#sliding down the slope into this fandom hello

[noswordinourlake]

WIP! sometimes I get to the 'cleaning blocked colors' stage and it's like "hm this is Not a Person Yet" but Di Feisheng is very Shaped! he has been recognisable pretty much all along

[lathalea]

Santaaaaaaa, fluff overload with this one:

how about the Durin siblings (Thorin, Frerin, and Dis) playing in the snow as children? Maybe it's Dis' first winter?💙

Hello @legolasbadass 💚💖💙 It seems that you've been a good girl because you're getting lots of silliness and fluff in this one! Enjoy :) When thinking about what to write today, I found this cute piece of art by @mightysquareroot (check out their art while you're at it!). The feisty Dis made me giggle so much that I just had to include that kind of attitude in this fic. In my mind, she's the mastermind here ;) In my story, the Durin kids are a bit younger, but I hope I captured the spirit there!

Day 11: BAM!

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Frerin & Thorin & Dis Rating: G Author's notes: mischief and shenanigans, snow, fluff, silliness

Frerin had a plan.

The old copper washtub was unwieldy and much heavier than he thought, but they managed it quite well in the end. Just before dawn, he and Thorin carried it out from the bathhouse straight under Mistress Njala’s pudgy nose. Now this large metal object stood right in front of him, on a very snowy and very steep slope of the Lonely Mountain. It was going to be so much fun!

“Bam!” Agreed Dis, slamming her rattle against one of the washtub’s walls. Frerin cringed, hoping that they were too far away from the gates of Erebor for anyone to hear the noise.

“Yes, Dee, that’s a ‘bam’ alright,” laughed Thorin, taking her under her arms and putting her into the bathtub. “You’re going to crush many orc skulls with your ‘bams’ when you reach battle age!”

“Thori, bam!” Dis giggled and poked his knee with her rattle. Thorin made a silly face at her and fell into the snow, faking a sudden and spectacular death. It made Dis squeal in delight.

“You see, Thorin? I told you she would like it!” Frerin grinned at his temporarily dead brother. Thorin was only a few years older than him, but Grandfather and Father kept on adding to his burdens since he was supposed to become the king one day and that made Thorin more and more solemn with time. Frerin promised himself to do everything he could to make his brother smile as much as Dis did.

Thorin’s eyes blinked open, “You know that Mother is going to skin us alive when she hears of it, right?”

“First of all,” Frerin protested,”IF she hears about it, not WHEN. Second, we’ll make sure she won’t. Right, Dee?”

“Bam, Freri! Bam!” Dis offered eloquently, slamming her rattle into the washtub once again.

“Bam, Dee!” Frerin replied, kicking the washtub and eliciting a similar sound out of it. The metal vessel vibrated slightly against the snow.

“If you both keep on doing that, Mother will hear about it much sooner than we’d like to,” Thorin got up, shaking off the snow from his tunic. Frerin didn’t like the frown that formed on his brother’s face.

“Come on, Thorin! Dee needs to learn how much fun sledding can be. Just look at her!”

Frerin’s words worked. When Thorin glanced at Dis jumping up and down in the washtub with excitement and giggling at her brothers, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“Thori bam? Freri bam?” She asked hopefully, her big blue eyes open wide, her cheeks pink, her mouth stretching in a toothless grin. At that point, wrapped in her thick winter coat and waving her rattle around, resembled a bouncy ball of fur more than a cute pebble.

Frerin looked at his brother and was met with Thorin’s gaze. There were mischievous sparks in his eyes now. They nodded at each other in wordless understanding.

As their boots slammed into the washtub’s walls, they both exclaimed: “BAM!”

And then the washtub started sliding down the slippery slope of the Mountain.

With their little sister inside it. Alone.

Dis giggled.

Thorin gasped.

Frerin made a shrieking noise.

“Diiiiis!” Both Thorin and Frerin shouted in terror and started running downhill after the copper monstrosity that kidnapped their sister.

“Bam! Bam! Bam!” Dis exclaimed as the washtub bounced up over a snow-covered stone and landed back on the ground with a clunk. Frerin’s heart jumped into his throat and he stopped in his tracks.

