same woman who had approached him at the ball where she had pretended to be Princess Amelié’s lady-in-waiting. He had almost forgotten her and her preposterous threats but now that he came face to face with her again, he wished he would’ve believed her words back then. Maybe it would’ve given him some sort of advance right now, maybe he could’ve figured out her plans over the past few months. But no, he had pretended that nothing of it had happened and now, he had to pay for his arrogance.

The woman nodded, her smile growing a bit wider, almost as if she could read his mind. “I’m sure you are wondering why I brought you to this place.”

“To kill me, of course,” Bede said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, dearie, no.” The woman clicked her tongue. “I only want to have a little conversation with you. I’m sure that is not too much to ask, or is it, Your Highness?”

Coming from her mouth, the title sounded almost like an insult but Bede only cocked his head and looked at her. Over the years, he had learned how to hide his emotions; a talent that would come in handy now. “Well,” he said, his expression completely blank. “Then talk. I am listening.”

“First of all, you need to listen to my story. If you don’t know what my family had to go through because of your father you won’t understand why I’m asking for your help. So, are you willing to listen to me?”

“You are asking for what?” This time, Bede had trouble with hiding his emotions. Her words had completely taken him aback, and for a few seconds, he could only stare at her as he tried to understand what she was talking about. When she saw the confused expression on his face, she smiled once again. “I’m asking for your help, my dear.”

*

She had left him alone to think after she had finished her story. “My name is Brigid,” she had said. “The girl the king killed at the stake a few months ago… she was my sister. Belia. She was the purest soul I ever met, and now she is dead because your father is so consumed with his prejudices and hatred that he can’t see the truth anymore. But my sister isn’t the only one he took from me.”

And then, she had told him everything about her life; what King Lewin did to her and her people, what he did to her family. And with every word she had said, Bede could feel how the world his parents built around him was starting to crumble into a million pieces.

But he still had trouble with comprehending her words. If the things she said were true, it would mean that he had lived a lie since he had been born. It would mean that nothing his parents had told him was true; that they had lied to him right from the start.

He buried his face in his hands as he tried to bring order into the chaos of his mind. Could he trust Brigid? Or was she just trying to drive a wedge between him and his family to convince him to help her?

He wasn’t so sure anymore.

Everything she had told him had sounded insane and absolutely impossible but on the other hand, he knew what his father was capable of. King Lewin didn’t stop at nothing; he would do anything to preserve his power but then again, what if Brigid had been lying? Bede couldn’t burst the bonds with his family just because a woman he barely knew told him wild stories about her past and the kingdom. Growing up, he had learned that sorcerers were known to be manipulative and dishonest, and his father never missed an opportunity to tell him that they couldn’t be trusted, no matter the circumstances. So, why was he still confused?

The answer to that was actually pretty simple: he didn’t know who he could trust. On the one hand, he knew that his father wasn’t the most honest man, and Bede wouldn’t be surprised if he kept the truth from his family for all these years but on the other hand, he had no proof that Brigid didn’t lie to him as well. He had no reason to believe her. It probably wasn’t too far-fetched to assume that she only tried to use him against his family, so it definitely would be wise to ignore the incredible story she had told him. After all, there was nothing she could do to give evidence of her words.

Bede groaned. He already started to feel dizzy from thinking things over again and again, and he was still going round in circles. No matter what he decided to believe – he would end up with betraying someone. The only question that remained was who he would betray: a woman he barely knew or his family.

Keeping things in perspective, the decision was quite simple. Bede had no reason to doubt his parents or the things they had taught him about the sorcerers and the history of the country. The only thing that stopped him from choosing a side was his own insecurity – and fear. Although he would never say it out loud, Bede had to admit that he was afraid of the consequences he would face after making his decision. If he sided with the sorceress, he would definitely lose everything he had, starting with his title and claim to the throne through to the right to be a member of the royal family. But if he decided to stay loyal to his family, he risked incurring Brigid’s wrath and probably would end up dead. So, in the end, he would be the victim, no matter which side he chose.

Bede let out a deep sigh, and after a few moments of collecting his thoughts once again, he closed his eyes and finally made a decision.

*

Brigid returned two days later. In the meantime, two other sorcerers, an elderly man and a girl, had provided Bede with water and a few bites of food but Bede had been so nervous all the time that he barely got anything down. He had spent the majority of the time musing if he had chosen the wrong side but, in the end, he had managed to convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

With that in mind, he could wait for Brigid calmly. His face showed no emotion when she approached his cell, her lips curled into a smile that showed her confidence in her plan, her eyes filled with hope and excitement.

“Hello, my dear,” she said softly and reached out to curl her fingers around the bars of the cell door. Glacially, he returned her smile. “Good evening.”

“Have you thought about the things I’ve said?”

Bede nodded and crossed his arms in front of his chest, keeping his eyes glued on Brigid who returned his gaze expectantly. “Can I count on your help, then?”

His smile faded, making room for the emotionless expression he had practiced during his upbringing as crown prince of Galar. “No,” he replied slowly. “I will not help you to betray my own family.”

For a few seconds, there was something like utter disbelief in her eyes but soon enough, she had regained her composure and took a step back from the cell door, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she took them from the bars. “After everything I’ve told you,” she whispered, “you still believe them?”

“Of course I do. They are my family and I love them. You, on the other hand, are a stranger to me, so why should I believe you? I have no possibility to find out whether you tell the truth or not.”

“Oh dear.” A hint of pity flashed over her face. “You have chosen the wrong side.”

“So be it.”

Brigid sighed but when she looked at him again, the expression in her eyes was no longer hopeful. Instead, they were filled with burning anger. “It would’ve been nice to work together with you but in the end, I don’t need you to realize my plan,” she said. “They will regret what they have done to me and my family. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You must be insane when you think that I will be intimidated by your empty words,” Bede spoke condescendingly and fixed her gaze on her as she clenched her fists. “You and your kind can only lie and betray and hope that nobody notices how reprobated and selfish you are.”

“Your arrogance will do you no good, little Princeling,” the sorceress replied and laughed when he raised his eyebrows at the involuntary nickname she had given him, “one day, you will get what you deserve. And I hope I will be there to see it.”

Masterlist / Next

[inawickedlittletown]

Is It Too Much To Ask For Something Good (2/4)

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Summary: Maybe the problem was knowing that if he talked about it and that if he said it outloud with words that could be heard, it wasn’t only his anymore. Or that they had saved the world but nothing was alright. Not anymore. Not ever.

-

In the aftermath of defeating Chuck and bringing everyone back, there was still one thing that wasn’t set to rights. Castiel was still in The Empty. And Dean would never leave him there, even if it meant allowing Jack to change him.

-

Author’s Note: I’m sure there are a few hundred fix-it fics out there after a finale like that. And I never intended to write another fic…much less in a fandom I’ve never written for. But this idea would not stop nagging. The feels I have for these characters would not stop nagging me. So here we are. Enjoy.

Words:  2,025

Read on Ao3

Part One

-

Part Two

-

Dean said yes. 

There could have been no other answer, not when saying yes meant that he could have Cas back and that he could tell him the most important three words that Cas would ever hear. It ate at him, knowing that Dean had been so shocked and struck by Cas’ words that nothing had come out of his mouth to dispel what Cas had clearly believed. Cas had been so sure that Dean would never see him that way, that his feelings were one-sided. 

Dean was at fault there too. For one thing, he’d denied it for so long even to himself to the point that Dean hadn’t known — allowed himself to know — until it was too late. And by the time that Dean had realized why it was that Cas affected him so much and why he had nearly drowned himself in anger and alcohol after the night of Jack’s birth. And Cas for all his talk about profound bonds was an angel and as human as he could be at times, Dean had never expected Cas to feel anything for him in that way. 

Jack couldn’t stay long, so all of it was immediate.

“This might hurt,” Jack warned him. 

Sam would have asked if there would be repercussions of what Jack was about to do. He would have asked about what would happen afterwards. Dean would have shut him up and done it anyway. 

“Do it,” Dean said.

It was painful, but it wasn’t the kind of pain that Dean had expected or been prepared for. The pain came from inside like a burning ember that started at the center of his chest and then spread all over. It was his nerves caught aflame and a tingling sensation that climbed to his eyes and that grew tighter and hotter over his shoulder blades. 

Bone and sinew ripped and it must have been the worst of it, because he was sure that he blacked out for some of it. When he became aware again, it was on his knees, doubled over on the hardwood floor and feeling like something heavy had settled on his back and wasn’t letting him up. 

Slowly, it all began to settle. He didn’t feel like before, but the discomfort eased and there were other things to focus on like how much more he could hear and see and how he could feel wings at his back. There was the thrum of power too, energy that existed within him and that was like nothing Dean had ever felt before. 

“It is complete,” Jack said.

His voice was different, it had taken on a strange crispness and with it authority. When Dean looked at him he was still Jack, but he glowed as if a stagelight was pointing at him. It didn’t last long before it disappeared and there was just Jack left. 

Dean had known power before. He had had the mark of Cain on him, he had been a demon, and when Michael had used him as a vessel, Dean had been aware enough to know what that power felt like. What Jack had made him, it was different and greater than all of that. But more than that, it came with knowing. 

He was aware that he didn’t know all, but the comprehension of himself and everything that he’d ever experienced in his life came with a deep awareness of his failings and his mistakes and how none of that mattered in comparison to knowing that his intentions had always been good and that few things had been under his control. It all settled on him at once. Understanding that Cas had always loved him and that Dean’s very soul had been pulled towards the angel from the first moment he laid eyes on him. There was also a lot more about his parents and Sam and the universe at large. 

“You still have a soul,” Jack said. “It is an extension of your grace. My father was right, there is no soul quite like yours. That has made this easier, Dean. And now,  I will send you to The Empty.” 

Dean didn’t get to ask or say anything before Jack grasped his arm. It felt just like the few times that he’d flown with Cas, disconcerting and like he was being pressed into a tiny space. And then, he was no longer in the bunker. He was nowhere. In a space so blank that there was no question about where it was. The Empty. 

“Been in heaven, hell, and purgatory. Makes sense I’d get to come here too,” Dean said more to himself than anything because there really was no one and Jack hadn’t given him any instructions. 

Dean walked. The black emptiness went on and on with nothing to distinguish any part of it from another. It did, strangely enough, give him time to take grasp of himself. He felt better than ever. His knees didn’t ache and any tension that he’d carried on his shoulders was gone. And on his back he could feel his wings. They felt natural, and he moved them into his own view without thought, the black feathers weren’t just black but iridescent. In the bleakness of The Empty they almost shone with every hue. They were beautiful. 

Dean was suddenly hit with the pang of knowing that he had never been able to see Cas’ wings and that Cas no longer had them.

Thinking about Cas ignited something, a spark that appeared as the singular thing other than Dean in the space. It beckoned and Dean followed.

Time passed strangely, but Dean was aware that it was passing and that he wouldn’t have much time. 

The spark stopped, floated and waited until Dean was in front of it and instinct told him to grasp it. It fell into his hand without a fight. It felt pleasantly warm and then Dean knew exactly what he needed to do. 

He knelt and then he reached for the nothingness in front of him. His hands disappeared into what felt like a cold slick substance. His arms were more than elbow deep when his fingers brushed against flesh. Dean let his hands take hold of a wrist, and when the pads of his fingers found the pulse point, it was weak, dormant. But, he knew it was Cas. 

Dean pulled and in that moment a few things happened. The darkness around him intensified and there was noise, a ringing that meant his time was up. 

His hands were still in the substance and it started to move, flicking up and at him from below, above, and all sides. His wings lifted up as protection and none of it touched him even while around him it was becoming more and more volatile and through it all, Dean held onto Cas. 

Then, the substance started to form shapes. Humanlike shapes that like soldiers stepped into place around Dean and simultaneously they moved forward and as they moved they became more corporeal. 

Dean pulled harder and his elbows were out, covered in black goo but out and Cas was still in his grasp.

“Come on, come on,” Dean muttered.

He wasn’t even straining, but it was slow going to get him out and the soldiers were coming. 

Dean’s wings were folded over him, covering him when the soldiers arrived and Dean felt the way that they came at him. His wings fluttered to push them away and yet Dean still felt the sharp something that kept hitting him over and over and then the grasping hands that were trying to pull him away.

Dean continued to shake them off. His focus remained on Cas and holding on when it occurred to him that he already had Cas in his hold.

Dean had never flown before. He knew only that it wasn’t like the flight of a bird or a plane. It was more like creating a fold in the very fabric of reality and bending space and time to fit his means. He gripped Cas tighter and he willed to go wishing that Jack had allowed him to practice it just once, except that he suddenly he just knew what to do and then when it happened it didn’t feel unpleasant. 

It was far more like flying than Dean had imagined it would be. His wings were moving and he was moving and it was all happening at a pace that humans would never be able to comprehend, but Dean wasn’t human anymore and he could understand. But The Empty’s soldiers weren’t human either and Dean rising up his single hand still grasping Cas’ wrist didn’t keep them from coming at him and throwing themselves at him and trying to rip Cas away.

Cas was no more than dead weight. His head hung down against his chest and his tan coat was streaked with black sludge. Dean was never going to let him go. 

As he and Cas rose and Cas’ was completely out of the substance, Dean felt the weight of the soldiers on his wings and the ringing from before rose in pitch into a painful screech that Dean realized was supposed to wake The Empty itself. And if that happened, Dean knew he and Cas would never make it out. 

Something about his will to leave and the way that his wings were being weighed down by the soldiers and realizing that it was really Cas in his hold, it brought his grace forward and in a flash all the soldiers were torn apart, falling in black thick rain drops as Dean finally and properly flew out of The Empty gripping Cas tight. 

Words appeared in his head, then. “I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” 

Laughter poured out of him, the kind that was genuine and that was joyous. He had laughed so little in so long that the sound almost sounded foreign. His eyes found where he held Cas’ wrist and all at once it became real. It was Cas that he was holding. There was nothing quite like the relief and the euphoria that was present in him just at being able to touch his angel and it was only his fear that he might drop him in the middle of flight that kept Dean from pulling him into his arms. 

They landed inside the bunker, tumbling directly onto a table in the library and sending all the books, notebooks, and empty beer bottles to the floor. Cas flopped onto his side, head thrown back, eyes closed, but Dean could still feel his pulse and he could hear his breathing. More importantly, Dean could see his grace. It was a dull shine, but it was there.

“Cas,” Dean said, a little more than a whisper. The way that Dean had landed had kept them connected but had banged up his left knee on the table hard, but it was his wings that had done the damage of throwing everything off the table. They had smashed other things too. All of it had made a great deal of noise, so Dean wasn’t surprised when a half-dressed Sam with a gun in hand showed up. 

“What is — Dean?” 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said. 

Sam stepped forward, cautiously. “Is that Cas?”

Dean turned his head and his eyes were on Cas again. Dean hadn’t let go of his wrist, he didn’t think he could let go, but he sat up and he pulled Cas into a more comfortable position on the table. He was frowning in his sleep, mouth turned downward. He was beautiful and he was back and Dean felt like he was in a dream. He was lost in looking at Cas and taking him in. His free hand touched Cas’ face and to Dean’s surprise a blue glow appeared there. Faintly he heard Sam make a noise, but that didn’t matter because Cas’ eyes fluttered. He leaned into Dean’s hand like a cat asking to be pet and then at long last his eyes opened and all Dean could see was blue.

“Hello, Dean.”

-

Part Three

[margarethelstone]

Our Sleeves Were Wet With Tears | Chapter 4

Chapter 4 / Read on AO3!

Now, if someone had asked Chihaya why exactly she was crying, she probably would've failed to explain it.

She didn't know, she didn't understand.

She just cried.

"I felt threatened."

"You'd chosen him before you even realised you needed to."

"I never stood a chance against him. Never stood a chance with you."

The words he'd thrown at her echoed in her mind, bringing with them all the memories she somehow hadn't thought of, clashing with the thoughts she had not known of before. Colours, sounds, expressions – they all came back to her again, and with an intensity that made her feel completely dizzy.

She couldn't tell what it was about those words that had made her break down – could it really have been the words, or rather the way Taichi looked at her afterwards? – and yet, it was the only thing she felt she could do.

What else was left?

"That is so not true!" she exclaimed in between her choking breaths, as she glared at him angrily, refusing to hide her face behind her hands despite her own wish to do so. "Not true at all. I know... I guess... It may seem like this to you but it's not what it was. Or what it is right now!"

Another tide of emotions took over her, successfully preventing her from adding anything more. She shook vehemently, bawling her eyes out, sniffing and hiccuping, yet at the same time doing her best trying to compose herself again. She hunched over; she rubbed her hands against her cheeks, wiping away the tears that would not stop coming; she bit her lip to stop it from trembling, so hard that she almost made it bleed.

She wanted to scream, to whimper and howl like she had when she was twelve, when they had lost their first Genpei match and she thought of it as nothing short of the end of the world.

She wished she could be that girl again, one who didn't have to watch her actions just because her most important friend was watching her.

And so she didn’t, indifferent to her surroundings to the point where she couldn't even feel grateful for the fact that, beside Taichi, there was in fact no one to watch her crumble down. Overcome by her own misery, she ignored the part of her which told her to calm down – the weak, rational thought that after everything she had put Taichi through, she should at least try to regain some of her dignity.

The part of her that said that she had no right to burden him with her own sorrows again, while she knew that the one he carried was so much worse already.

And yet, no matter how very wise that voice inside her was, Chihaya simply couldn't find it in herself to listen to it. She knew she should have listened. She should have put in the effort and tried to pull herself together, to be the grown-up she was expected to be and not a moody child going through another one of her unmotivated tantrums. She had no doubts that, had the roles been reversed, it would have been exactly what Taichi would have done in her place, burying his emotions deep down within his soul so that she would not feel the whole weight of his suffering.

Yes, that was what Taichi would have done.

That was what he always did.

Only, she was the opposite of him.

Yes, that was the truth, as painful and unwelcome as it was. She could not do what he did, hiding her feelings behind a mask of neutrality and kindness, shutting them inside her own battered heart for no one else to see. Her hurt was always in plain sight, displayed openly as soon as it had hit her - her anger always finding a way out through spontaneous cries and unrestrained exclamations. Never the one to hold a grudge or cling onto unpleasant words, she responded quickly, instinctively, as if she'd been taking one of her one-syllable cards and not facing an important interpersonal issue.

A simple-minded airhead, earnest and straightforward, with nothing to excuse her slips but the honesty that was behind them.

Her behaviour wasn't proper; it wasn't what Taichi would have done.

And yet, somehow, she felt that holding herself back would have been even less appropriate, if only because it would've been nothing but an act on her part.

"I can't believe that's what you thought," she allowed herself to speak after a while, while the tears streamed down her face almost as abundantly as before. "Never stood a chance?! I chose Arata?! How could you even come up with something like that?!"