“Move!” His brother shouted at him, and Frerin started running again. Dis… He had to be faster, he had to catch his baby sister before it was too late. She didn’t know how to steer this thing, she had no idea how to stop it, she was so tiny, and Frerin’s brain knew only one thing: run. He had to run as fast as he could.

Thorin was the first one to reach the washtub. He lunged at it, grabbing its top edge firmly with his hands, but it continued to slide down the slope, dragging him downhill. A tiny part of Frerin gave out a small chuckle, amused at the sight of Thorin literally ploughing through the fresh snow and quickly turning into a snowman.

Frerin ran after his siblings as quickly as he could; so quickly in fact that he hadn’t seen that piece of rock sticking out from under the snow. Or rather, he noticed it when it was already too late. He flew through the air while the ground approached his face at an alarming speed. All Frerin could do was to stretch out his arms to cushion the fall.

As he fell to the ground, his fingers instinctively wrapped something hard and frozen stiff. He blinked, realising two things: one, he was now sliding down the slope too, snow falling straight into his wide open mouth; two, how on earth did he manage to grab Thorin’s boots?!

“Wooohooo! Look, I caught up with you!” Frerin shouted at the top of his lungs, laughing out loud, air swooshing past his face, snow getting under his coat as he slid down quickly, towed by his brother. This was what he called fun!

Thorin shouted back something, but Frerin couldn’t make out the words. “Bam! Bam!” Dis added, slamming her rattle into the washtub again.

“Watch out, Freriiiiiiiiin!” This time, Thorin’s words were very clear.

There was a thump and then a thud, Dis squealed, Thorin grunted, and the washtub was thrown into the air with Frerin and his older brother in tow.

Frerin always wondered how it would feel if he could fly. Now he literally flew through the crisp winter air, wind blowing through his hair, his body seemingly weightless, but before he could enjoy the view, all three of them, plus the washtub, fell straight into a large heap of snow.

“Ouch! Get off my elbow, Thorin!”

“I’m not even anywhere near you, Frerin!”

“What’s that then?”

“Ouch! That hurt, you lulkh!”

“You see? Ugh! Ey! That hurt too!”

“Baaaa?” Dis gurgled. “Babaaaa!”

They disentangled themselves from each other and dug through the snow.

“Dee, where are you?” All they heard was their sister’s giggling somewhere further away. When their snow covered heads finally emerged above the snow, both Frerin and Thorin were blinded by the sun shining straight into their eyes.

“Baaabaaa!” Dis giggled again. A large shadow was cast over them and Frerin finally dared to look up.

“Good morning, Grandmother Urtha,” he heard Thorin speak quietly beside him.

Drat. They were in trouble.

“Enlighten me, boys, what were you trying to achieve here?” Towering above them stood Grandma Urtha who looked at the boys sternly, her lips pressed in a thin line. Dis was in her arms, giggling again and pulling at one of her grandma’s red sideburns.

“Umm… Nothing, Grandma,” Frerin mumbled. “We just wanted to enjoy the snow together with Dis!”

“By putting her into that metal monstrosity? Are you both out of your minds?” Grandma Urtha scowled, and then kissed her granddaughter on the top of her head. “Poor baby girl. You don’t need to be scared anymore.”

“Babaaa!” Dis exclaimed with a big smile.

“She wasn’t scared, she liked it, Grandmother,” Thorin protested.

“Boys, I have enough of your ideas! Last week you put her into that barrel of honey…”

“Dee got there by herself! We were just trying to get her out!” Frerin waved his hands, recalling how mortified he was when it turned out that Dis disappeared from her playroom and crawled somewhere away when the nanny dozed off for a moment, and how relieved he was when Thorin found her in the pantry.

“And what about two days ago when the guards found you in the armoury? All three of you, together with Dwalin! Are you going to tell me she took that sword all by herself?”

Frerin exchanged glances with Thorin.

“Well, she sort of did…” he started.

“The rack… it fell… on its own…” Thorin muttered.