She knew she was being aggressive again, that her own hurt was once again clouding her judgement and pushing her to say the things she might regret later on. It was never her aim to purposely wound Taichi, not when she felt like the blame for the current situation was mostly on her, if only for the fact that she had failed to recognise the many signals he had given her – and yet, right now, she simply had to address the feelings Taichi had voiced.

Even if it meant being an egoistic fool once more.

"I never wanted you to feel that way. I never thought that you might," she went on, the weary helplessness starting to ring in her tone. "I know it's partly my fault for being an oblivious idiot who never pays attention to what really matters, but heck, Taichi! If that really is how you feel, then I really am the worst friend in human history!”

Her voice cracked at the end of her speech, and she instinctively turned away, embarrassed. Her eyes welled up with tears again, her expression a perfect mixture of wrath and pain, and disappointment, as she looked at the distant gate of the playground, suddenly wishing that she  never had to look Taichi directly in the eye again.

She had shouted at him as if she'd wanted to berate him for his accusation while in truth, she was only really mad at herself.

"You speak as if I had somehow decided to care for him more than I cared for you," she picked up quietly, as she shut her eyes tight and dug her fingers into the folds of her skirt. "As if I'd seen him that one day and thought: now, this is the day that I forget my best friend Taichi and focus on the transfer student to whom I'd barely even spoken before."

This time, Taichi managed to get a word in edgeways and protest, "That's not what I had in mind, and you know that."

"You said you'd lost to him. But why, Taichi?" Chihaya went on, as if she hadn't heard his interruption. "Why are you talking about our friendship in terms of competition? He won, you lost – but how? And if that really is the case, then where does it put me?"

She sniffed inelegantly before raising her arm to wipe away the new set of tears with her sleeve. She still wasn't looking at him; still didn't think she could. She was angry with herself for it, too, for how weak and fearful she had turned out to be in the face of crisis.

Once again she was acting like a coward... and yet, it was nothing but a means to keep her going, a way to save her courage for what truly mattered.

She was well aware that as soon as she looked at him again, the last scraps of determination would fade into nothingness, leaving her alone to deal with the horrible outcome she must have already brought on herself. She knew that she would end up silent, not because of her composure but because she was paralysed with her own growing fears.

It was either look at him or keep speaking.

And she wasn't allowed to stop speaking now.

"I know it might have seemed like I put him on some sort of a pedestal," she forced herself to continue after another painful pause. "Maybe, in a way, that was exactly what I did. Arata was always so far away, always just a trifle beyond my reach - throwing us out after we'd come to visit him, leaving the tournaments before I could really talk to him, and only if he was actually able to come. That's why he was constantly on my mind, because of how little time we were allowed to spend with him. But, Taichi-" she paused again and this time, she also turned around again to face him properly. "Do you really think that I wouldn't have done the same if you were the one who'd gone away?"

The silence that fell after her question was heavy with expectations, just like Chihaya's gaze was filled with it. It wasn't long; mindful of her own resolution, Chihaya could not allow it to last, and yet, the brief rest was not to be avoided. She used it well, staring in her companion's eyes, taking in the reaction he displayed in response to her words, even though the misty veil that covered her own eyes prevented her from discerning his expression with detail.

She needed him to understand that she meant what she had said.

"If you'd been the one to move away to Fukui, or Kyoto, or anywhere else, I would have tried to reach out to you, too," she answered her own question. "If I had met Arata in high school, I would have made him go on that trip to find you, too, and then I'd have forced him to start a club with me, no matter how little he might have thought of school teams at the time. And if you had been the one to text him on my birthday, I would have been just as thrilled as I was when he did. You know that, don't you?"

On a whim, she reached out over their bags and grasped him by the hand. She saw Taichi's eyes widen in surprise, but paid it no mind, too focused on getting her message across - and on receiving the confirmation she was so anxious to hear.

"Please, Taichi. Please tell me that you realise that."

Please, don't kill me with your silence. Please, don't make me wait, wondering if I am right or wrong. Please, please don't say that I really was so terrible a friend not to make that plain, obvious truth as plain and obvious to you.

"Please say that you do."

The words echoed in the air, ringing in their ears with all the insistence that Chihaya had poured into it. Already conscious of how far she had gone, aware of the thin border she was already balancing upon, she didn't dare to say anything more, restricting herself to gazing into her friend's eye imploringly, hoping against hope that he would answer her eventually.

Like she had said earlier that day, she was willing to wait for him - whether it was a minute or ten before he replied, a week or a month or a year before he came back into her life again. She would let him go, allowing him to choose the day of his return by himself and on his own terms.

All she needed from him now was a short, sincere answer.

And she was ready to wait for that, too.

***

It was Taichi's turn to look away from her.

He didn't want to; after hearing her opinions on courage and cowardice, after the conversation they'd had afterwards, he was no more inclined to succumbing to the latter than he had been before it. Even if she thought that it was a chapter long closed - even if in her eyes, he really was as brave as she had claimed - it still wasn't what he believed, what he could have afforded to believe. In fact, his own opinion was exactly opposite:

For if his years of struggle had taught him one thing, it was that the kind of challenge he had taken upon himself was never truly over. That for those not born as natural heroes, or adventurers, or whatever word might be suitable for that sort, the work was never really done - that there simply wasn't a moment when they might rest and say, "My quest here is fulfilled."

That, unless he wished to give in to his old habit of running away, he simply had to stay on guard at all times, strong and vigilant, ready to put up the fight whenever the former weakness threatened to take over him again.

And yet, even knowing all that, he still looked away now.

Pathetic.

Still, given the circumstances, there was precious little else he could do. The look Chihaya gave him was more than just urging; her entire expression was a mix of expectation and longing, of pent-up impatience and restless hope. It was pleading more than it was pushy, shy and anxious rather than commanding or bold, and as such, it could hardly be answered with anything but honesty and truth on his part.

And just like Chihaya had been unable to open up before him completely while looking him directly in the eye, Taichi found it impossible to meet hers and remain candid with his reply.

Well aware of his own defeat but at the same time completely oblivious to the battle the girl had only just ended herself, Taichi was once again led to believe that he had failed – that he still was failing and would continue to do so for a long while still. And yet, even though the sensation itself was all too familiar on its own, there was a new addition to it, as surprising as it was natural, if only considered from the right angle.

And that new feeling was the one of defiance.

For after all, could he really have been expected to hold her gaze now, when she had showered him with flattery and assertion he had so yearned to hear from her, and for so long, too? The simple words of affirmation that proved beyond doubt that she really did care for him, that she would have cared regardless of the hazards of life and the turns they might have come upon?

Her realising that she had elevated Arata, put him on a pedestal as she herself had said, all on her own, was surprising enough. But to learn that she would have done the very same thing if he had been the one torn away from her?

That was a revelation he had not expected to experience.

More so than that: even now that he'd heard the words, the idea behind them still seemed too great (and for that, almost surreal) for him to easily accept it, instead making him wonder if he truly had heard correctly. Old habits die hard, after all, and the same most certainly could have been said about Taichi's inclination towards doubting his own worth, especially when compared to one very specific friend of theirs... And as straightforward and honest as Chihaya naturally was, it still didn't mean that her own assumption was right.

In the end, what guarantee there was that she really would have acted the way she claimed, save for her own unwavering conviction of it?

And still, he wanted to believe her, to let his gullibility and faith take over his usual rational scepticism one more time before shutting his weary heart to all dreams for good. Unrestrained, his thoughts wandered towards their first months at Mizusawa and all that happened during that time, from his finding Chihaya spread out on the grass, to her making class A and telling him to start the club with her, to their visit in Fukui and the cold, unexpected rebuff they received from Arata.

The way they had climbed up the karuta ladder, both as individuals and as a team, striving to get better, hoping that their work would pay off eventually – that the promise they had made in their childhood years would be fulfilled, allowing the three of them to be together again.

The three of them.

For the first time ever, Taichi realised that it had never been just Arata Chihaya wanted to see. It wasn't her personal affair, her own romance she wanted to pursue, only dragging him along for the old times' sake. In her mind, the reunion was never meant to be just between Arata and her, but he, Taichi, was always counted in and considered in her plans.

The three of us.

The old and familiar feeling of guilt came over him again as he pondered over the matter. It had only been a few short moments since Chihaya had asked her question, since she'd demanded him to say that yes, he was aware of her attitude, of how important their friendship was to her; and yet, it was enough for him to go there and back again on this sad journey down their shared memory lane, one that perhaps left him even more baffled than her heated confession itself.

He wanted to slap himself in the face for not comprehending all of it sooner – while at the same time, he still couldn't fully trust in that simple, obvious truth that she had shared with him.

He wanted to believe her; he didn't want to believe her.

Didn't want to fall into the trap of her kindness and candour, and love all over again, when his stupid amorous dreams about her still had not faded yet.

So he retreated into the safety of his own mind again, attempting with all his might to recall all the events that must have proven contradictory to what she was saying. All the times when she had chosen Arata over him, all the instances when it had been clear that she would have rather had the other boy stand by her side, be it the aforementioned birthday or the long phone calls he saw them having more than he wished he had.

He tried desperately to think of all the distant looks and dreamy gazes she'd displayed every time Arata was mentioned. The day she had learnt about Taichi's girlfriend and acted all shocked and disappointed about it, only to think of what Arata might be doing the next second; the afternoon when she'd skipped her study session with Komano to come and cheer for him but then seemed to forget all about her quest as soon as he'd told her that Arata was also participating in the tournament.

The many instances when she'd paused and turned in her dreamlike haze because she'd heard an indication of Arata's closeness, while he was sure that there had never been a case when she'd reacted like that to him.

Before, he'd been determined to fight his ridiculous jealousy with all that he'd had in him; now, suddenly, he was summoning it back, doing what he could to awake its burning fires, if only to protect him from stumbling over his feelings again.

He just couldn't let them take over again.

The task seemed easy enough at first, so much that he inevitably came to blame him for choosing the easier path again. Hadn't he been haunted by those foul memories for months, if not years now? Weren't they what had come to his mind whenever he'd as much as fancied the idea of winning Chihaya over, successfully preventing him from speaking his mind openly for so long? Wasn't his inhuman memory a curse known to few, always pushing forward the events and words that harmed him and never the ones that might bring him peace?

It should have been the easiest thing in the world to recall those images now, to let them overshadow the foolish, childlike hope that was starting to blossom in his heart against his endeavour and will.

So why couldn't he think of more than the few he'd already pondered over, instead having his memory overridden by the exact opposite kind? Why couldn't he hold onto those that he had managed to call, but let them dissolve into nothingness and give way to the sweet recollections he would never have been capable of keeping alive for long in any other hour?

He wished to think of indifference and unfairness, of all the little examples that would reaffirm his belief that there really had been no place for him in Chihaya's heart as long as Wataya Arata walked this Earth, and probably long after he stopped. The way she had acted after the Qualifiers, confused but not unhappy after Arata's confession and not terrified and hurt like she was after his.

Her birthday, he told himself, ignoring the fact that he had already brought that event twice, both quietly and out loud. Think of her birthday, you fool. She was so happy and you were so close, and then she forgot all about you the moment she saw that message-

He clung to the memory as if it were his lifeline; but it was too late. As if to contradict all of his theories, all of his doctrines and his principles, his mind was assaulted with the visions of nothing but the signs of Chihaya's tenderness and concern.

He wanted to think of her birthday – he was immediately drawn to his own, together with the crazy tournament she had organised, just to make him smile.

He wished to focus on her leaving him on that bench to search for Arata – and suddenly he couldn't help but think of when she'd deliberately thrown away watching the final match between Wataya Arata and the Queen, because she'd decided that witnessing him make class A was more important to her.

He recalled how, according to Arata’s own words, she had woken up from her faint during their first national tournament to see him next to her for the first time since their visit in Fukui and yet, she still as much as ignored him, ready to dash out of the room to join her team, heedless both of her own condition and the rules of the games.

All because she had promised they would win their matches together.

She really had gone from only wanting to improve in order to meet Arata to genuinely caring about all of their new team, more so perhaps than any other member ever had or would.

Once the dam fell, there really was nothing he might have done about it. All of a sudden, his brain was full of their moments together, good or bad, happy or distressing. How they had worked hard to recruit and teach the new club members, how they had worked on their own skills while tutoring and guiding them. The friendships they had made together and on their own, while the bond between them grew firmer all along.

All the little things she'd done for him without ever being asked to; all the small favours he had done for her just because it seemed the right thing to do at the time.

Their never-ending discussion and banter, and rows. The many times he'd wanted to pull out his hair out of frustration because of Chihaya's carelessness and the times when she must have felt the same about him.

First grade, third grade, fifth.

The warm April day two years ago, when he had found out they were to attend the same school again.

The joys.

The sorrows.

The smiles.

The tears.

The awkward attempts at consolations and horrible pep-talks that had done more harm than good.

The hard work they had put in, the litres of sweat and the energy gathered and burnt.

The way she was always finding her way to his side, no matter how hard he'd tried to mislead her.

It really was a friendship of a century – was he really ready to throw it all away like this?

No.

No, he wasn't.

Because it had never been about throwing it away, about destroying the precious bond that had held them together, simply because he was no longer able to pretend that friendship was all that he wanted from her. He had endured it: for twenty four months, he had stayed by her side, ready to help and ready to challenge, asking nothing more than the right to keep his place there. And he had been content for a while, and even when the contentment had gone away, he'd stayed anyway, convinced that in the long shot, his struggle would not be for nothing.

That somehow, the pain and discomfort he felt was just a stage, a rough patch that would only make their relationship grow stronger in the end.

Well, it did – and it didn't.

It wasn't so much that he regretted his decisions now; perhaps, if he had spoken sooner or made the signs clearer beforehand, their story would have taken a different course. Still, he was past wondering now: what was done couldn't be undone and besides, there was no telling that if he'd  taken a different approach it would have made the outcome any more positive for him than it was now. Knowing his luck, it probably would have turned his fate even sourer.

So no, he did not regret it. There were things he had to do now, however - choices he'd have to make, decisions he now needed to stand by.

It was time he finally focused on his own life and goals, his own future and dreams.

Even if that meant pushing his friendship with Chihaya aside for a while.

He needed to heal – and he needed to do it on his own.

He would be of no use to her until that was done, anyway.

"Taichi? Are you alright?" he heard her ask softly, her voice as distant as if she'd been calling from another place and not from her seat right next to him. On instinct, he raised his head and met her gaze after all. "I'm sorry if that was the wrong thing to ask. I just... I thought it was a simple question. But you know how bad I am at this."

Don't apologise, he wanted to say. You've done nothing wrong, he wished to add.

It's not your fault, he should have concluded.

He felt her grasp on him loosen as Chihaya let go of his hand and edged away, abashed. His fingers twitched at the change and he almost reached out to stop her and let her know that the gesture was not at all disagreeable - that, just like her coming to see him earlier on, it was acknowledged and appreciated, precious and desirable, despite the turmoil it had caused him in tandem.

There was so much he wanted to tell her; so much he should have said. If he could have shared his previous thought process with her - had it recorded or written down and given to her in a physical form – he would have. His fears and his hopes, his resolutions and his worries. The big matters and the small, those so closely related to their current conflict and those not related at all. He wished to speak of his affection again, but also of the subjects not related to it in the slightest.

He wanted to remark how her fringe gained a red hue in the light of the setting sun, while simultaneously commenting on how horribly tangled it was.

He ached to pull her close against his chest and say that she didn't have to worry, but also to tousle her hair and flick her forehead for putting her foot in her mouth again.

He needed to restrain himself from clapping, if only to see if she would respond with a swing.

He did neither. Instead, he took another deep breath and, leaning against the back of the bench once more, he folded his arms and shifted his gaze to the playground in front of him. The single swing Chihaya had mentioned came into his vision and he fixed his eyes on it, glad to have found an anchor for his wandering stare.

Yes, he wished he was able to tell her more; wished that his nature was shaped differently, making him at least a little more open with his thoughts than he was.

Still, it was not a trait he could overcome off-hand.

Not yet.

"I do realise that," he said simply instead, ignoring her most recent question and deciding to answer the one she'd asked before. "Though I'd like to think that I wouldn't have thrown you out of my house if you two had come to visit."

He glanced sideways at her then and smiled, hoping that this time, it would not end up with another wave of weeping on Chihaya's part. His faith did not prove in vain. Chihaya’s eyes were still glistening with tears of course, as he suspected they would for a while now, no matter how he steered their conversation next. Some of them had escaped from her lashes, too, flowing down her cheeks and falling from her chin, dropping onto her already dampened sleeves.

But she wasn't shaking anymore. There were no hiccups and no sniffing to come with her crying anymore, no glints of anger flashing in her eyes. She had calmed down, as calm as Ayase Chihaya could be, anyway.

And then she laughed.

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 25 Pt 1

He rose before her and smiled at her sleeping form all sprawled out over the mattress and hoped she woke less stressed than the past few days. They were making it work, there were some rough patches but they were still learning to be a family, a couple. He’d really messed up yesterday and stepped over a line with her, it was no wonder she’d lost her shit. He had usurped her independence, forced her brother on her and the kids, made her feel anything but the intelligent, beautiful woman she was. Not what he’d intended at all.

Quietly collecting the charm from the nightstand he had Brendan keep an eye on things for a hot minute and went to the garage. It was important for her to still have these connections with her brother. He was hoping the books in her office would be perceived as that as well.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough he thought as he changed Lily and sat her with Brendan. He’d see her purge the grief again and he had his own agenda. He’d burn that fucking notebook, he had a feeling she’d finished and that it was weighing on her now too. He didn’t want anything else piling onto her plate if he could help it, he couldn’t watch her go through last night again. It tore at his soul seeing her like that. He wanted to love her, for her to let him love her, but it would only happen when she was ready for it to happen. He couldn’t force it, and maybe unknowingly he had been, too much, too quickly.

“Morning love.” He murmured as those talented lips destroyed her neck. She rolled over and wrapped herself around him kissing that mouth she’d craved.

“Good morning.” She purred, her kiss sinful. A fresh start she thought, she had to try and put yesterday behind her. That started by her not being so much of a control freak.

“Fuck me, Friday can’t get here soon enough.” He growled. “You need to get up love, cases to slay.”

She didn’t want to, she wanted to curl up with him and rock his world.

“I could kiss you all damn day.” She said dreamily and gave him one last blazing lip lock before pulling the sheets back.

“Saturday you can do that if you want.” He chuckled. She seemed happier today so far, the stress of yesterday left where it belonged. “Come on, up you get.”

She did the adult thing and climbed out of bed and headed to the shower after kissing him again. Letting the blistering hot water pound on her face she thought about what transpired last night, the guilt for raging at him like she did weighed heavily. Rarely did she lose her temper but when pushed, when cornered, she went nuclear and in spectacular fashion.

She’d hurt him, could see her words had cut him deeply and she had no idea how to heal that wound. How did she let him take care of her, how did she let him in without losing sight of who she was? She wouldn’t see her identity, her independence lost to a man ever again, the first time was bad enough.

She also had to tell him about his notebook and knew that was going to kick him after last night. Sometimes life just didn’t play fair or nice, it just got messy.

“You look as sinful as ever.” He growled as she came out of the bedroom as he went in to take a shower.

“Wait until you see what’s under it.” She purred and kissed him so his brain short circuited.

“Oh, that’s not fair.” He breathed. “You can’t tease me like that all day.”

“Ha! Yeah I can.” She giggled and kissed him before wrapping her arms around his half naked body. “Hey, um, not to drop a bombshell on you after last night but, I finished your notebook.” She said gently as she pulled back to looked at him. He blew a breath out, and looked at her. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I figured you would like to know I’d finished and to have it back in case you wanted to do something with it.” She kissed him tenderly, that love flooding his system.

“Do you have anything you want to talk about, ask me about?” He asked shakily and was relieved when she shook her head.

“Not unless you want to talk about it. Thank you, for letting me read it. So I could understand what she did, who she was, what she is.” She said softly hoping she hadn’t set him up for a shitty day, the remnants of last nights argument was bad enough. He rested his forehead against hers and breathed. He could burn it and be done.

“Thank you.” He said gently and kissed her, the love pouring out of him. “Thank you for reading it. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Her finger trailed his jaw. “You ok?”

“Yeah I think so.” He was a little taken back. He knew this day would come and thought he was prepared for it but it still stung. His relationship, his faults, his thoughts, laid bare for someone else to read. He’d been terrified she’d read it and leave, those old wounds sneaking into his psyche and wreaking havoc.

“I didn’t mean for it to fuck up your day.” She said softly and cupped a palm to his face stroking a thumb over his cheekbone.

“It hasn’t. I’m relieved actually.” He looked at her. “I can finally be rid of it.” His smile settling her. “I can put it in its place.” His kiss was searing, that burn of passion, of love.

“Join me for lunch today?” She asked. “Just lunch.” She added when he smirked.

“I’d like that.” He kissed her again and started the shower. “Go eat. You need to get going soon and you need food.”

“Mmm.” She agreed and kissed him again. “You’re always so tasty.” Grinning she walked away. She heard the groan and couldn’t help but laugh, it was the reaction she’d hoped for to pull his mind back from Ana. Seeing him for lunch would give her the chance to make sure he was ok, she knew this would destroy him if he stayed in that headspace for too long.

She smiled as she sat in his car and adjusted the rear view mirror, her fingers gently caressing the Celtic charm. It was the little things he did that floored her the most. He knew that lump of silver was special to her and without a second thought placed it where it belonged, even though this wasn’t even her car. Even when she’d hissed and spat at him last night like some mentally deranged cat.

The morning flew by, well he thought, that’s what you get when you go car shopping. He hadn’t purchased it, yet, but if her car was indeed a brick he had something lined up to make her life easier until she could purchase her own.

Her admin all but swooned at his feet, poor kid, and he had to stifle the chuckle as she did that dreamy sigh as he walked into Sildie’s office. Sildie was a sight, on the phone railing some poor schmuck, the deadly tone quite arousing when it wasn’t at him. He closed the door quietly and sat at the coffee table to wait until she finished. Setting their lunch out he grinned when he heard the phone click and her unmistakable “asshole” as she breathed out.

“That was an interesting one sided conversation.” He said, humor thick in his voice.

She snorted a laugh. “I love chewing up opposing counsel and spitting them out for breakfast when they think they can be lazy and still expect to hoodwink me and win.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she logged her conversation and the progress, or lack thereof, of the case.

“I take it said lawyer isn’t winning today.” He grinned.

“No, no he is not. He’s about to have a very unpleasant afternoon.” She ripped her glasses off and looked at him as he pulled the Chinese takeout from the bag and placed it on the table.

“What?” He asked, looking up as he felt her gaze upon him. Those eyes of glacial blue were undressing him.

“Nothing, just enjoying the view.” She smirked and leaned her head on her hand, damn he looked fine in that dress shirt, she thought, and how she wanted to fuck him in it.

He got up and stalked to her, those ridiculously long legs eating up the carpet with ease, nothing but a predator stalking it’s prey in those eyes. Spinning her chair slowly so she was facing him he placed those massive hands on the arm rests and leaned down to kiss her, slow, seductive, and she was sure, highly illegal.

“Hi beautiful.” He said, that low timbre she loved rumbling out of him.

“Hi handsome.” She kissed him, that unhurried sinful kiss that set fire to his brain.

“You’ll get us into trouble if you kiss me like that here.” He murmured, her pussy throbbing for his touch. “Come and eat before it gets cold.” He held out his hand for her and she took it, his touch sending all sorts of lovely sparks through her system. As she stood his arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her to him, that soft curvy body pressing against him. He kissed her, that lustful burn that had her melting in his arms.

“I love it when you kiss me like that. Makes me all gooey.” She giggled.

“I know.” He growled and kissed her like it all over again.

They sat and ate, talking of the astronomical cost it was going to take to fix her car.

“I don’t see the point in fixing it when you could get a new one for half that again.” He said, eating another delicious morsel of chili beef.

“Yeah.” She sighed out, and poked her chopsticks into the rice angrily. “Just, fucking fuck.” She huffed, defeated.

“What is it love?” He looked at her and she blew a breath out.

“I’ve spent the last year squirreling money away to section off part of the living area for Lily’s room and now that’s going to have to wait, again, because I need a new car. It’s just... fuck.” She spat. “I’m just sick of planning, working hard and saving like crazy to have it all go pear shaped. I’m just tired of it.” Her voice trembled and she got up to pace. “I’m tired of working my ass off and getting fucking nowhere.”

He could hear the threatening tears. The remnants of last night slinking their way back in. “Hey.” He soothed and stood, sweeping her into his arms gently as she walked past. “Don’t cry love.”

“Mmnot.” She mumbled as she held onto him, she wanted too though. Her thoughts were still raw from last night for more disappointment and stress.

“We’ll work it out.” He kissed her temple. “For the moment you have my car and I’m more than happy for you to use it. I only use it for longer trips so I can catch a cab if I need to go anywhere.”

“But I don’t want it messing with your schedule either. It’s your car you should be able to use it when you want to.” It came out more of a whine than a statement and she hated sounding like a petulant child, but it really wasn’t fucking fair.

“It’s not. Hey.” He hooked a finger under her chin and tipped it up so she’d look at him. “Use the car. It’s a squeeze for you guys but use it ok? For as long as you need to.”

“Ok.” She said and he could tell she wasn’t happy about it.

“It’s either that or I buy you one.” He quipped, knowing what her reaction would be.

“And I’ll be extremely angry with you if you do.” She looked at him and he saw the fire kindle in those eyes.

“That’s what I thought. Use the car Sildie. It sits there half the time collecting dust anyway.” He kissed her. “But I understand your frustration. We’ll sort it out ok? Give it some time, let things settle down, there’s no rush.” Especially when things could potentially change come Christmas, he thought. “What else is troubling you love?” He asked and kissed her gently.

“You sure you’re ok?” She asked quietly. “I didn’t want to blindside you this morning but I felt like I did.” She rested her forehead on his. “I didn’t mean to, especially after my bitch fit at you last night. Which again, I’m sorry.”

“I’m ok, we’re ok, and you didn’t blindside me, I had a feeling you were getting close to finishing it.” He looked at her. “Reading it upset you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes.” She kept her answer short not wanting to force him to talk about any of the contents from that toxic book.

“I’m sorry. I never meant for it to get under your skin.” He never meant for any of it to touch her or her life. His sensitive goddess, she felt everything so keenly.

“It’ll be fine, it’s just, she’a a nasty piece of work.”

“She is. Was that part of being upset last night?” He asked softly.

“A little, I think it just got added to everything else.”

“I’m sorry.”

She kissed him. “I’m glad I read it though. You’re enough, and you’re stronger than her.”

“I am, and I have an ace up my sleeve this time. I also have you to help me get through anything that decides to try and kick my ass again.” He smiled.

“Always love.”

“Come finish your food, you haven’t eaten enough.” He guided her to the small two seat sofa and sat next to her.

He glared at her as she stole a coconut shrimp off his plate and grinned at him.

“Damn it woman I was saving that.” He said playfully.

“You should eat them first, that way I can’t steal them.” She quipped with a grin.

“You’d find a way.” He grabbed her hand when she went in for the kill again which had her giggling. He brought her hand to his mouth and ate the shrimp that she’d managed to skewer on her chopsticks not taking his eyes off hers. “Mine.” He growled and she bit her bottom lip gently when her pussy suddenly throbbed for him. That look made her all sorts of needy. “Careful love.” That dangerous tone making her wet. He pulled her in sharply and kissed her, sucking her bottom lip free. “You don’t want to be teasing me with that lip here.” He warned.

“I need it to be Friday.” She whispered. Fuck me she thought, the way he looked at her was enough to have her almost climax.

“One more day.” He kissed her seductively until she moaned softly. “Eat your food.”

“Tease.” She grinned.

She went and made tea once she’d eaten and found she liked knowing he was comfortable coming here for lunch. It was one of those normal things that made her day brighter. She knew it wouldn’t be everyday but for those days he could swing it she would cherish them.

“I swear you’ve broken my admin.” She said, setting the tea down and closing the door again. Her admin was trying to find an excuse to walk past her office to catch a glimpse of him.

“All I said was hello.” He chuckled.

“I think she has a crush on you. She went all dreamy eyed when she saw the flowers Monday.” She wouldn’t tell him she was just as wistful. They sent her to mush every time he sent them.

“Did you get all dreamy eyed?” He smirked as she sat beside him.

“Not a chance.” She said a little too quickly and he grinned.

“I like turning you to mush.” He growled and kissed her sweetly.

“You did when I got in your car this morning.” She murmured, her fingers trailing his jaw and resting at the deep V of his shirt. “Nearly made me cry.”

“It’s important to you.” He shrugged.

“It is, thank you.” She kissed him.

“You working late tomorrow? I saw your calendar.” He said sipping his tea.

“Yeah, I need to square some things away before you kidnap me for four days.” She chuckled.

“Want me to pick up the kids?” He asked gently and watched her. He didn’t want to push, especially after last night, but it made sense.

“Only if you’re ok with it. I don’t want to dump them on you if you have things to do.” She said hesitantly. “I think it would be nice for them, for you.” She shrugged. “Time to bond.”

“My calendar is pretty clear until after Christmas.” He leaned over and kissed her. “You drop them off tomorrow morning, I’ll come by for lunch and collect the car to pick them up. Just don’t stay at work too late. I won’t be happy if I have to come and collect you on the way to our getaway.” He said gently.

“I should be done around seven. Just depends what sort of day I have.”

“I’ll have a car pick you up.” He said without thinking.

“I’ll catch a cab.” She shot back and he knew he was toeing that line and left it well alone.

“I like taking care of you Sildie, when you let me.” He said gently.

“I know, just don’t like being coddled. It suffocating.”

“I’ll try to remember that. I don’t do it intentionally love.” I do it because I love you, he said silently.

“I know.” She leaned her forehead against his. “I like it when you take care of me, but I’m having to learn to let you. I have to consciously let go of the control. I’m not used to having someone like you be there for me. I like it though.” She added and let her fingers feel his chest, trail the edge of the deep V. “It makes me feel safe, you make me feel safe.”

“Good.” He murmured and felt his heart swell, he was doing something right at least. He understood her need for control, with how her life had taken such a dramatic change in direction it wasn’t surprising. She needed to feel in control of everything to know she had done the best she could for the kids. It was an enormous amount of pressure she put on herself and hoped he could relieve some of that pressure for her.

The light knock at the door broke them apart as Sildie got up to answer it.

“My one o’clock is here.” She said collecting all the trash from their meal.

“Then I had better get going.” Not that he wanted to.

“Thank you for lunch, this was nice.” She said softly.

“We can do it again when ever you want love.”

“Tomorrow, for sure.”

“It’s a date.” He cupped her gently around the neck and drew her close, his kiss destroyed her brain and curled her toes.

“I love it when you kiss me like that.” She sighed.

“I know.” He growled.

“Turning me into mush before you leave, that’s not fair love.” She grinned.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight.” He growled. “I want to see what you’ve got hiding under this.” He said tugging her blouse gently.

“Come on I’ll walk you out.” She chuckled. “And no breaking my admin please, I need her coherent.”

“Maybe I’ll hook her up with Valter.” He smirked as he pulled on his coat.

“Oh hush.” She chuckled, playfully slapping him. “I think she’d prefer you or Alex.”

“She couldn’t handle Alex.”He kissed her, one of longing, a promise of more. “And I’m taken.” He murmured. “Very, very, taken.”

“See you for hockey?” She asked gently as they walked out.

“You will.”

“Bye love.” She said quietly and he noticed she tensed slightly as he went to kiss her in view of her entire office. Still too new for her with everyone watching he thought.

“Bye.” He said and kissed her cheek softly. “Relax, they’ll lose interest soon enough. Just keep ignoring it.”

“I’m trying.” She said softly and nodded.

She willed the flush of heat, the red that was no doubt staining her face to disappear as she walked her client back to her office. She didn’t like an audience when she kissed him and she knew it was only going to get worse as they went out together more. She worried about how that would affect the kids and knew she’d have to talk to him about it.

She didn’t want them approached by reporters or fans wanting the scoop on their relationship, or have their faces plastered across magazine covers. Yes he was famous, but they were entitled to a private life and she’d see they got it. The kids were off limits, no exceptions.

With the day done she collected the kids and headed to the rink. Gustaf was already seated when they arrived and smiled as Lily squealed a dad dad and ran to him, a little wobbly still, but running.

“Well hello little lady.” He chuckled as she hugged him tightly, snuggling her in. “Hello lovely lady.” He said snaking an arm around her and kissing her.

“Hi.”

“Everything ok?” He asked, the stress in her voice wasn’t what he’d hoped for tonight.

“It’s fine. We just need to talk about the kids and reporters.” She said getting the twin situated.

“What happened?” She watched as his entire demeanor changed, suddenly fiercely protective, of her, of the kids. She relaxed, no doubt in her mind he’d rip them to shreds if they fucked with the kids.

“Nothing, and I’d like to see we keep it that way.”

“Absolutely.” He kissed her again slowly and felt her relax.

“Just something that’s been circling my head since this afternoon.”

“Talk tonight?” He didn’t want this getting out of hand, he wanted it off her mind and her plate, and he should have thought of it sooner.

“Sure.” She kissed him quickly and sat as Brendan’s team took the ice.

With a 2-1 win they headed home, the twins goofing off with an overtired Lily in the back seat keeping her from imploding completely.

“Ama?”

“Yeah B.” She chuckled at the outrageous raspberry noises coming from the back seat.

“Can you phone us Friday night? When you get to wherever Gustaf’s taking you?” Brendan asked quietly.

She looked over at the teen as she pulled up at a stoplight. “Of course.” He was scared and she should have seen it. Oh hell she should have been ready for this. It would be the first time they’d been separated for more than a day since the crash took their parents. And you fucking idiot, she swore in her head, you should have seen this coming a mile away. “If it’s too much B I’ll cancel.” She didn’t want to, she’d been looking forward to some adult time, but if this was going to spiral him she would, the kids came first.

“No, I don’t want... you guys need some time together and I don’t want to ruin it.” He mumbled.

“Look at me B.” The teen did and her heart sank, the kid was terrified. “You guys come first and if it’s too much, Gustaf will understand, so will I.”

“No, I still want you to go, just call when you get there?” He asked again.

“You’re sure? Absolutely a million percent sure you’re ok with it?” The kid nodded. “And yes I’ll call when we get there. I’ll even send pics.” She smiled.

“Do you know where you’re going?” He asked as the light went green.

“No clue.” She chuckled as she drove. Brendan snickered and the grin said it all.

“You know don’t you? You holding out on me?” She joked.

“Yep and I’m soooo not telling.” He giggled.

“Oh come on he won’t know.” She said slyly.

“Nope. You’re gonna love it though.”

“Yeah well we’ll see.” She said pulling into Gustaf’s parking space. She frowned at the car next to her, someone had parked in her spot. “Damn it. The nerve of some people.” She grumbled as she pulled Lily out and cuddled her in. She’d deal with that once the kids were upstairs. Just because her car had died didn’t mean her parking space was no longer hers.

Gustaf had beaten them home and dinner was waiting for them, the boys whooping when they saw it was pizza. Hockey nights had turned into pizza nights. Lily cried a dad dad for him and Sildie smiled.

“Looks like she wants you tonight. Not that I blame her, I kinda want you too.” She murmured and kissed him as he took Lily. “Hey you good with these guys for a hot minute I need to go down and report the asshole who parked in my space.” She sighed, not really wanting to deal with something else tonight.

He grinned and kissed her. “That asshole is me love.” He chuckled.

“Oh, sorry.” She huffed. “Wait...”

“I figured one car was going to get old real fast and we couldn’t go away this weekend and not have a car here for Alice to use.” That was his reasoning and he was sticking to it.

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t think of that.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. There was way too much shit going on for her to think straight.

“Anyway, that car is roomier so I’ll put Lily’s seat in there after dinner. You can take that one tomorrow.” He wasn’t going to make a big deal over it because as soon as she realized he’d bought the damn thing she’d flip her shit.

“The one it’s in is fine.” She looked at him suspiciously, did he buy another car, she wondered?

“I know, this will be better, there’s more room, and I like driving my car for longer trips.” She’d told him he wasn’t allowed to repair or buy her a car, she didn’t say anything about him buying another car for himself. She’d rage at him when she figured it out. But he had a plan, gifts and food were off limits and Christmas was three weeks away.

They sat and ate, the kids dragging homework to the table so they could multitask. As they finished up Gustaf headed to the garage to take care of the car seat and Sildie got Lily in a bath. She was a grumpy little lady and screaming by the time Gustaf got back.

“Oh Lily bear, it’s not that bad honey.” He cooed with a chuckle as he stepped into the bathroom.

“Anyone would think I was murdering her with the amount of noise she’s making.” Sildie chuckled as she pulled the plug and bundled the child into a towel. Gustaf took Lily when she launched herself at him and dressed her for bed.

“You said earlier you were worried about reporters, media.” He prompted gently, he wanted to get to the bottom of that potential shit storm immediately.

“It was something that came to mind after you left. Everyone watching us. I don’t like it but it’s part of your world that I’m going to have to deal with, I just don’t want the kids involved. They deserve to be left alone regardless of who you are.” She said honestly as she kicked off her heels and shucked the suit jacket.

“I agree and I can assure you, I’ll do everything to see them shielded from it.” He said softly as he snuggled Lily in. “You as well.”

“Is there anything we can do to sort of say the kids are off limits? I mean I can go all lawyer on them but I don’t really want to do that. Yet.” She said toying with his shirt.

“I’ll talk to Daisy and Jack. I have a few strings to pull on that end.” His knuckles brushed her cheek and he kissed her tenderly. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything sooner. I didn’t think of it until you said something and I should have.”