“And that explains how Dis got onto your back and waved that sword, trying to poke Dwalin’s eye out?” Grandma Urtha rumbled. Suddenly, Frerin felt very, very small and insignificant under her thunderous gaze. Everyone did, to be honest. Even Grandpa Thrór.

“Grandma, it wasn’t like that at all,” Frerin started. “You see, Dwalin and Thorin are taller than me, and they didn’t want to train with me, so when Dee…”

“I have enough of your explanations! You are her older brothers! You should protect her from harm! Thank Mahal, I was here at the right time. Look what they have done to you, my little princess!” Grandma Urtha booped Dis’ button nose, her angry expression turning into a soft smile. “Now, we’re going back to the Mountain. When your parents hear about this, I expect you will be grounded for at least two weeks!”

“Two weeks?” Frerin moaned.

“But we were supposed to go to Dale tomorrow!” Thorin added.

“Dis will be going to Dale. You two – not so much,” Grandma Urtha stated.

“But Grandma, that’s not–”

“I don’t want to hear another word about it! And while we are returning home, you will recite the list of the dwarven kings of the First and Second age.”

“Ugh, Grandma, please…” Thorin grunted, rolling his eyes.

“You will begin with Durin the Deathless. And now let us return home.” Grandma Urtha added and started walking.

Frerin and Thorin groaned in unison.

“Baaaa!” Dis chuckled and waved her rattle, casting a pointed glance at her brothers. And then she stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry in their direction.

“Now, now, my sweet little pumpkin, you are a lady! And do you know what ladies get upon their return home if they behave? A cup of hot cocoa and a cookie,” Grandma Urtha explained and Dis giggled again.

Frerin’s stomach growled.

“Ey, Thorin!” Frerin elbowed his brother and whispered behind Grandma Urtha’s back. “That was fun, right?” “Aye, lots of fun,” Thorin grinned, elbowing him back.

“Great! Let’s do it again tomorrow!”

“How are you planning to sneak out of your room if we’re grounded?” Thorin asked. “Well, I heard rumours of a secret passage hidden in the wall between our rooms…” Frerin winked at him, making his brother nod with a chuckle.

“... and then Durin II ascended to the throne. And after him the great Nain the Blacktooth ruled…” As Thorin’s arduous recitation echoed through the forest, Frerin chuckled.

He had a brand new plan.

---

Khuzdul: Lulkh - idiot

---

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[pressedinthepages]

Bloom

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel/Reader (gender neutral)

Rating: G

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request: [I’ve been feeling awful... do u know if you can do an Eskel/gender neutral or non-binary reader doing something fluffy? Maybe flower picking and cuddling or smn?] Hello, yes of course! I’m sorry that it took me a hot minute, it’s been a Week. Hope you’re well anon, and I hope this makes you feel a bit better :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: all of the fluff. all of it.

Eskel finds a rare spot of warmth in the autumn chill.

Moss squishes under your bare feet as you trek silently up along a stream. Eskel walks behind you, his boots in hand. Grass tickles your ankles and you breathe deeply, the scent of the forest after a good rainfall bringing a smile to your face. You can see the sunlight streaming through the autumn leaves, bringing a ray of warmth that cuts through the chill of the still air.

    “I can smell the flowers from here,” Eskel whispers, and you can hear the excitement in his voice.

    You nod and push forward, a new spring in your step as you approach the destination. Even you can begin to smell flowers in the air, somewhat odd this late in the year. But when you suddenly burst into the break in the trees, you know you’ve found the place.

    Waves of color spread over the entirety of the clearing bathed in sunlight, beautiful golds and blues and pinks swirling together in a wild array. Eskel breathes deeply through his nose and you can see the lines of his face relax, and his eyes are clear and bright as they track around the little space. 

    You hold out your hand and a shiver runs through you when Eskel slides his hand in. His fingers slot with yours and you lead him forward into the middle of the great sea of flowers. You find a somewhat bare spot and sit on the cool ground with Eskel at your side. He turns and reaches out, plucking one of the springs of bright yellow flowers and tucking it behind your ear.

    “Goldenrod,” he murmurs, “Encouragement, growth. A sign of good luck.”