“It’s ok. It’s just bad enough with my work colleagues, I don’t want the kids going through that.”

“Completely understandable.” He kissed her again letting seduction take the wheel until she moaned. “Your work colleagues will calm down once the novelty’s worn off.”

“Or I send them a cease and desist memo.” She muttered. “Oh and one thing for Friday.”

“Mmmmm?”

“I need to be able to call the kids when we arrive.” She fiddled with the buttons on his shirt and couldn’t look at him. She felt so silly for even asking, of course she could call them, it wasn’t like he’d take her phone away.

“Look at me.” He whispered. “You ok?” He asked when her eyes met his.

“Never mind it’s fine.” She shook her head and his hand caught her arm before she could fully get out of reach.

“No, not never mind.” He said gently and kissed her reassuringly. “What’s going on?”

“Brendan asked if I could call them when we land, park, dock, to wherever it is you’re kidnapping me to.” She huffed.

“Of course.” He pulled her in so he could wrap and arm around her and secure her to him. “My two best girls.” He kissed her temple and let the closeness relax her, hoping she’d spill what was really on her mind.

“Talk to me love.” He said softly when she clammed up.

“This is the first time I’ve been away from them for more than a night, further away than next door.” She mumbled. “Brendan talked to me in the car on the way home. I should have seen it earlier, dealt with it earlier but to be honest it didn’t even cross my mind until he asked. I’m so fucking hopeless at this shit.”

“He’s scared.” Gustaf stated more than asked.

“I think terrified would come closer.” She murmured.

“I’ll chat with him.”

“No, leave it, please. I said I’d call him and I don’t want this turning into a big deal.” She said, eyes pleading.

“You sure?”

“Yes, and I can text Alice some pictures. I want to make this a good thing, not something they dread or get anxious about.” She sighed out and rested her forehead against his. “Even though I’m anxious enough for everyone. Things have to level out to some sort of normal soon, right?”

“It will love, give it time, and you’re far from hopeless at this.”

“I’m nervous.” She said honestly.

“I know.” He whispered and kissed her brow. “Together love. One step at a time.”

“She’s almost asleep.” Her fingers caressed Lily’s hair as the child’s eyes started to droop.

“Then dance with me until she is.” He held onto her and swayed as she relaxed into him, head on his shoulder, kisses to Lily’s forehead, and soon the tiny child was drifting under.

Gustaf put Lily to bed and lingered as she settled, his large finger gripped tightly in her little fist. He could hear Sildie reading to the boys and headed to the kitchen to make tea. She would want to read now, get it out the way before coming to bed and he’d try and coax her into an early night considering the lack of sleep and overwhelming stress she endured yesterday. He was sitting on the couch with his tea when she came in and closed the hall door. She didn’t sit to read, instead she came over to straddle him and rested her head against his chest. He felt the stress leave her, melt clean off her bones as she slumped.

“You ok?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Yamnow.” She mumbled.

“Not reading?”

“I should but I’m beat to hell.” She said wrapping her arms around him. “Fuck I missed you.” She sighed and grinned as his laugh rumbled through his chest. “And I was an ungrateful bitch to you last night.”

“I missed you too love.” He kissed the top of her head and lingered breathing her in. “And that was last night, let it be done.” He kissed her temple and felt her relax further into him. She’d said the same thing to him after he’d had his meltdown, he’d show her the same courtesy.

“You know I’m grateful you came into our lives right? I don’t say that enough to you.” She brought her head up to look at him. “There not a day that goes by that I don’t wonder how we got so lucky.”

“I’m the one who got lucky.” He murmured, that deep rich timbre she loved. “You and four great kids. Whoever let you go is an idiot. Absolutely certifiable.” His kiss was that slow burn, seductive and potent. “I won’t be making that mistake.” He growled before kissing her so her pussy throbbed.

“You should go read.” He said as she deepened his kiss and lingered, her fingers toying with his buttons.

“Yeah, you’re right, I should.” She purred, as her hands undid the top few buttons of his shirt.

His hands stroked up her thighs and under her skirt, that single digit grazing her heat through the black lace. Her moan into his mouth made his cock twitch. “Fuck Sildie I want you.” He growled and swiped his finger over her clit and through that wetness he was growing hard for. Her moan against his lips had his fingers yanking her g string to the side and circling her entrance.

As he deliberately toyed with her, arousing her until her brain was ready to explode, her fingers hastily freed his erection. He savaged her mouth as she stroked him, those nimble fingers delightfully destroying his manhood. Palming a breast he pulled the fabric of her blouse aside so he could nip that one spot on her neck.

“I want you to fuck me.” She purred as two fingers circled her entrance teasing her. “I want to feel every inch of you.” She breathed.

“Anything for you love.” He kissed her hard as she shifted to rest his cock where his fingers had been. He gripped her hips and pulled her onto him as he snapped his hips forward. The mutual groan of ecstasy echoed softly around the room.

They found a brutal rhythm, the hard plunge deep into her, his cock hitting her in all those secret places. He ravaged her mouth as she held onto him while he filled her, his girth stretching her wide. She rode him hard, the bounce driving him deeper until he bottomed out.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He growled, biting down on her throat.

“No love.” She sighed. “You’re just so fucking big.” She purred, nipping his ear to emphasize her words. “So big.” She moaned as his hips snapped faster pulling her onto him, forcing himself into her with long deft strokes.

“Gustaf.” She peaked quickly and cried into his mouth as his cock pounded into her, her hands clutching at him as she tensed.

It was a fast, rough mating, an urgent need to fuck and claim each other, to scratch that itch. He plunged a hand between their bodies and assaulted her clit, the added sensation sending her over the edge. Her climax shattered her as he continued to fuck her hard, his own release thundering through him as he filled her with his seed.

“You drive me fucking wild.” He murmured, nuzzling her throat. “Stroking my ego like that.” He grinned as he nipped her ear, her throaty laugh making his cock twitch.

“Just stating the truth love.” She purred, that sly smirk tugging at her lips as she rested against him.

“Reading or bed?” He asked as they caught their breath, wanting nothing more than to strip her naked and take her again. Knowing she had reading, was tired, and had a crazy day tomorrow, he would have to settle for curling up in bed so she’d get an earlier night.

“I’m still gonna have to read for an hour.” She said, determined to be somewhat productive tonight.

“Want me to sit with you?”

“Up to you, but I like it when you do.” She placed her hands on his chest and stretched up to kiss him. “As much as I want you to fuck me all over again, I have to be the responsible adult and do my homework.” She said wistfully.

“Do your homework, playtime later.” He said playfully and she giggled.

“Now that’s incentive.”

“Whatever works.” He grinned.

They disentangled themselves and dressed enough to be descent if the kids came out. Seated at the table she got to work, the cup of tea magically appearing by her legal pad.

He kissed the back of her neck an hour later, not a second more and she shivered. He watched as her pen hand went lax, unable to put thought into action, as his lips kissed a trail on the exposed strip of skin between her hairline and blouse. That soft sigh as skilled hands massaged the rocks in her shoulders.

“Time for bed my lovely lady.” He murmured as his kiss found the spot below her ear.

“Ok.” She mumbled dreamily as he continued to relax her.

“Pack your work up.” He prompted.

“I can’t while you’re doing that, my brain won’t work.” Her mumble was barely there, he’d relaxed her into a puddle of goo.

His hands stopped and she moaned her displeasure when he pulled away. “Pack up and then I’ll take care of you.” He murmured and took the teapot and cups to the kitchen.

He watched her and smirked. She was still sitting there blinking as if trying to coerce her body to cooperate. He’d rendered her incoherent. Those lips she thought, those hands, he’d turned her to mush. She tidied up, packed her bag for tomorrow, and dragged her ass out of the chair. With everything set for the morning she headed to bed, Gustaf followed a little later.

“Those lips are deadly Mr.” She huffed as his arms wrapped around her, the kiss landing on her temple as he snuggled her in. “And so are these.” She mumbled tapping his hands as they flexed out across her torso, cupping a breast gently. His quiet chuckle made her smile.

“Sleep love you have a brutal day tomorrow. We’ll save playtime for Friday.” He murmured. He calmed her, the warmth, the strength, those protective arms keeping her close, home.

“But I have you to come home to.” She mumbled, already falling into sleep.

“Yes you do.” He kissed her head and breathed her in.

She shifted until her mouth found his, the kiss loving and soft. “Thank you.” She slurred.

“Sleep love.”

“You’re my home Gustaf.” She mumbled as sleep claimed her and he felt his heart lurch and his eyes prickle at her words.

“You’re my home too love.”

It had been a rough few days for her and with her birthday next week he knew her stress and grief would only worsen. Their four days away would hopefully settle her, or at least take the edge off. He knew she’d work herself hard tomorrow and was looking forward to taking care of the kids. It gave them all time to bond and he found he craved to spend time with them. He held her close, his Sildie, his home, as sleep pulled him under.

**************

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector

[alexandralyman]

Beyond the Horizon - Ch. 44

Fic Update: Beyond the Horizon Summary: AU: When Princess Emma's ship is captured by the Jolly Roger and Captain Killian Jones, she offers herself as a hostage for ransom if he will let the ship and the other passengers go. With Emma, Killian remembers the honour he once held dear, and Emma catches glimpses of the gentleman Killian had been. Against all odds, the pirate and the princess begin to fall for each other.

Read this chapter on ff.net here

                                             Chapter Forty Four                                               Tell Me A Story

A foul stench hit him as soon as he entered his quarters and Killian stopped dead with one hand on the doorframe, his nose wrinkling in disgust while his belly twisted and lurched under his waistcoat. The smell was unmistakable, and revulsion was quickly replaced with concern as he rushed forward. Emma was bent over at the waist, retching into the porcelain basin that sat on the washstand with one hand braced alongside it and the other wrapped around her middle. He glanced down at the puddle of sick and bile quickly rose in his own throat, but as unpleasant as the smell and sight of it was, he was far more alarmed than repulsed.

"Easy, love, easy."

He laid a hand on her back, trying to offer what bit of comfort he could with his presence. It was hardly the first time Killian had witnessed someone vomiting from seasickness or spoiled rations, or, more frequently among sailors, from too much drink, and he knew there was nothing much that could be done for such afflictions except waiting for them to run their course. But Emma flinched under his touch, her shoulders hunching even more over the porcelain, and he swallowed back the sour taste in his mouth. His hand fell back to his side, opening and closing helplessly while she continued to empty the contents of her stomach. He had an inkling of what had made her so violently ill so suddenly, and it wasn't seasickness or an excess of grog.

The first time he'd been flogged he had borne the cut of the lash as stoically as he could in front of the jeering crew, knowing that his punishment would be made tenfold worse if he gave in to the fruitless urge to beg and plead for mercy in the midst of such unmerciful men. He had to take it like a man even though he was hardly more than a boy, lest he be branded with more than the marks carved into his back and he had, swallowing back his cries as each stroke fell and willing the tears not to fall along with them until the captain was finally satisfied that he'd had enough. Killian had felt empty afterwards, hollowed out as if a piece of his soul itself had gone missing and might not return. As painful as it was, he'd been strangely numb as well for hours on end, until he tried to eat the broth that Liam brought him and was immediately sick all over his poor brother as soon as he took a single spoonful.

Emma had sworn that she was fine, that his threats and taunts in front of the Evil Queen's men couldn't douse the flame of their love, but being paraded about on deck while he openly boasted about taking both her ship and her maidenhead by force had clearly sickened her right to her stomach.

"A pirate's always got to keep the best part of the treasure for himself, eh lads?"

That night was seared into his memory more indelibly than ink on parchment...the way her breath had hitched but her gaze hadn't faltered when he drew her nightdress slowly up her thighs with clear intent to have what he'd wanted for so long...stripping her fully bare at last and greedily drinking in every inch of fine white skin...her fear that it would hurt and his promise to be gentle, a promise kept because to do otherwise was unthinkable...the soft trail of her fingers down his back when he rolled his hips and she accepted the full length of him for the first time...drowning in the sensations and in a sea of words unsaid and almost confessing his deepest secret then and there, that he was hopelessly in love with her and would give her anything and everything she wanted if only she'd stay...

Killian had hated every word that had come out of his mouth on the deck and more than that, how easily it was to twist and turn what had happened between them on the Jolly Roger into a far more sordid and ugly tale, of a helpless lady caught in the rapacious clutches of a heartless brigand. Who would believe that she'd welcomed him into her bed, that what he wanted even more than the pleasures of her body was her heart? No, the tale he told was far more likely and it would spread as quickly as wildfire now that they'd made landfall. He'd wager that it would be halfway across the kingdom by sunset, carried from town to tavern in scandalized whispers and salacious grins.

"Did you hear about the princess and the pirate?"

She spat into the basin and staggered away, away from him, one hand still pressed just below the bodice of her gown while she wiped her mouth. That little voice in the back of his mind was back, chuckling darkly that her love was the one prize he could never try to take by force. It was hers and only hers to give as she saw fit and she could snatch it back from his unworthy hands at any moment.

"Nerves, I guess," she muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. "The waiting just got to be too much, I just...I just want this all to be over."

"Soon," he promised, ringed fingers flexing over the hilt of his sword and trying to quell that little bit of nagging doubt that her words could have another meaning.

His marriage proposal back on the fairy isle had been refused, after all.

The table was a cluttered mess, several books in a jumbled pile that was topped with a ball of wool that had a pair of knitting needles sticking out, the small chest where Emma kept hair ribbons and other feminine treasures sat open and had clearly been rifled through and wedged in between was the tray Fergus had brought earlier with the remains of the morning tea, along with an unfamiliar brown glass bottle that she pushed aside to lift the teapot and pour out what remained into the cup she preferred, the one painted with little pink rosebuds. She swished out her mouth while he retrieved her cloak from the peg on the wall.

"It's time," Killian said, draping it over her shoulders and fastening it at her throat. He carefully covered her hair with the hood, letting the deep folds mask her face. Another memory struck him then, of the day they'd first met. She'd been concealed by a cloak then too, hidden away until she'd thrown it off and her voice had rung out across the deck and drew the attention of all. Even then he'd known she was the real treasure, not the ship, not whatever cargo filled the hold, not even the priceless jewels that ringed her neck and could have retired his whole crew several times over. If they'd offered him anything else on board it would have been in vain, as soon as he caught sight of the beautiful woman staring back at him with such defiance, unbowed and unbent by what seemed like certain defeat, then all he wanted in that moment was her, with an ache a deep as the pull of the tides in his sailor's blood

"I will trade myself for their lives, Captain Jones."

"And who might you be?"

"I am Princess Emma, daughter of Queen Snow White and King David. Let the ship and my people go, and I offer myself as your hostage."

"Killian?"

Her pale face looked up at him as it had then, when he'd extended his hand to bring her aboard his ship. That day her hestiance and uncertainty about the man she'd made a deal with was plain, but she'd accepted his offering and the bargain between them had been sealed. This time, she was the one who reached out first, slim, delicate fingers wrapping around his thicker, calloused ones in the stillness of the cabin they now shared. Emma had traded herself to him and yet somehow she'd ended up with his heart, body and soul as her unintended prize as well. It was far from an even exchange, but Killian was still a pirate, he always got the better half of any deal. The Fairy Queen had warned with those strange, violet eyes that there was darkness in him and he swore at times he could literally feel it, heavy and leaden in his chest. What was a scarred and blackened heart like his to a princess like her?

Still, he hoped she would be gentle with it, just the same.

                                                          ….

Regina's ships had guided them to a port not far from the castle that was Emma's childhood home, although none of her vessels had docked alongside the Jolly and stayed anchored out instead just beyond the mouth of the harbour. Blocking them in, Smee had noted in a low tone under his knitted cap, and Killian had agreed with a silent nod. The Evil Queen was taking no chances, it seemed, cutting off any last minute attempts to escape back out on the open sea. It was said that she was cunning, and Snow White's warning not to let his guard down around her was at the forefront of his mind when he'd steered them those last few leagues into the waiting net. The port itself was strangely deserted, when they went above deck there wasn't a soul to be seen even though the docks should be thick with people, fishermen bringing in the early morning catch, peddlers pushing barrows of oysters, longshoremen hauling cargo, alongside the pickpockets and whores who always flocked to the ships in search of likely marks and customers. But there wasn't so much as a single drunkard sleeping off a night of overindulgence and all the buildings lining the wharves were all shut up tight, even the taverns, shockingly enough, with drawn curtains and closed shutters as far as the eye could see. It appeared that everyone had either fled or gone to ground, battening the hatches and hunkering down as if preparing to ride out an incoming storm. But the waters were calm and the sky was clear straight out to the horizon so whatever it was the locals feared, it wasn't coming from the sea.

A lacquered black carriage that looked decidedly out of place next to the weathered timbers and sun-bleached planks was waiting for them when they disembarked, Killian's hand firm on Emma's elbow and his men flanking them on all sides. Several knights on horseback were positioned strategically around the carriage, heads turned to watch their approach. But these weren't the noble champions of Emma's tales, the ones Fergus begged to hear every chance he got. Their faces were completely hidden behind pitch-black masks that, coupled with their dark armour, made them look more like spectres conjured from a realm of nightmares than men. The Evil Queen's famed Black Knights, subject of far more lurid stories than the ones Emma told. Killian had heard a few of them over the years in smoky taverns, alongside tales of witches who ate children for their tea and rumours about the mysterious and powerful Dark One. It was said that Regina kept their hearts by her side in a jewelled casket like other queens collected gems, binding them to her with magic and ensuring their loyalty could never waver.

Slavery, of a different sort than the indentured servitude he and his brother had been sold into once upon a time.

One dismounted and pulled something from his saddlebag. It came loose with a metallic rattle and Killian saw it was a set of heavy iron manacles, two cuffs joined together by a thick chain. Beside him, he sensed more than saw Emma tense up under her cloak. The knight halted a few feet away and addressed them with the faintest dip of his chin, voice slightly muffled by the mask and completely devoid of emotion.

"Her most gracious and beloved majesty, Regina, undisputed Queen and Sovereign, welcomes you most warmly to her lands, Captain Killian Jones, and has sent us to escort you and the prisoner safely to her castle."

"Her castle?" Emma scoffed, and he tightened his fingers on her arm in silent warning. She said no more, but Killian could feel her fury, a rage that he shared when the knight stepped closer and lifted the manacles that were obviously meant for her wrists.

"And just what, pray tell, do you think you're doing?"

In one motion Killian was in front of Emma, his men fanning out protectively on either side of them and his hand on his sword. He didn't match the knight's indifferent tone, it came out with an edge that was as sharp as any blade and twice as dangerous. From behind him, Killian felt the faint touch of Emma's hand to his back while she peered at the knight over his shoulder, a tiny weight but enough to give him an anchor, something to ground him and keep his rising temper in check.

"Her Majesty has instructed that Princess Emma be brought to her in chains," the knight said, in that same flat unaffected monotone.

Emma gave a sharp inhale and pressed a little closer while Killian glared at the masked face, weighing his shrinking number of options. They had to maintain the ruse that she was nothing but a bargaining chip to him for as long as possible and why would he care if she was clapped in irons for the journey? The knights might be masked, but the clearly weren't blind. Any hint of softness from him would be seen as weakness and he couldn't afford to be weak, not now. He had to be the man they expected him to be, the hard, greedy pirate unwilling to relinquish any control over his valuable prize.

"Let me make one thing abundantly clear. The princess is my prisoner, not the Queen's, not until she has fulfilled our deal. For all I know those are enchanted to take her directly to the dungeon and my reward will be oh so conveniently forgotten by her most gracious and beloved Majesty. I'm a pirate, don't even attempt to double cross me. Try to shackle her and I will run you through where you stand."

The knight looked down at the manacles in his hands and while he might be heartless, Killian's own was beating madly under his waistcoat. In truth, he did fear there was some sort of hidden trick to the iron cuffs like the poisoned apple the Evil Queen had given to Snow White all those years ago, but that wasn't the main reason for his refusal.

He'd sworn to himself that no one would put Emma in chains, not as long as he still had breath in his body and he was damned if he was going to break that oath now.

"Your prisoner must be restrained for the journey to the Queen's castle, Captain," the knight insisted. "Her Majesty is not willing to risk any chance of escape."

Killian made a grand show of looking the knight up and down and then loudly counted off the ones waiting by the carriage. "You think a mere slip of a girl is capable of escaping so many of Her Majesty's finest? No wonder you're all too coward to show your faces. Put those damn things away, if it's so bloody important I'll restrain her myself and believe me, there will be no heroic attempts at an escape, not when I'm this close to getting my reward."

"You tell the bastard, Captain!"

"Damn right! You'll have to go through all of us first!"

Killian's men all started to chime in and faced with a seething pirate in front of him and an equally incensed crew who were all armed to the teeth and spoiling for a fight, the knight obviously decided that perhaps the Queen's orders could be amended just a tad. The manacles were put back in the saddlebag while Fergus was sent to fetch a length of rope from the ship. Killian took it from him and wrapped it around Emma's wrists, fingers making quick work of it even though he rarely did this himself anymore.

"There's no one who can tie a knot like a sailor can, it's the first thing you're taught when you join your first crew and board your first ship. Isn't that right, Fergus?"

Fergus's eyes widened a bit as he picked up on the meaning behind his captain's words and he nodded his agreement and said, "Aye, Captain!"

"My young crewman here learned his knots from the very best. Me."

Killian said it with a wink, looking straight into Emma's eyes as he finished tying the rope and let the tail end fall between her bound hands. The knot was a sturdy one, thick against her slim wrists, and it looked impossible to untie quickly.

But looks were deceiving.

It was a quick release knot, designed to come apart with nothing more than a single tug. The same knot that had once saved her from a terrible fate at the hands of a man who was now dead by Killian's hand, with nothing left of him but bones picked clean at the bottom of the ocean.

The first blood he'd drawn to keep her safe.

First, but not the last, and more was sure to be spilled before all was said and done.

With Emma suitably restrained by the rope, or so it seemed, he took her by the arm again and began leading her towards the carriage. The crew started to follow, but two of the knights immediately moved to cut them off with a flick of the reins, their large stallions whinnying a challenge and forming an imposing barrier between the wharves and the dock that led back to the safety of the Jolly.

"There was, in fact, a third order from the Queen that I'd neglected to mention, Captain. You and the princess are to be escorted to Her Majesty's castle alone. None of your men may accompany us, and that is not a condition that can be waived under any circumstances."

It came from the knight who'd been serving as spokesman, his hands folded placidly in front of him and that masked face blank and inscrutable. Killian paused, trading a quick glance with Emma. He'd planned to take several of the crew with them to the Evil Queen's castle to serve as backup, just in case, and this was a complication he hadn't anticipated.

"Captain?" Smee piped up from behind them, the concern clear in his voice. "Your orders, Sir?"

If he gave the command then they would fight, he had no doubt about that, but the knights held the high ground on them, looking down from their mounts with swords already half-drawn from their scabbards in anticipation. The dark armour covered them from head to toe, leaving almost nothing exposed, it would be difficult for a blade to make contact and draw blood. Still, his hand started to drift towards the hilt of his sword as he stared at the Queen's man.

The Queen.

She was the real enemy, not the faceless men who rode under her flag, and he smiled, showing his teeth in lieu of his sword. He'd have to forfeit this battle to win the war.

"A private parlay with Her Majesty then. Much more...intimate, that way, I suppose. Stand down men, and go back to the ship. We'll all get our reward soon enough."

Killian muttered the last more to himself than to them as the knights parted to let them through and the coachman swung down to open the door to the carriage. He bent stiffly at the waist and extended a hand to assist Emma inside, a hand she couldn't take with her own bound. Killian roughly shouldered the man aside and lifted her in himself, hands circling her waist. Before he followed he glanced back and saw they were all still watching and waiting on the dock, Smee's squat figure, Doyle's taller, broader one with one arm holding Fergus back, the boy warring with the man he would become. Keswick and Murray stood to the side, the leg Emma had healed for him showing no sign of the injury that had almost killed the sailor he'd taken to join his crew. Above them the Jolly Roger rose proudly against the clear blue sky, her sweeping lines and bold curves as beautiful as a woman's. His ship was much more than just a vessel, it was his home. A familiar tightness settled across his shoulders at the prospect of leaving her behind for an unknown length of time, while the sea was volatile and mercurial at times he knew it as intimately as a lover. The forest was something else entirely and all he had to guide him now wasn't a sextant and the stars above, there was only a handful of half-forgotten memories from his childhood.

And Emma.

"The Jolly is yours, Mr. Smee. Keep her safe for me until I return."

He swung himself up into the carriage and the door closed behind him, followed almost immediately by the soft click of a lock being turned. There was a crack of a whip a moment later and he flinched at the sound for the first time in years, while the carriage started to roll forward with a jolt that forced them both back into the bench seat in a tangled heap.

"Bad form," Killian swore, trying to find a comfortable position for his legs. The carriage was elegantly appointed with silk-padded walls and thick velvet upholstery, but it was still a tight fit and their knees jostleted when he turned to Emma and pushed the hood back so he could see her face properly. He couldn't be sure if the coachman could hear them or not so he only dared to whisper, "You alright?"

She still looked too pale to his eye, no roses blooming in her cheeks when he brushed his thumbs over them and her lips thin and bloodless. Her eyes fluttered shut and he held his breath, thinking she was going to be sick again all over the Queen's finery, but after a moment they opened again and she nodded. Since the curtains were drawn and no one could see in he twisted in the seat and pulled her onto his lap, leaning back so she could rest her head comfortably against his shoulder. The carriage rumbled underneath them and from the outside came the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves against the cobblestones, dampened somewhat by the silk hangings. After some time the timbre of it changed and Emma straightened up, listening intently for a moment.

"We've turned onto the forest road," she said.

Killian pulled back the drape and peered out of the little window. It was rounded like a porthole, but the docks and the sea were both long gone. All he could see at first was a moving wall of green and he blinked a few times, his eyes finally focusing enough to make out that the "wall" was actually trees, growing so thick that there was hardly any space between them and so tall that even with craning his neck back he couldn't make out the tops. Cobblestone streets had given way to hard-packed dirt underneath, a long brown ribbon that would through the dense thicket like a narrow strait. Emma was also looking out of the window on the other side and he slid across the bench, letting his cheek brush hers as he glanced out as well. The view was practically the same, nothing but trees and brush to be seen as they bumped along. There were ancient oaks twice the width of the Jolly's main mast and new saplings as slender as reeds, while scattered throughout was the occasional fat stump. They passed by one that looked old and weathered, grey moss clinging feebly to the side and the top deeply cracked with age. It was clearly long dead, but a bit of life remained in the form of tiny yellow flowers that grew from the split in the wood.

"My parents met on this road."

She lifted her hands and touched a fingertip to the glass, a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

"Did they?" he asked. "Tell me the tale then, Princess."

Killian kept his own tone deliberately bored and indifferent just in case the coachmen could hear. Let him think the pirate was simply casting about for a way to pass the time on the way to the Evil Queen's castle and nothing more. But he already knew this tale and he knew it was Emma's favourite, the telling of it would be her anchor, to steady her against what lay ahead.

"Once upon a time there was a handsome prince, and one day he went for a carriage ride through the forest while carrying his most prized possession, his beloved mother's wedding ring. She had told him that True Love followed the ring wherever it went, and he planned to gift it to his betrothed, the princess he was expected to marry. But a bandit lurked in the woods, watching the road in hopes of valuables to steal, and unknown to the prince the bandit was hidden in the trees above as his carriage went by, waiting for just the right moment to strike..."

Her voice washed over him like the roll of the tides as she recounted the story, a siren's song rendered in prose instead of verse that drew him in and he could picture it all so clearly. A cloaked figure high in the trees, watching, and waiting. The young prince, promised to a woman he did not love but was honour-bound to wed. Their paths crossing on this very road in a chance meeting that changed them both forever.

"...the dust from a Dark Fairy, powerful magic…"

"...a trick, of the Evil Queen's magic mirror…"

"...and it was with the magic of True Love's Kiss that Prince Charming awakened Snow White from her death-like slumber…"

Magic

It infused the tale right from the beginning but it hadn't ended there, with the defeat and banishment of the Evil Queen and the Happy Ending for the kingdom at last. Magic had sent Emma across his path, altering his course in more ways that just the change to the Jolly's heading when he first spotted her ship in the distance. Magic had sparked between them, in that first look, that first touch. Magic had flowed from her, healing injuries and defeating enemies in astonishing displays of power that many unscrupulous souls would kill to possess and control for their own. Magic filled the carriage now like the wind filling the sails, propelling them ever forward on their own tale, when a pirate who thought his heart had been lost forever fell in love with a princess and vowed to take her home. Maybe it wasn't the equal of such grand heroics that had enthralled entire kingdoms and the realms beyond, but it was theirs.

Killian held onto that thought, as the shadows lengthened and the light began to wane while the forest only grew thicker, turning deeper and darker around them as the ocean did far from the safety of shore.

They came to a halt shortly before sunset, the castle was too far from the coast to make the journey in an afternoon. The carriage door opened to reveal they'd stopped at a rather tumbledown cottage instead of a village or a roadside inn, and the knights had dismounted and were already at work gathering wood for a fire and hauling up water from the well. Half-forgotten memories of another humble cottage, another life, started to surface and he quickly tamped them back down while he kept a firm hand on his prisoner and lifted Emma down from the carriage. She shook the wrinkles from her gown and cloak as best she could with her hands still bound, while he kicked the dust from his boots and rolled his shoulders, shaking off the long hours of confinement and taking surreptitious stock of their surroundings. The cottage was clearly abandoned and had been for some time, the garden was overgrown with weeds and one side of the fence had collapsed. The thatched roof was in desperate need of patching and tools had been left to dull and rust out in the elements. It looked like whoever had lived here had left in a hurry, had they fled when Regina seized power over the kingdom, taking only what they could carry and disappearing into the woods?

The Fairy Queen's warning of a dark curse threatening the land whispered in the back of his mind and his hand drifted closer to the hilt of his sword.

Provisions were produced by the knights from another saddlebag, dark bread, cured meat, hard cheese, and a handful of shiny red apples.

Apples.

"And the Queen offered Snow White an apple red as blood, and a choice. She could save herself, or save the man she loved."

Emma visibly blanched at the sight of them, turning away while Killian asked in an arch tone, "Her Majesty's gracious hospitality, I take it? How are any of you even going to eat with those things over your mouths, anyway?"

There was no reply to either question from the knight, still hidden away behind his mask, but it was clearly meant as a pointed message from the Queen as they drew closer and closer to her stronghold. He left the apples untouched and took the rest, guiding Emma to sit on a fallen log and laying the food out on his knee. She refused it all with a haughty lift of her chin, turning her head away to stare up at a fat bluebird perched in a nearby tree instead. He washed down the meal with rum from his flask, old experience had taught him to eat whenever he could, since food might be scarce later. The bird whistled, trilling a jaunty song that filled the air until it finally flew away in a rustle of tiny wings when the sky turned indigo and the sun was almost set. Before there was any mention of sleeping arrangements for the night Killian took matters into his own hands, hefting Emma bodily into his arms without warning while she let out a squeak of surprise and struggled instinctively against him. The door to the cottage gave way under one swift kick from his boot and he carried her over the threshold, leaving the knights and the coachman outside with a tart comment that he didn't desire an audience. Thankfully the door had a thick iron bolt on the inside and after being locked up in the carriage by the Queen's men he too grim pleasure in locking them out instead.

"I'm sorry, my love, that this was necessary."

He whispered it in her ear and tugged off her bonds, letting the rope fall to the floor. He'd left it as loose around her wrists as he dared but a few marks had appeared anyway, where it had chafed and scraped against the delicate skin and he cursed himself for not having Fergus fetch the salve. There was clearly nothing similar left in the cottage, it was comprised of a single room, dusty and sparse, with a few sticks of furniture, a table, a low stool, and a bed in the corner that had been stripped down to nothing but the straw tick. Shelves stood empty and there was no logs left in the hearth to start a fire, just some cold ashes, but a stub of a candle sat on the table. Before darkness enveloped them completely Killian pulled out a flint and striker to light it. His fingers kept slipping and it refused to catch, frustration boiling in his gut more and more with each failed attempt.

If he couldn't even light a bloody candle, then how in the hell was he going to stop the Evil Queen if Emma faltered? What good was a lone pirate so far from the sea, with nothing but a sword and a sharp tongue in the midst of this clash of magical queens?

He was on the verge of throwing flint, striker and the table against the wall in a fit of rage when a small hand settled lightly on his wrist, stilling his movements. Emma closed her eyes and her face creased in concentration while she made a cupping motion with her other hand, over the nearly flattened wick. Killian scarcely dared to breathe, feeling the air around them change. The flare of the candle springing to life was echoed under his skin, prickling like gooseflesh and making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Magic. All it took was a single spark from her fingers and a tiny bit of light and warmth bloomed, but it was enough to chase away the darkness.

Long before he was a pirate, or even a sailor, he'd been a small boy who was terribly afraid of the dark.

The silence was broken by a faint growling sound that he was also more than familiar with from the darker days of his childhood, of which there were many, only it wasn't coming from him this time. Unlike the way everything else was going, he could do something about this and he went searching through the deep pockets of his coat for the hardtack he'd tucked away before leaving the Jolly. It was still wrapped securely in a handkerchief, none the worse for wear after the journey, and he broke off a piece and handed it to Emma with a stern look.

"You need to eat something."

He also had some boiled sweets left from their last sojourn in port, a particular weakness of hers, but he thought the more bland biscuit had less chance of upsetting her stomach again.

"Is that an order, Captain?" she asked.

There was a glimmer of amusement on her face in the yellow candlelight as they shared what had started out as haughty defiance and mellowed over time into a private jest between them.

"Aye, Princess," he answered, firm and unyielding at first. Then he lifted her hand and pressed a feather-light kiss to the inside of her wrist. "For me?" he added, knowing she wouldn't refuse him if he phrased it like that. A pirate wasn't above playing dirty to get what he wanted, and right now he wanted Emma to keep her strength up. Once she gave in and started nibbling at it he laid his coat aside and unbuckled his sword, making sure to leave it within reach, just in case.

They didn't talk much after that, each lost in their own thoughts as the candle burned down and shadows flickered on the dusty walls. Killian imagined all sorts of things in the twisting shapes, noble princes and devious kings, royal castles and proud ships, fairy queens and evil queens each with their own conflicting agendas centred around the woman he loved more than anything, his queen. One wanted a sacrifice to her vengeance, the other a saviour for the realm, two destinies that had been laid out long before she'd even been born and the same path had led to both ends, but whose desire would ultimately prevail?

The shadows all gradually merged into one and his silent question was left unanswered.

At some point during the night they turned to each other with the same wordless need, bedded down on the lumpy straw tick with Emma's cloak serving as a makeshift blanket. Lips met frantically in the dark, the candle had long gone out but the fire within was burning hotter than any flame and a groan rumbled deep in his chest as he rolled half on top of her and captured her wrists again, thumbs pressed to her fluttering pulse and his hips nudging hers with clear intent.

"Mine!" he practically growled in her ear, nipping the lobe between his teeth and relishing the way her head tipped back to give him more access to the long column of her throat, letting him nuzzle along the length of it. The delicate line of her collarbone was the perfect match to the sharp line of his jaw, her soft, rose-petal skin meeting the prickly thorns of his whiskers as his exhale was echoed by her inhale, rising as he fell, falling as he rose, the swell of her breasts pressed against his chest and her skirts tangled around his legs like a net.

He'd captured her, but he was caught fast in return.

With the enemy so close at hand they hadn't risked undressing, he was still in his trousers and shirt and she had only loosened the laces of her gown before they'd laid down for the night. Killian went up on his knees, letting go of Emma's hands to wrench open his leathers and shove them down to mid-thigh, freeing himself from the confinement and letting out a hiss as the cooler air touched his heated flesh. He was already hard and aching and more than ready to claim his royal prize. Her skirts were quickly bunched to her waist and he felt her legs fall open on either side of him in what seemed like a lady's hopeless surrender to a pirate's unbridled lust. There was some fumbling in the dark and then his hips were positioned square between her thighs, a mere heartbeat away from satisfaction.

It wasn't the gentle and tender lovemaking of courtly romance, nor was it the violent ravishment the Queen's men undoubtedly imagined was taking place. Emma was slippery with want and the hands that clutched his shoulders pulled him closer instead of pushing him away when he found home in a single, deep thrust. A low curse tumbled from his lips as she accepted the full length of him, a sensation that never failed to arouse him even more and the burn in his belly was at a near fever pitch. Far from surrendering, she had clasped him tight in her silken bondange and he went willingly, plunging deep with every stroke. There was a pounding in his ears like the roar of the absent tides, drowning out everything except the join of his body to hers. This was their story, their tale, writ between them in the fierce embrace and wordless cries while the rest of the world was held at bay outside the locked door. Let them all see him as nothing but a pirate, they could believe the falsehoods, the deception, embellish the details or tell it completely wrong, nothing else mattered than what had been sworn by solemn oath and pledged on the very blade that guarded them now.

"Emma," he gasped, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Her gown had slipped further down her shoulder and her legs tightened around his hips, holding him in place while he pinned her to the bed and took his pleasure. Killian knew he wasn't going to last much longer, but he managed to hold off until he felt her shudder under him and the dig of her nails even through his shirt, marks he'd gladly bear. Only then did he give in, spilling hot with one final thrust and even though the ground beneath them was flat and unmoving, he could still feel the rock of the distant ocean waves in her arms. Sea legs, he'd told her once.