    Eskel smiles as he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek and you set your hand on his thigh. He is warm and solid under your touch, a rock in a world of wind that threatens to pull you with it.

    Eskel finds one of the small bursts of blue, placing it alongside the bunch of goldenrod. “Cornflower. Hope for the future, simple beauty.”

    You blush as he drags his finger down your jaw and the slope of your neck. Eskel’s eyes, rich with the waning afternoon sunlight, dance with mirth and adoration. He reaches once more and finds a tangle of light pink flowers, twisting them lightly between his fingers, clearly pondering their meaning.

    You clear your throat, smiling when his gaze meets yours. “Verbena,” you whisper, “Healing, creativity, happiness.” 

    “So it seems,” Eskel leans in and threads the flowers behind your ear, his hand traveling down to cup your face. His eyes flutter closed as he drifts forward and you meet him halfway. Your lips slot together like the stars aligning, warm and sweet like honey atop a pastry. You reach up and run your fingers through his dark, thick hair, relishing the peace that surrounds the two of you. 

    You know it doesn’t really matter which flowers the two of you found in that little field. You have everything that matters right here in your hands, holding you tightly to him as his heart thuds in his chest. 

[vannahfanfics]

Waste the Night Away

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Hanta Sero, Ochako Uraraka

Additional Tags: Mermaid AU

Hello, everybody! This is another piece for @bnhabookclub‘s MerMay event, this time for the prompt “Well, this isn’t how I expected to spend my Saturday night”! 

This is also a present for my lovely beta-reader and number-one supporter @deliathedork. I love you dearest! You certainly make all my hard work worth it! <3 Enjoy!

“Needless to say, I keep her in check! She was a bad-bad, nevertheless-! Callin’ it quits, da dunna dun duh…” Hanta sang along to the music pumping in his headphones as he jaunted along the concrete sidewalk. He punctuated the words with very exaggerated motions, earning him quite a few concerned glances from passersby; not that he noticed, because he had his eyes closed as he skipped a few steps flapping his arms like a chicken. “Then you’re left in the dust-! Unless I stuck by yaaaaaaa! You’re a sunflowwwwwwer! I think your love would be too much!” he yowled and spun around a light pole on the corner before hopping off and scooting a few more steps down the sloping sidewalk.

It was about seven o’clock in the evening, and Hanta was on his way home from a riotous day of videogames at Denki’s house. Hanta had proudly obliterated Denki, Katsuki, Eijirou, and surprise guest Fumikage at Super Smash Bros. Needless to say, he was still riding the victory high- so much so that he had elected to walk home rather than take the bus. The night was pleasantly chilly, just enough to stave off the heat from all his wild dancing, and a few of the stars were visible between the wispy gray clouds trawling over the inky expanse of the night sky. The evening was still young, so as he jitterbugged his way through town, he distantly wondered what he was going to do for the rest of it.

“I can hear you tellin’ me to turn around! Fightin’ for my trust, and you won’t back down! Da dunna dun duh, da dunna dun da…” he clumsily sang as he hopped over the curb to jaywalk across an empty street. He trotted down another incline, which led to his shortcut- a waterway that traveled the length of a series of highway overpasses. The watercourse siphoned excess water away from the city reservoir; it had rained a considerable amount lately, so the freshwater was lapping up at the edges of the levee. The splashing and gurgling of the water served as an accompaniment to his performance while he strolled along, occasionally stopping to kick his legs or punch the air energetically. “You’re the sunflowwwwwer! You’re the sunflower!” he howled again, skipping to the edge of the levee and shaking his hips, before the song ended. He then wrenched his headphones off his ears to rest them around his neck and released a self-satisfied sigh, placing his hands on his hips and staring out at the canal.