The captain's bunk on the Jolly was narrow, built only for one. The bedframe was much wider, with room to spare, but they stayed in a tangle of limbs as if they were still on the ship with her head finding his shoulder in the dark and her hand laid on his chest, burrowing under his half-unbuttoned shirt to rest on the bare skin underneath instead. Emma's breathing changed as she fell asleep and her hold on him went slack, letting his thoughts drift from drowsy satisfaction into more troubled waters again. While he was glad that she was managing to find some rest, along with a not insignificant amount of male pride, slumber eluded him as unwanted pieces of the past kept clutching at his sleeve with icy fingers that refused to be pried away and sent back where they belonged, into the deep alongside the men who had died by his blade.

Emma knew pieces of his story, from the day he'd first haltingly told her about his brother and spoke Liam's name aloud for the first time in longer than Killian could remember.

"Once upon a time there had been two brothers, as close as any could be, seeking glory and adventure together on a secret mission from their king…"

He'd told her the tale of Liam's death and how he'd turned from naval lieutenant to lawless pirate and became captain of a ship he renamed the Jolly Roger, a tale of loss and betrayal and revenge. But that was the middle, not the beginning, and his story had really begun years prior just as Emma's started with a chance meeting on a forest road. For the first time in a long time Killian let himself go further back, before Neverland, before the brothers Jones had set off together on the Jewel of the Realm and only one came back, not shying away from the memories surfacing back up from the depths of his mind.

"Once upon a time there had been a father with two small sons, boarding a ship for what he promised was a new start in a new land for all of them…"

"Once upon a time there had been a family of four, poor but proud, and happy, so happy…"

And then it would come to that part, as it always did in his tales.

...until

...until

...until

                                                       ….

                                                       ...

He always sensed when water was near, like most sailors who had more saltwater in their veins than blood and told time by the movement of the tides. Killian looked out of the carriage window and caught a glimpse of what looked like the sea on first glance, making him start in surprise. He quickly realized that it was actually a lake, a large one and clearly deep, with water the same rich shade of blue as the sea diamond. Above it, a castle rose like a ship that had set permanent anchor, grey stone walls serving as the weathered hull, tall spires in place of masts piercing the sky and flags snapping taut in the wind. They were further inland than Killian had been in years and yet he'd found sea and shore both at the place his princess called home.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt that jolted them both forward again and the coachman opened the door to his black scowl as he unfolded himself and climbed out, turning to lift Emma down and keeping one hand on her back and the other on the hilt of his sword once she'd found her footing. She was the demure prisoner one more, quiet and biddable with her hands bound in front of her as per the Queen's command. Or as much of the Queen's command as he was willing to follow. The expected audience for their little show was absent, however, as there was no one in the empty courtyard to meet them and the knights swiftly departed without a word, accompanying the now empty carriage back through the gate at a swift clip and leaving the two of them alone.

"Not much for long, drawn out farewells then," Killian said with a shake of his head. In truth, he'd found the Black Knights more unsettling then he'd let on, with their flat, emotionless voices and identical masks that concealed any hint of the men underneath. For all the times in his life that he'd been accused of being heartless, to be forced to exist without one's heart as little more than a puppet to an absent master pulling the strings was a fate he wouldn't wish on any enemy.

He turned, trying to shrug off his disquiet as he swept his gaze over the narrow windows and scanned the empty parapets above, seeing no guards on watchful duty or curious servants attempting to sneak a peek from behind a curtain. Did the Evil Queen expect them to just cool their heels outside like beggars at her gate until she deigned to receive them? But just as he was about to bang on the doors and demand entrance they opened, seemingly of their own volition in a sudden gust of wind that raked through his hair like a lover's touch and lingered a moment too long inside his collar.

Not wind.

Magic.

As magic infused the famous tale of Snow White and her Prince Charming, it also permeated their castle and when they crossed the threshold into the entryway the doors closed behind them with no one on the other side and a heavy looking beam immediately slid across to bar both entry and escape. Emma's magic was light and warmth, as delicate and effervescent as champagne bubbles. The feeling in the air now was heavy, oppressive, cold and clammy against his skin like sailing through a bank of fog and Killian almost expected to see his breath when he exhaled. It was shadowed and dim inside the castle, the windows were heavily draped against the daylight outside and still nobody appeared to guide them to wherever the Evil Queen was obviously enconsed somewhere within.

"Now what?" he bit out, and as if in response another door swung open in a squeal of hinges to reveal a deep corridor. They both turned towards the sound, expecting someone, anyone, but there was only darkness and silence.

"Where does it lead?" he asked Emma.

"The Great Hall," she answered, a deep furrow between her brows. If even he could sense the Dark Magic in the air, then what was she feeling? He couldn't ask, not when they were clearly being observed, somehow. The pretense had to be maintained for a while longer.

He kept one hand firm on his sword as they proceeded down the long gallery, lit by torches that flared to life as they approached and died as soon as they passed, illuminating only the few steps in front and a sliver of the stone walls on either side. They were hung thick with rich tapestries and fine paintings but almost all of them were in a ruin. The finely woven scenes had been defaced with jagged slashes that had torn them almost in half in parts and there was what looked like burn marks on the portraits, the subjects scorched beyond recognition. Or almost, Killian recognized the distinctive hilt of the sword King David had wielded during their spar on the Jolly hanging from the waist of a now headless man in a red jacket, and Queen Snow White's coal-dark hair on a woman whose face was nothing but a melted blob of pigment that ran down an elaborate feathered gown. The amount of sheer, unbridled ragethat had gone into the destruction was palpable and it was obvious the Queen had staged this all because she wanted Emma to see it. She'd sent chains to bind Snow White's daughter, apples to taunt her, and now she'd forced her to walk a gauntlet of everything she knew and loved torn literally to shreds at her feet.

Emma stared straight ahead throughout their long walk, her head held high with that regal, unbowed posture he'd observed in her right from the beginning. As delicate and fragile as she looked, she was made of sterner stuff than the Queen knew and her pace never faltered at his side.

The gallery eventually opened up into a cavernous space that was undoubtedly the Great Hall, site of many a royal ball and banquet from Emma's tales. But there were no lords and ladies come to make merry and pay court, the vast chamber was nearly empty save for a tall mirror set in the middle of the room, a large rectangle of costly glass in an ornate frame. The mirror was flanked by two torches, the only source of light, and Killian could see their reflections in it, two small figures, one dark, one fair, growing larger and larger with each step. They seemed to ripple and undulate with their approach, as if he was looking into water instead of glass.

A feminine voice that was laced with amusement suddenly chimed in from behind them.

"Sorry I'm late."

The mirror reflected a swirl of purple smoke and they both whirled around, Killian drawing his sword on instinct and pointing it at the woman who stepped out of the cloud as easily as if she'd just stepped through an open door. She had raven hair that was piled up high above her forehead, revealing a face that was heavy with cosmetics. Lashes thick as feathers under dark arched brows, cheeks slashed with rouge and crimson lips curled in a smirk. Gems almost the size of plums hung from her ears and she wore a narrow gown that clung to her like a glove, lavishly trimmed in black lace. The effect was both severe and seductive, she was far younger than the aged crone Killian had expected and in truth, she couldn't actually be all that much older than her former stepdaughter, Snow White.

"Regina," Emma breathed beside him, sounding as startled by the sight of the famed Evil Queen herself in the flesh as he felt.

One arched brow quirked even more and displeasure was clear in her tone when she replied, "That's a bit informal, don't you think? I prefer Your Majesty."

She glided towards them and Killian tensed, his sabre held in a defensive position that seemed to turn her annoyance back into amusement when her gaze flicked down to it.

"Come now, Captain Jones, there's no need for weapons here. We are allies, after all."

He found himself grasping empty air, with a flick of her wrist the sword disappeared and his arm dropped at the sudden loss of weight. Emma's eyes went wide with shock and the Queen chuckled, moving past them with that unhurried, languid stride. Another wave of her hand made a sideboard appear next to the mirror, with a crystal decanter and two goblets set on top. He maneuvered himself in front of Emma while the Queen's back was turned, confused that she seemed to be scarcely paying them any mind as she poured out ruby red wine. She picked up both goblets and held one out to him in her slim hand, her long, pointed nails varnished nearly black.

"A toast," she trilled. "To commemorate this long awaited victory. For the both of us, I hope."

Killian wasn't quite sure what she meant by that, but he accepted the drink and tapped his cup against hers, nothing the way her dark eyes roamed over him from head to toe with a calculating look before she took a sip. The goblets were solid gold, studded all over with jewels and had to be worth as much as a small ship apiece. Under any other circumstances he would have tried to nick one when she wasn't looking, but now was not the time for a spot of petty thievery. Something was definitely amiss, the Queen had barely spared Emma more than that single glance when she'd addressed her by her given name, an odd reaction given the lengths she'd gone to find her. He silently cursed that she'd taken his sword, he could have run her right through himself before she finished her wine and been done with it once and for all.

Better the blood be on his hands than Emma's, anyway.

But with no blade he could do nothing except play the role the Queen expected, so he put on his own smirk and rolled the stem of the goblet between his fingers. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Normally I prefer spirits to wine, but that was an excellent vintage."

"Spirits?" she repeated, her voice taking on a new, playful inflection. "What is it that pirates are said to drink? Rum, if I'm not mistaken."

"Aye."

The decanter was joined on the sideboard by a smoky glass bottle and his goblet turned into a tumbler more suited for drinking liquor instead of wine. It was done in barely a blink, she seemed to wield magic as effortlessly as breathing and it only made him more wary.

"Help yourself," she offered. "Ordinarily my valet would be here to serve, but, well, that position has been vacant for some time now."

She glanced away for a moment, her gaze cast towards the floor and fingers smoothing a non-existent wrinkle from her gown while out of the corner of his eye Killian thought he saw a faint glow coming from between Emma's hands, still wrapped in the rope. The plan had been for him to get them close enough so she could quickly stun the Queen with magic, enough to render her unconscious. Then she would be taken immediately to the dungeon, where a cage that had once held the Dark One himself would bind her power and keep her from escaping. Everything hinged on the element of surprise, to catch her unaware before she could retaliate and the perfect opportunity had just presented itself. He flicked his gaze between them, trying to signal without words for Emma to strike and to strike now.

But the glow faded away instead, her magic turning mercurial again at the worst possible moment and she shot him a helpless look while he cursed silently inside his head. This was what he'd feared the most, that she wasn't yet ready to take on the Queen and he'd brought her straight into the viper's nest with no chance of escape. All he could do now was try to buy her some more time, so he made a show of swaggering over to fill his new cup and keep the Queen's attention on him, away from Emma.

"Will you join me for a tipple?" he asked, lifting the bottle with one finger through the handle and letting it swing back and forth. "Savour the victory some more?

"While I intend to savour this victory to the fullest, Captain, I don't do rum. No offense."

"None taken," he replied with a shrug. "More for me then."

Instead of pouring the rum into the glass, Killian tossed it over his shoulder and lifted the bottle to his lips instead. He took a healthy swig, feeling the all too familiar burn of the liquor in the back of his throat but far from savouring it, he barely tasted anything at all. He did note the close way the Queen was observing him with her head tilted slightly to the side and a familiar smile playing at the edge of her vermillion lips. He could play this game and play it very well, so he rolled his tongue over his teeth and returned her grin.

"Delicious," he said, slowly drawing out the word.

"Flavoured with just a hint of apple. Did you know that it can take up to ten years for an apple tree to finally bear fruit after planting?"

It would be an innocuous statement from anyone except Snow White's stepmother. She continued on, her gaze locked on his and her voice dripping with insinuation. "Ten years...can you imagine sinking in your teeth for that first bite, after waiting so long for satisfaction? To finally have what you've been denied for so many years at long last. Wouldn't you agree?"

He pretended to mull it over for a moment before giving a careless shrug. "I suppose so."

"I thought you would."

Despite his easy posture his nerves were drawn tight as a bowstring, wondering if what he feared was correct and she intended to repeat history with another poisoned apple. Would his own kiss be enough to wake Emma if she fell into the same death-like sleep her mother had? He loved her more than anything, but only the power of True Love's Kiss would break that curse, the rarest magic of all, and tendrils of doubt started to curl around his heart.

His momentary lapse in focus was enough to lose the Queen's interest as she focused back on Emma while her silky voice took on a more dangerous edge.

"Tell me, little princess, do you know the truth of what your mother did to me? Or did she finally learn to keep a damn secret in the end and weaned you instead on those silly tales for children, that I was nothing but vain and jealous of her beauty?"

Each word made the air between them crackle like the lash of a whip, but while she might be unable to summon her magic, Emma was still the woman who had faced him down at his worst without it and she did the same to the Evil Queen herself, meeting her fury head on.

"She told me that the man you loved died, and in your grief you turned to dark magic in search of revenge."

"Died?" the Queen shrieked, her regal composure clearly starting to crack. "Died?" He was murdered! His heart was ripped out and crushed before my eyes, and it was all because of her! She swore she wouldn't tell and as soon as my back was turned she broke her promise like it was nothing. Like he was nothing, when he was everything to me!"

Snow White had also told him in confidence about the Queen's lover, a man of low birth with whom she'd tried to run away before her marriage to the king. Omitted from all the tales, few even knew about his existence and the real reason for her descent into villainy and vengeance.

"We were happy...but that spoiled brat just had to have her own way, didn't she? The great hero, Snow White, champion of the people...she stole that happiness away from me. She was a sneaky little thief long before she was a bandit, and somehow I was the one who was called evil for thinking she should be punished for it."

She drew herself up to her full height with her magic at the ready and gowned in dark splendor, painted and jewelled, he saw nothing but the Evil Queen of tale in all her terrible glory.

"Any last words before I punish you in her stead, Princess Emma?"

"I'm sorry, Regina. I know you probably don't believe that, but I truly am."

The simple apology made her stiffen, freezing her in place. "You're sorry," she repeated, her lips twisted in a sneer. "Snow White's daughter is sorry. She said that too, that she was sorry. How nice. Only sorry doesn't bring back the dead."

"No," Emma agreed, perfectly calm in the eye of the gathering storm. "It doesn't. And whatever it is you're planning to do to me won't bring him back either."

"Oh, but it will make me very happy."

Emma's voice echoed slightly in the large, empty chamber. "Are you happy now, Your Majesty?"

When the Queen didn't reply she pressed on. "You won. This is your great victory at last. You hold the keys to the kingdom and everyone bows to you, the castle is yours and my parents are...my parents are gone. You got everything you wanted in the end and did any of it make you really, truly happy? Was any of it enough?"

Killian could tell from the furious look on her face that Emma had struck a nerve, just as she'd done when she'd thrown his own words back in his face and, like then, she did it without any regard for her own safety. A ball of flame suddenly appeared in the Queen's palm.

"Let's find out," she snarled, and before all hell could break loose he stepped between them.

"Now, now," he chided with a click of his tongue, putting two fingers carefully on her wrist and pushing her hand to the side. "They'll be no damaging the goods, at least not until I get what was promised to me. We had a deal, you and I, remember?"

For a moment he thought her fury would turn on him instead, but after a long moment she gave a clipped nod and pursed her lips to blow the flame out instead. Relief flooded through him, more welcome than the rum.

"How could I forget. Of course, you want your reward."

The coquette was back again, her sneer turning to a simper while she reached out a hand to toy with the lapel of his coat, running a finger along it until her arm was draped over his shoulder and those painted lips pressed to his ear.

"But first, tell me something. Did you enjoy her, Captain?"

Far from a discreet whisper, it was said loudly enough for Emma to hear and she stared back at them, mouth turning to a thin line and a crimson flush rising at once on her pale cheeks. The Queen's breath was warm against his skin but all Killian could feel was ice in the pit of his stomach.

"Aye," he answered, trying his best to sound indifferent. "She was my prize and it was my right as captain. Besides, I'd never had a princess before and you can hardly blame a man for wanting to crown himself king for a night...or several."

"That's what I thought," she murmured, clearly pleased with the callousness of his answer. She tipped her head back and laughed with one hand resting lightly on his chest.

"A far cry from that insipid, so-called "True Love" your mother and father share, or shared, I should say, wasn't it, little princess? You know what? You're right, none of my victories made me happy, but I'm going to change all that and making you suffer day after endless day, now that's just what I need to make up for having the satisfaction of getting to watch Snow White die taken from me."

Emma's eyes were bright with unshed tears in the torchlight, shimmering like gemstones. Magic be damned, if the Queen hadn't taken his sword he would have it at her throat by now to show her just how dangerous it was to goad a pirate and insult his lady.

"I have a proposition for you."

She pulled back and went to pour herself more wine while he fought madly to control his temper. When this was finally over he'd go down on his knees and beg Emma's forgiveness, be the man she loved again, the man he'd wanted to be ever since that spark had ignited between them, and not this cruel imitation who gave the Queen a knowing look and a lascivious smirk at her suggestive offer.

"Oh? And just what exactly are you proposing?"

"Something for our mutual benefit, I assure you. Let me tell you a story, almost twenty years ago I'd planned to enact a curse, one that would take everyone in the kingdom to a new land, a faraway realm where the name Snow White would be forgotten at last and I could finally find the happiness that eluded me here."

A curse.

The curse that Emma's parents had feared for all these years and the Fairy Queen had warned against, the one that was supposed to take away all the happy endings. The curse that the Dark One had prophecy had said Emma would break...on her twenty-eighth birthday, still almost a decade away.

"Think of it," she said, soft and enticing. "A new land full of undiscovered treasures just waiting for a man like you to find them."

"Plenty of undiscovered treasures still left here," he countered, wondering why it sounded like she was trying to convince him of the merits of this new land.

"Ah," the Queen conceded with a dip of her chin. "True, however even with my signature on a royal charter naming you my subject and giving assent for your activities, you will always been seen as nothing more than a lowly pirate. I know a little bit about that, you see, they call me Queen but I will always be the interloper, the usurper, the one who stole Snow White's rightful crown. Much as we may wish to, we can't escape our pasts."

Deserter. Turncoat. Pirate.

Every eiptath that had ever been thrown at him whispered again in Killian's ear, inescapable even aboard his own ship thanks to the open contempt of Lieutenant Courtice. More were also sure to come, now that he'd freely boasted of bedding and deflowering the beloved princess of the realm.

Debaucher.

Defiler.

It took him a moment to focus back on the Queen, still talking between sips of her wine. "I found it curious that you didn't ask for the reward I offered for Princess Emma, very curious for a pirate of your renown. Yes, I know who you are, Captain Killian Jones. But then I figured out what it was you really wanted. Legitimacy. With my curse I can provide much more than that. It shouldn't even be called a curse, it's really a clean slate. A chance to start over. Everyone will be given a new life, new memories, and the Enchanted Forest will be nothing more than a dream you forget as soon as you wake up. Of course, some of these new lives will be more pleasant than the others, and I can ensure your life there is extremely pleasant, you'll have wealth, power, be admired and envied by all you encounter. I'll put you in a position that commands respect, where no one will remember all those dirty little secrets you've tried to keep hidden. Now, does that sound like such a terrible curse?"

She addressed it to him with an expectant look that soured when it was Emma who answered instead.

"It sounds like one of the Dark One's deals, and my parents taught me that those always come with a price."

The Queen's tone turned from velvet to venom. "I wasn't talking to you. Was she this insolent aboard your ship?"

Emma's insolence aboard the Jolly had driven him absolutely mad and highly amused him both in equal measure. Frequently at the same time. He shot her a stern look though, to keep up the ruse. "She learned to obey my orders in the end. Didn't you, darling? But if you're not going to kill her, then what do you plant to do with her, Your Majesty?"

He steered the conversation back to what really mattered, trying to get as much information as he could without arousing her suspicion. Keep Emma as her prisoner? Torture her for the sins of her mother? He'd have to figure out how to spirit her away from the castle without getting them both killed and figure it out quickly, take her back to the ship and attempt to outrun the reach of the Queen's curse. If such a thing was possible, it would only be possible aboard the Jolly.

The Queen smiled at Emma through lips the red of apples and fresh-spilled blood.

"Like I said, some lives in my new land will be more pleasant than others. There'll be no more royal trappings, no title, no servants there to wait on her hand and foot. No more pretty gowns or princes begging for her hand, no one coming to save her. Ever. She'll be alone, completely and utterly alone, and then she'll finally understand what it's like to live without love, without hope, without happiness. You could even keep on enjoying her, if you like, as much as you want, since you certainly earned your reward. Snow White's precious little princess turned into nothing more than a concubine to a pirate. Yes, that will make me very happy indeed."

He felt a shock run right through him at that, meeting Emma's wide-eyed gaze across the room. They had all thought the Queen was going to try to kill her before casting this mysterious curse, but if she was willing to both spare Emma and give her to him in this land where he would have power and prestige, then he could shelter and shield her with the Queen being none the wiser for it. She said they wouldn't remember, but there was no realm in which he wouldn't love Emma, his princess, his swan, memory be damned, and she fell in love with him once despite all the many reasons why she shouldn't. He could win her heart again in the new land, he was sure of it.

"Would it really be so terrible, Princess?" he asked. She looked back at him and there was nothing but the two of them in that moment, no Evil Queen, no kingdom in peril, nothing but the beat of his heart in his chest and his silent vow to follow wherever she led.

"You are my queen, and to you I pledge my sword and my fealty."

"My Queen."

Another voice chimed in, deep and rich with the accent of a distant shore. But the chamber was still empty save for the three of them, and Killian realized it was coming from inside the mirror. The reflection had disappeared completely and a face emerged from what looked like stormclouds, trapped somehow within the glass. It was clearly a man's face, though he lacked any form beyond his strange, grey visage. From faceless knights under her absolute control to a man who was nothing but a face in a mirror, was there no end to the Queen's dark magic?

The face spoke again, "Your other guest has just arrived, Your Majesty."

Other guest? Killian's confusion was reflected on Emma's face while the Queen was clearly pleased by the news, setting her goblet down on the sideboard in a swish of her fine gown and moving with purpose.

"I have a gift for you, Captain," she said, pausing to draw her nail under his chin and turning his head so that he was facing the doors. "You brought me one, and I thought it only fitting that I return the favour."

She flicked her wrist and they opened with a flourish. Torches blazed to life and two of the Black Knights entered, dragging a third man between them. Killian caught the barest glimpse of his face before he was shoved unceremoniously inside and fell to the floor in a heap with his head bent, his thick dark hair shot through heavily with silver. The man was tall, as tall as his brother had been, broad in the shoulders under a coarse linen shirt. Killian felt his heart beat faster at the sight of him and a sickening lurch in his belly. No. No, it couldn't be…

The Queen's voice cut through the haze that suddenly surrounded him, ordering the knights out and looping her arm through his to urge him forward.

"Snow White betrayed me in the worst possible way, by making me believe she could be trusted. It's a terrible thing to be betrayed by family, isn't it? The wound never truly heals no matter how much time passes. Five years, or ten, or sixteen…"

Sixteen years ago. Sixteen years ago he'd been a lad of eleven.

"Once upon a time there had been a father with two small sons, boarding a ship for what he promised was a new start in a new land for all of them…"

"Your Majesty, I swear I've done nothing, please. Please," the man begged in a voice that was familiar and unfamiliar both, thinner and watery with age. Killian's fingers curled against his thigh and he swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat.

The Queen ignored the desperate pleas and continued on as if he hadn't spoken. "Allow me to make the introductions. Princess Emma, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, meet Brennan Jones."

The shaggy head lifted at that and his gaze settled on Emma, thick brows that were twin to Killian's own knitting in confusion. The face was older, more grizzled and lined than the last memory Killian had of the man who knelt in front of him now.

Brennan Jones.

His father.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Voices Are Heard But Nothing Is Seen

Summary:  Edge is about done with unexpected happenings, but today is certainly a day for them.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, More Angst

Warnings:

This chapter gets a little spicy, some light sexiness going on.

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Chapter List

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

Seldom All They Seem

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The knock at his door was an unexpected one. Too early for proper visitors even if he was expecting one, which he certainly was not. Edge took a moment to look through the peephole, the fisheye view showing him a child from the Bun family standing on his porch.

It was the work of moments to unlock the door and Edge threw it open, looking down at the child with no little suspicion.

“What is it?” Edge asked brusquely.

The child cringed a little, one hand twisting in the front of his striped shirt and the other holding up an envelope. “Message for you, Captain.”

That cringe made Edge's frown deepen. A certain amount of fear was better for anyone living in Underfell, particularly the young, to keep them safe. He’d never really considered that the children were often afraid of him in particular. Not that he’d ever harmed a single one, of course not, but surely he was imposing even without whatever evening stories their parents wove to keep them in their beds at night.

The children of Snowdin often skittered out of his path whenever he approached, their expressions ones of fearful awe, as though he were their savior and their boogeyman combined.

It had never bothered Edge in the past. He didn’t have time to coddle them when he was trying his damnedest to keep them alive. But seeing this child duck his head, his gaze kept fearfully low brought to mind an unpleasant possibility; his own child doing the same whenever he approached, that little soul growing inside Rus shying anxiously away from him.

Edge swallowed thickly even as the envelope, still held out to him, began to tremble ever so slightly in the child’s grip, dark sweat smudging the white paper.

“Thank you,” Edge said as he took the envelope, trying to temper the gruffness in his voice. He must have been somewhat successful, the child blinked, eyes darting up to meet Edge’s gaze. Impulsive, he dug into his inventory and pulled out a G coin, holding it out wordlessly to the child. And when the child only stared, Edge held it out again, biting back impatience as he added, “Here. Take it.”

Slowly, they reached out and at the last moment, snatched the coin from his hand. He expected the child to bound off, finally giving in to his fears, but they only backed away a step or two, staring at the coin. It might well be the first they’d ever owned; the Bun family was a large one with little cash to spare.

“Thank you, sir,” the child whispered and now his expression was one of awe.

“Keep it safe,” Edge warned, and the child nodded fervently.

“I will! I will, Captain!” And he finally dashed away, leaving Edge alone with that envelope.

He recognized the seal and ground his teeth. There was magic woven into it to keep anyone except the recipient from opening it and he had no doubt that if that child had indulged in any harmless curiosity, he would be the worse for it.

There was nothing for it. There was no question that she already knew he had it. With a sharp-tipped thumb, he popped the seal, holding it away from his face as a pale hiss of yellow smoke steamed up from the wax as the spell dissipated.

An invitation from Alphys to visit that afternoon for tea, as he’d expected.

Wonderful.

He’d frankly rather spend an afternoon fighting off a mob of XP hunters than with her, but turning down the invitation would be an insult she couldn’t ignore. Engaging in any kind of feud with Alphys was very low on his list, possibly alongside an assassination attempt on Asgore in terms of avoidance.

The only solution would be to endure and hopefully come out alive in the end.

~~*~~

Edge had visited the labs in Underswap once, reluctantly curious about the differences between worlds. As disturbing as it was to see Undyne’s alternate, a much shorter, meek and stammering version, almost more so was the sight of her lab. Dirty dishes scattered about, wrappers from the NTT resort balled up and piled beneath her desk. Disgusting, and knowing that she was Rus’s physician while he carried their child did not fill him with any sort of confidence.

But it was the only time in his recollection that Edge preferred filth to precision.

Alphys’s lab in Underfell was pristine, fluorescent lights glowing overhead, illuminating stark tiles and sleek stainless steel. The reek of bleach always hung heavy in the air, though even that couldn’t disguise the foul dankness lingering beneath.

The chairs were straight-back and uncomfortable, surrounding a low table, and Edge sat stiffly in his, watching as Alphys poured steaming tea into a delicate cup. There was a crack up the side of it, patched in gold, and when she handed it to Edge, he accepted it in silence.

“I suppose tea isn’t usual for a toast, b-but I hear that congratulations are in order,” Alphys said, pouring a cup of her own.

The rasp of her voice rarely ventured over a whisper and occasionally disintegrating entirely, coarsened by unnamed damage. Edge wondered at times if it was the same accident that caused the burns that left the side of her face sagging and one corner of her mouth drawn into a permanent scar, but an answer to that idle curiosity was surely not worth the price it would cost.

“Congratulations?” Edge asked. He managed to keep his tone neutral, but his soul was already sinking, chilled as if dunked in the freezing waters by the Snowdin docks.

Alphys nodded and sipped noisily from her cup, fastidiously wiping away the dribble of tea that leaked from the scarred side of her mouth. Edge raised his cup and did the same, discreetly holding the mouthful in a bubble of blue magic at the back of his throat, an uncomfortable but useful trick Red taught him years ago. Only a fool accepted any food within these walls without suspicion.

Thinking of his brother made an ache rise in his soul. Red was still barely talking to him, but there was no time for worrying on that. At least Red was spending a great deal of time with Rus and his interest in the souling was comforting. He wouldn’t be blaming the child for Edge’s stupidity.

“For the upcoming birth of your ch-child, of course!” Through her thick glasses, Alphys’s gaze was magnified and shrewd, regarding him knowingly. There was a choice to be made here.

What he knew of Alphys’s work was more rumor than fact, but he’d seen the results of one of her ‘experiments’ in New Home; once dangerous high-LV Monsters reduced to little more than dazed servants for the King. He suspected at times that some of the insanity-driven Monsters that roamed Snowdin wood weren’t there from their LV, but from something else entirely that sent them into screaming into the depths of madness. There was no way to be sure.

Edge didn’t know what things Asgore asked of her, what drove her. What he did know was that Undyne was infatuated with Alphys, no, perhaps obsessed would be more appropriate. His trust in Undyne could only extended so far, much as he wished otherwise; he couldn’t be confident that if she had to choose sides, it would be with him. That Alphys was questioning him now was damning as well, was it Undyne who’d broken confidence or if this was merely confirming that the audio-blocking device was no longer working.

Time was ticking away and there was still a choice to be made. Edge very much hoped it wasn’t the wrong one as he said, “Thank you.”

Alphys beamed and Edge wondered sourly if he’d only confirmed a suspicion rather than actual knowledge. But a denial might only make her more interested, entice her into trying to pry deeper into his affairs. Traps were in every direction and he needed to tread carefully.

“You must be so very excited! Skeleton magic is so very unique.” She took another sip of tea, saying almost into her cup as she looked up from beneath her lashes, “I realize this will be some time away, but when the child’s powers manifest, I do hope you let me observe.”

He could feel his magic burning hotter, crimson briefly eclipsing his vision with the flaring in his eye lights as he said, flatly. “You’re asking to experiment on my child.”

Alphys jerked, a splash of tea staining down the front of her pristine lab coat. He’d never seen Alphys look even mildly dismayed. It was something of a relief to see true horror now. “N-no, nothing like that! I only want t-to observe, your kind is so rare.” She set her cup onto the saucer with a clatter, clasping her clawed hands together, very nearly wringing them. Either she was a very convincing actor or genuinely upset and Edge was unwilling to bet on either. “I’m aware that my p-p-predecessor had a certain…reputation. But I would never hurt a child.”

But once the stripes were put away, all bets were off, weren’t they.

“I’ll consider it,” Edge said, intending no such thing. But being dragged all the way to Hotland for this sort of interrogation sat wrong with him and he couldn’t resist a jibe. “On the condition that Undyne is with you.”

A hectic flush rose in her cheeks and she gobbled out something in reply. But Edge was done. He drained the cup, pocketing the liquid with the rest, and stood, saying stiffly, “Thank you for the tea.”

He wasn’t quite to the door when Alphys called after him, “I haven’t seen your significant other on the c-cameras.” Edge ground his teeth, did not turn to look at her. There was no dismay in her voice now, only placid amusement as she asked slyly, “Where are you keeping them, tied up to your bed?”

It was no surprise she was watching. Everyone knew about the cameras, since the moment they were old enough to toddle past them. But the door to the basement, to the machine, was a mystery for very few. Other Monsters couldn’t seem to see the door. Their eyes skated over it, leaving a blank in their vision. As for the others, any skeleton not from Underfell made a point of shortcutting into their living room, per Edge’s rule. She couldn’t know where Rus was and that wasn’t about to change, not for any reason.

“Thank you for the tea,” Edge repeated. He turned his head enough to give her a short nod and left.

The moment he was outside, he spat out the tea, watching it seep quickly into the parched ground. The temptation was there to head directly back to Snowdin and from there to Underswap, but he resisted it. Better to go through his normal routine than to count on whatever force it was that kept the machine hidden to keep her from seeing where he was going.

It was past dinnertime when he finally went home. The house was empty, his brother nowhere to be seen, but that had been the norm since he learned about Rus’s pregnancy.

Edge changed out of his uniform before heading to the basement and the machine. Not that Rus didn’t know that he was in the guard, however, there was no need to grind his face in it. Lately, Rus was greedy to be held, cuddling in close whenever Edge was around. That was an easy desire to indulge and better in a comfortable pullover than armor.

His boots clattered on the steps as he went down, his concerns about Alphys sliding to the background as he thought fondly of Rus and his slowly growing belly. His brother’s prediction about it losing its translucence proved correct and Edge rather missed getting to see the soft glow of the little soul as it grew.

The tradeoff was that the little one moved now, sometimes with enough enthusiasm to make Rus wince, rubbing at whatever place was the recipient of a kick and complaining that their child was already taking after Edge.

Their child.

The evening was still early, but Rus was likely already sleeping. He often spent time drowsing away on the sofa while Edge and Blue watched television. He claimed the sofa was more comfortable for naps, cradling his achy bones.

The urge to hold him was growing by the moment and by the time Edge was out in the cold air of Underswap’s Snowdin, he was jogging to their front door, knocking lightly before opening it.

The living room was empty, he saw with a frown, the blanket Rus used folded neatly on the back of the sofa. There was a scrap of paper on the table and in Blue's best handwriting, Edge read that he’d gone off for night training with Alphys. Just seeing the name made Edge's mouth curl in distaste, even knowing they were very different people. He set the paper back down, considering the stairs.

Rus might have gone to bed early with both of them gone, and being able to hold him was winning out over Edge’s appetite. Perhaps he would quietly indulge for a time before seeing what dinner Blue surely left for them, from supplies Edge insisted on bringing. He could and would help provide, there would be no argument allowed there.

Yes, he decided, he wanted Rus close to him, Rus and their child. His conversation with Alphys had left him shaken and he wanted both of them in his arms.

Edge took a moment to lock the door, despite the insistence of the Swap brothers that it wasn’t necessary and went up the stairs on silent, stocking feet. Carefully he opened the door so as not to wake Rus, but he could not have braced himself for the sight before him.

Rus was completely bare, the soft orange swell of his belly stark against the pale sheets as he writhed and whimpered. His femurs were spread with one hand between them, his fingers working slickly, and Edge could only stand dumbfounded in the doorway, watching as he touched himself.

With a sigh, Rus opened his sockets and his hazy eye lights sharpened to see Edge standing there, gaping like a fool.

“fuck,” Rus groaned. His pelvis rose from the sheets, grinding almost desperately against his hand. “edge. i’m so fucking horny. help me?”

The soft honeyed flush in his cheek bones was enchanting, beautiful. Rus had always been beautiful at every brief tryst they’d had. Especially the last, his head tipped back as he gasped and whimpered, faint tears trailing down his cheekbones as he clawed desperately at the sheets, clutching them in a bone-creaking grip. His soul summoned between them, flashing lovely pure silver as it pressed to Edge’s, unknowingly creating the life he now carried.

But they hadn’t done anything of the sort since then. Edge slept next to Rus in his bed, held him close, offered light kisses and whispered to their child, and nothing more. He could taste the sweat beading on his upper jaw as he whispered, “I…I couldn’t...”

That lovely blush brightened, turned ruddy and mottled, closer to embarrassment than desire. Rus hastily reached for the sheet, dragging it over himself and wrapping up from skull to ankles.

“sorry,” Rus muttered, “wasn’t thinking.” He started to get up, swaddled in the sheet, his miserable hurt so blatant that Edge felt a flush of his own warming his cheek bones in matching shame.

“Wait, please.” Edge hastily crossed the room, sitting with Rus. Who refused to look at him, his pale eye lights flicking away.

“it’s no big deal, edgelord, i get it. you’re here for the kid is all and i overstepped—” He broke off as Edge ducked his head, giving him a firm kiss that should leave no doubt as to what Edge wanted. He opened his sockets when Edge drew away, panting softly and hurt fading to confusion.

“You don’t get it. It’s not that I don’t want to,” Edge told him. He hesitated, swallowing hard even as he confessed, “I don’t…I don’t want to hurt the baby.”

Rus blinked once, twice, staring at him and then suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth. At first Edge thought he was nauseous; that happened occasionally, and Blue would simply have to wait until the child was here before attempting to cook anything with garlic again.

Then he realized Rus was stifling laughter. “seriously? look, hot stuff, you’re hung, but even your junk isn’t gonna knock the skitten on the head.”

That…should probably be insulting but said like that it made his worries seem ridiculously silly. Edge managed a short nod, unable to stop the sheepish curve of his own smile.

But humor faded quickly as Rus licked his teeth, his sockets languidly hooded as he gazed at Edge with nothing less than hunger. “besides, it’s not like that’s the only thing we could do. i’m too horny to sleep and that’s a fact. up for giving me a hand or is that too much for you, edgelord?”

Edge surged forward almost before he finished speaking, taking Rus’s mouth fiercely and urging him to lean back as he settled between Rus’s thighs.

After all, Edge suspected his honor, or possibly his stamina, was being called into question and he was determined to defend both.

~~*~~

Later, when Rus finally sank into an exhausted sleep, still quivering slightly with pleasurable little tremors, Edge curled up behind him.

Beautiful, Edge thought, though he kept it to himself, unwilling to wake Rus. But it was true, Rus was so very beautiful, always, and even more so now, ripe with pregnancy. He practically glowed with it and Edge would be content to simply look at him for some time, if he didn’t know Rus would give him a shove and tell him to knock it off.

Thinking of the baby...very lightly, Edge settled a hand over the slight curve of Rus’s belly. A soft thump greeted the touch, hard enough to make Rus murmur unhappily through his hard-won sleep. That wouldn’t do.

Edge slid down, replaced his hand with his cheek bone as he crooned softly to that bump, an almost forgotten lullaby from childhood. Perhaps it worked, the baby didn’t stir again. Or perhaps he was a fool, singing and whispering to a little one who couldn't hear a word of it. Edge did not know or care.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Edge murmured, too low to be heard even if he could be understood. “Keep you both safe.”

Underfell would never touch them, either of them. He would make sure of it.

Edge lay awake, his gaze flicking from Rus’s peaceful face to the pale, scarred bones of his hand resting against where his child slept, waiting to be born.

TBC

[honey-girlie]

every kind of way ch. 3

rating: E

chapter: 3/3

word count: ~4k

a/n: the E rating is actually relevant now in this last chapter lol, so yeah this is going to be nsfw

just as a reminder, this takes place on the night of day 12 after the dumping

i had a fun time writing this short fic, mostly because i needed more Jake in my life. thank you so much for reading if you did! i appreciate you all!!

please don’t ever forget that i love Jake with my whole entire ass heart!!

[link to chapter 1] [link to chapter 2]

[link to ao3]

x x x

Eris waved tiredly as the other couples left the kitchen and headed off for bed. It was still relatively early, but after having to dump two couples tonight, they were all drained.

Despite her relief at Levi and Cherry’s departure, she hated seeing Rohan leave. Making that decision to dump him instead of Talia was one of the harder things she had to do in the villa. He was a good friend to her but he was even closer with Jake, and it was obvious how upset Jake had been watching his best mate walk down that driveway. The two shared brotherly hugs and goodbyes as they promised to keep in touch after the show. Eris offered her comfort with a tight squeeze of Jake’s hand, and the way he squeezed back told her how much he needed the support. 

But Jake was intent on keeping a positive attitude. They were in the Love Island final, after all. He had given Eris an excited smile during the recoupling when their names were called, an unexpected but welcome surprise. He seemed just as delighted as everyone else to be in the running for the £50,000.

Moreover, their date earlier today had been incredible. They were both still riding high after finally being able to have some time together, far away from the other Islanders. Jake had been even more attentive than usual, pulling out her chair and pouring her wine and showering her with compliments. And since his confession yesterday, he’s been uninhibited as ever. Eris soaked up every word he spoke and every smile he gave her. It warmed her to the core knowing how much more comfortable he’s come to be with her now that there were no hidden feelings between them any longer. 

Eris was excited about being in the final too, but she couldn’t wait to spend time with him outside the villa. She wanted to know him inside-out, and she wanted him to know her the same way. Even the side of her that could sometimes be brutally honest and nosy and stubborn, she wanted to let him into every part of her life. 

A small smile lingered on her face as she thought about their future, and when Jake turned around from washing everyone’s cups, he caught her wistful expression. He tilted his head. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. 

Eris shrugged. “Us.”

The corners of his lips tugged upwards. “What about us?”

“Just looking forward to being with you after the show. I wonder what it’s going to look like.”

“I reckon a lot like this,” Jake chuckled. “You sitting at the counter watching me work in the kitchen.”

A light laugh escaped her. “I like that. As boring as that sounds, I’m excited.”

“I am too.”  His smile grew thoughtful. “It can be stressful working at the restaurant. A little boring is what I need most of the time.”

She snorted. “I’d say I’m pretty good at that.”

“Believe me, I know.”

Eris blinked and made an indignant noise. “Hey!” 

Eyes dancing with mischief, Jake simply winked. She narrowed her gaze. The utter cheek of the man.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” she grumbled in mock sternness. 

“Not even two days into our relationship, and I’m already in danger of being dumped. You’re a ruthless one, Eris,” he said, fondness in his tone and expression. 

Eris scoffed. “Oh, I’m worse, Sweetcheeks,” she teased. 

A smile curled his lips as he stared at her for a moment, then he switched topics. “So. How are you feeling about today? That double dumping was harsh.”

She sighed, propping her elbow up and resting her chin on her hand. “It was a brutal decision. I’m glad Talia’s still here, but I wish Rohan could have stayed.”

“So do I.” Sadness filled his expression, but it was gone just as fast. “But we’ll see him during the final. I suppose everyone will be there tomorrow.”

Eris scrunched her nose. One night of peace without Levi and Cherry was hardly anything, but it was more than she had ever gotten. At least after that, she wouldn’t have to see them for a while. 

“I’d rather skip it, honestly,” she mused. “I can’t wait to go back home and work in my studio.”

“Yeah, I won’t be too sad leaving this place either,” Jake said. “But I can’t say I didn’t enjoy spending my summer here. I don’t think there’s anywhere outside of Preston where I’ve got this many memories.”

Eris nodded. It had certainly been her most unforgettable summer. She was leaving the show with an amazing boyfriend and a handful of good friends too. Despite the absurd amount of drama she’s witnessed and experienced, there was still a sense of nostalgia she knew she’d feel whenever she thought about the villa. It had been her home for the past several weeks, after all. 

“It’s strange to think this is our final night here,” Eris said. 

“Yeah.” Jake paused for a beat and glanced up the stairs. He smiled, cocking his head towards it. “How about we make one last trip to the terrace? For old time’s sake.”

She grinned back, and without a word she hopped off of the stool. Jake took her hand and led her up the stairs, creeping past the quiet bedroom. He opened the doors of the terrace for her, and since the rest of the Islanders were about ready to sleep, they found the place to be empty. 

With a glance around, Eris remembered all the times she had with Jake there. The night she found Levi and Cherry remained an unpleasant memory, but every moment she shared with Jake on the terrace eclipsed the hurt. It was where she had talked to him for the first time. He had been quiet and awkward, but Eris found him endearing. She’s dealt with enough cocky men in her life. Jake was a breath of fresh air. 

They’d talked, joked around, and bared their souls to one another on those benches more times than she could count, but none of those times compared to their recent visits. Just yesterday, they admitted their feelings for one another, and he snogged the life out of her against that right wall. Then he decorated the place with rose petals and candles when Eris became his girlfriend that same night. Everything that happened there had built up and culminated in them finally getting together. 

The villa itself was memorable, but the rooftop terrace held a particularly special place in her heart. Eris smiled as she walked around.

“This is my favorite spot in the villa,” she said, voicing her thoughts. 

“Yeah?” Jake asked as he closed the doors. “Not the kitchen?”

She snorted and leaned her elbows on the railing. “Shockingly enough, no. But the kitchen is a close second.”

He walked to her side and threw an arm around her shoulders. Her body automatically relaxed into him. “Me too. I love the view up here. Everything looks so peaceful.”

Eris hummed. “I’ve always wanted a terrace like this for my own. I’d probably work outside instead of my studio for a change.”

Jake’s arm tightened around her. “Well, if we win tomorrow, maybe we can find the perfect flat for us to live in.”

She snapped her head towards him, and he calmly returned her stare, a small smile on his face. Her heart stuttered. Moving in together. She had thought about it constantly, but to hear him say it too made everything all the more real.

“You want to live with me?” Eris managed to get out. 

“I want to do everything with you,” Jake said quietly. He lowered his arm and gently turned her towards him, his hands resting on her shoulders. “I almost lost my chance being with you because I was too terrified of admitting my real feelings. I spent the entirety of my time in the villa that way. But I don’t want to be like that anymore. With you, I don’t ever want you to have to guess how I feel.”

He slid his hands down her arms and intertwined their fingers, pulling her a step closer. His eyes were simultaneously soft and intense as he met her gaze.

“I’m yours,” he whispered. “Entirely. And you’ll never have to question it. I want us to live together. Meet each other’s families and friends. Have that boring, domestic life. Eris, I just want to be with you, in whatever way you want me.”

She was struck, her jaw hanging open as she simply stood there. 

Why did he always do that? He would take her by surprise and say the loveliest, sweetest, most wonderful things, then not expect her to melt into a puddle by his feet. Why was he torturing her like this? How did she end up so lucky to be with such a man? 

But more than anything, Eris was proud of him. Despite his way with words, he’s always had trouble communicating with others and being truly open with his feelings. For him to be this honest about his flaws and the effort he wanted to put into their relationship was a testament to how much he’s grown in their time in the villa. 

He made her want to be better too. She was equally at fault in delaying their relationship. Eris could have been honest with her feelings too when they had first coupled up, but her insecurities prevented her from doing so. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s made that mistake in her love life. This time around, she vowed to swallow her fear and put it the same work as him for the sake of a healthy, truthful relationship. 

Of course she wanted to move in together. She wanted everything he did and more. She wanted to learn about him, from him, and with him. 

With trembling hands, Eris cupped his face. “I want you in every kind of way, Jake Wilson,” she whispered. 

He expelled a quiet breath and closed his eyes. When they reopened a moment later, they seared into hers. 

Jake ducked his head and captured her lips in a fiery kiss as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her body flush with his. 

“You have me,” he sighed, his voice thick. “You have me.”

Eris moaned when he deepened their kiss, his tongue sweeping through the caverns of her mouth and his teeth nibbling her bottom lip. Her head spun from the crackling energy that had flared between them, so much so that she didn’t even realize he was walking them backwards to the benches until she collapsed on top of him. Her dress hiked up when her legs lifted to straddle his lap. As soon as she was settled, their lips collided once more. 

She shivered at the feeling of his sturdy thighs and chest underneath her. They’ve snogged and hugged and slept next to each other, but his body felt different this time. Bigger. Stronger. Knowing where they were headed tonight heightened all of her senses, as if each of her nerves were alight and ready to jump at his touch. 

The anticipation was enough to make her lose control of her actions, and her hips started to rock against him of their own accord. Jake grunted, and his hands flew to her waist. With a tight grip, he helped her grind into him. It wasn’t long before her dress was bunched up to the very top of her thighs and his hardened bulge pressed against her core. They both moaned at the contact. 

“Eris,” he choked, his gaze locking on hers. His pupils were completely blown out, and her arousal spiked.

“More,” Eris pleaded. “I want to —”

“Oh, we will,” Jake breathed before crushing their lips together again. 

His grip left her waist to unzip her dress. Once her back was uncovered, his curious hands glided over her bare skin. She reveled at his touch, arching into him and rolling her hips so that she slid along his firm, covered length. Jake slowly tugged down the fabric until her breasts were exposed, and her nipples stiffened into peaks from the cool night air. Without removing his mouth from hers, he palmed her breasts, massaging and squeezing them. 

Eris moaned as her hips faltered. When he lightly tweaked her nipples, she couldn’t help throwing her head back and whimpering his name. Jake finally glanced down, and his efforts doubled. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “You are so beautiful.”

A sigh escaped her as he leaned in to attach his lips at her neck. He already knew her most sensitive spots, and without a second wasted, he zeroed in on her pulse point and sucked. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Eris lifted shaking hands to take off his shirt, nearly fumbling with the buttons. Jake released his own sigh when her fingers came in contact with his warm skin, and he lowered his hands from her chest so she could help tug his shirt off altogether. 

She flung it away from them, and they stared at each other, panting heavily. Then like a cord snapping, their sense of urgency skyrocketed. 

In the same moment Eris stood up to pull her dress over her head, Jake’s hands flew to his trousers to unbuckle and unzip himself. They were frantic as they stripped, sparing no thought over cameras or other Islanders catching them or where their clothes and shoes landed. The only thing she could focus on was how long she had waited for this, how badly she had craved his naked body on hers. 

Throwing knickers to the side, she straightened just in time to see Jake stand up and toss his pants away too. She took one millisecond to admire his incredible form before they were on each other again, ravenous hands and lips touching whatever skin they could find. They stumbled back on the bench in the same position with nothing separating them. 

Her eyelids fluttered as Jake’s rigid cock pressed against her stomach, and she couldn’t stop herself from stroking him, sweeping a thumb over the precum that wept from the head. Jake’s hands on her hips tightened while he released a raspy groan. He returned the favor by lowering his hand between her thighs and sliding his calloused fingers along her wet slit. A sharp jolt ran through her, and she gasped. 

“Oh god,” Eris exhaled as she circled her hips. “Jake —”

She cut herself off when he slid a finger inside her slick heat, languidly pumping in and out and gauging her reactions. A small whimper escaped her, and she buried her face in his neck. 

But Jake went no further than that. Eris lifted her head when he removed his hand, and she dazedly watched him tear at a condom wrapper. She didn’t even know where or when he had gotten it. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t wait,” he panted, rolling the condom over his cock. “I just — Jesus Christ, I need to be inside of you.”

With a fervent nod of her head, Eris lifted herself onto her knees and lined him up to her core. His smoldering gaze never strayed from hers as she began to sink down onto him. Both of their jaws went slack. She was torn between savoring the moment and going right to business, but in the end, she settled for something in between to give her inner walls a chance to acclimate to his size. 

Her entire body shuddered when their pelvises met and she was fully seated. For a beat or two, Eris forgot how to breathe. They fit so perfectly together. They felt so right together. 

Jake released a husky moan that was nearly undoing. Cupping her face, he looked up at her with such affection that her heart lodged itself in her throat. He brought her down and captured her lips for a sweet kiss, then he pulled away to rest his forehead against hers. 

His hands went to her waist to help her rise to the very tip and down again to the hilt, and Eris braced herself on his shoulders and widened her stance as they set an easy pace. It was a little awkward at first and he slipped out of her once or twice, but they eventually found their rhythm. 

Their breathing grew loud in the empty terrace as they sought pleasure from one another. Hungrily, Jake’s hands roamed from her thighs up to her face, never settling in one spot. His eager touch sent her whole body on fire, and when Eris sped up her pace, his hands would grasp at her that much rougher. With a particular snap of her hips, she gasped and arched further into him, brushing her nipples against his broad chest. 

Jake groaned her name, spurring her to move even faster. The muscles of her thighs burned, but she ignored everything that wasn’t the aching pressure building up inside her. Eris’ panting turned into moans, her movements became frenzied. She reached up to thread her fingers through Jake’s hair, giving it a firm pull. The ragged noise he let out almost drove her the brink of madness. 

Fire licked up her spine and blood roared in her ears as Eris chased after her release. Scrambling to find purchase on his shoulders, she dug her nails into his skin while she whimpered and mewled in heady pleasure. 

She was so close, she could scream. 

“Jake,” she gasped desperately. “I’m — I need —”

Eris let out a cry when Jake held her by the waist and began thrusting up into her, hitting her in that spot she’s only ever been able to graze. 

Stars flooded her vision, and her body locked up. The coil inside her wound tighter and tighter until it became near unbearable. Distantly, she heard Jake murmuring his encouragement, telling her to let go. 

“Come on, Eris,” he whispered. “Come. Come for me.”

Her eyes slammed shut. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, the coil finally shattered, and Eris hurtled over that familiar edge. 

She trembled in his grasp, his name repeatedly spilling from her lips as she let her climax wash over her. Shocks jolted throughout her body, but Jake held her steadily on his lap. She was still writhing when he crushed her to him and continued pounding into her. 

With what little energy Eris had left, she watched in fascination as he sought his own release. He panted and grunted all while keeping her gaze, as if the mere sight of her would bring him the ecstasy he was reaching for. His thrusts were fast and rough, and when his eyelids fluttered, she knew he was nearly there.

“Eris,” he gasped. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Jake jerked his hips up once, twice, three more times. All at once, his muscles went taut underneath her, then he threw his head back and let out a guttural groan. 

Thighs shaking, Jake twitched and pulsed inside her as he came. Eris ran her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner and greedily took in the unrestrained bliss on his face. His arms were tight enough around her that she almost couldn’t breathe, but she relished in it. The sight of him coming was just as glorious as she imagined it to be. 

Pumping his hips one last time, he heaved an exhausted sigh and slumped into the bench. Eris rested her head on his shoulder while they both fought for breath, their heart rates slowing and the fog in their heads lifting. Strands of hair stuck to her sweaty forehead and neck, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t be bothered to move, let alone reach up to brush it away.

Her breathing started to level out by the time one of them moved. Jake helped lift her off of his softened length, but she remained perched on his lap. Keeping his arms around her, he shifted a little to settle himself more comfortably in his seat, sagging even lower on the bench. 

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” he murmured, “but just so you know, I didn’t want our first time to be like this.”

Eris lolled her head on his shoulder to peek up at his face. “How did you want it to go, then?”

“In a bed, for starters. Somewhere private, too.”

Her lips twitched in a wry smile. Their first time on the benches of the rooftop terrace on a show watched by millions of people was basically the exact opposite of what he had in mind. 

Jake went on, “I imagined a dark room lit only by candles, more rose petals scattered around, and maybe some quiet music playing. Nothing too fancy. It’d just be us. And I’d be the one to undress you and lay you down on the bed. We wouldn’t rush. I’d take my time, all night if you wanted it.”

Eris bit her lip as her stomach swooped. She wasn’t sure she would have had the willpower to wait any longer to finally jump his bones, but there was no denying that the picture he painted was enticing.

“How traditionally romantic,” she drawled, though her words came out a bit breathless. 

His shoulders lifted in a weak shrug. “You know how I am.”

Mustering enough energy, Eris raised a palm to his cheek and turned his face towards her, giving him a soft kiss. “It sounds wonderful,” she whispered. “And once we find a place to live together, we’re going to do exactly that and more.”

Jake’s responding smile was so radiant, she felt like she was glowing from the inside out. 

They spent another few minutes sitting there in peace, but once the night air grew too chilly for them, they began to clean up and redress. When they were situated, she and Jake took another look around the terrace, knowing it would be their last. 

Jake slid an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss on her temple, and Eris sighed. A bittersweet feeling overcame her. 

“I’m gonna miss this terrace,” she murmured. 

“Me too. I’m glad we came up here.” One corner of Jake’s lips tugged upwards. “It was fun defiling this place with you before we finally left.”

She chuckled. “At least we got to do it once.”

“We had a lot of missed opportunities, didn’t we?”

“Missed opportunities to fool around in other spots in the villa? Absolutely.”

He laughed and hugged her tighter. “Should have known you were into that stuff,” he teased. “Want me to wear my wrestling costume too while we’re at it?”

With a small, innocent smile, she looked up at him. “Cape and everything?”

Jake faltered, his lips parting and a flush creeping upon his face. 

Eris’ smile spread into a wide grin, feeling lighter than she’s been in a long time. The prize money didn’t matter. The public’s opinion didn’t matter. Whatever happened after tomorrow, she knew they were going to be just fine. Better than fine.

She couldn’t wait to leave the show and start her new life with him. Her future has never been so exciting, and it was all because of the man beside her. 

Eris rose on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. 

“We are going to have a lot of fun living together, Sweetcheeks.”

And they did.