Hanta always took a moment to appreciate the view when he came this way, if the water level was high enough. It was extraordinarily breathtaking when the stars were out. Light sparkled across the gently sloshing waves like millions of diamonds. Just above the concrete slopes of the other side of the levee, through a rusted chain-link fence, spread the expanse of the city; gold lights floated like orbs in the distance, emanating from streetlights and houses and businesses. If he squinted, he could make out the reds and green of traffic stops as well, or the flickering neon flashes of animated billboards. He could not hear the deafening noise pollution of civilization, though, aside from the humming of car engines bouncing down from the highway half a mile from where he stood. No, the sounds of nature reigned- the babbling of the water, the chirping of the crickets in the bunches of weeds springing up from the cracked sidewalk, the baying of stray hounds and the hooting of the barn owl that nested in the crooked old tree beyond the fence. He closed his eyes as he drank it all in. The bubbling. The chirping. The howling. The hooting. The little muffled whimpers for help-

Wait a second.

Hanta’s eyes snapped open, and he strained his ears to make sure he had indeed heard what he thought he had. Sure enough, floating down the waterway from his right were small, stifled squeaks and sobs. Someone needs help! He took off down the sidewalk, whipping out his phone to turn on the flashlight. A bright circle of white illuminated the stone construct before him, and he swung his phone side to side wildly to check every square inch of space.

“Hello? Who’s out here? Do you need help?” he called, cupping a hand to his mouth to increase the volume. The noises ceased for a moment, and he worried that he might have frightened them off. “Don’t be scared! I just wanna help you!” He remained still aside from his slightly ragged breaths, eyes searching the dark and ears straining the fresh night air for any sound, any at all.

“… Please help me.” The plea was meek, but close, close enough for him to tell it was a girl. A million deplorable scenarios flew through his mind at once, but he forbade himself to settle on any of them; instead, he focused on picking his way down the slick slope to where he thought the voice originated from. Suddenly, the disc of light from his phone’s flashlight puddled over a caramel-haired, brown-eyed girl with her body half in the water.

“What the shit?!” Hanta panted under his breath. He cried out as the sole of his sneaker slipped over the wet rock, and he sank into a split. He let out a shrill whine as his thigh and groin muscles strained way past the point they were naturally meant to. His feet scrabbled against the slimy, rocky levee wall until he managed to regain his footing again. Hugging the levee surface, he allowed gravity to slide him the rest of the way down the slope until the toes of his sneakers barely breached the rippling surface of the water. “Don’t worry, miss, I gotcha,” he reassured the frightened girl as she shied away from his sudden presence. He held his phone up so that the light illuminated her fully but also fell on him so she could see his kind smile. “We’re gonna get you back up just… just… fine…”

His words trailed off when he happened to look down at her lower half, which rested in the water. It was just instinctual. He hadn’t been sure what he had been expecting, given the situation; he could have discovered any number of sickening or unsavory things. What he discovered was not sickening or unsavory, but downright befuddling. Rather than human legs, the lower half of the girl’s body was in the form of a bubblegum pink, scaly fishtail, with thin, curving fins like a flying fish. Hanta stared incredulously at the appendage for a few seconds before he realized why the girl- mermaid, rather- had been crying out for help. Wrapped around her tail were industrial-sized plastic rings. The hard edges were digging into the flesh, slicing right through the hard scales to cause blood and effluent to ooze out. The mermaid stared fearfully at him the entire time.

“Right! Uh, knife, I need a knife,” he mumbled and began patting his pockets in search of his Swiss Army knife. One never knew when one needed a particular tool, so Hanta had always made a point to keep one on his person. He never dreamed he would be using it to cut some plastic off a mermaid, though.

“Ah-ha!” he grinned triumphantly when he finally tugged it out of his back pocket. He flashed a reassuring smile at the mermaid. “Don’t worry, Miss Mermaid. I’mma have you free in a jiffy.”

“Erm… Thank you,” she flushed shyly and dropped her gaze. Hanta then realized he would need two hands to cut her free, so he grinned bashfully at her.

“Er, would you mind, uh, holding this for me?” he asked with a shake of his smartphone. She stared curiously at the device and gave an unsure nod, reaching up with her small hands to take it. “Just keep that light pointed on your tail- Jesus Christ, she has a tail- uh, keep it pointed there so I can see.” Obediently, she turned the phone so that the flashlight kept her tail illuminated. Hanta bit down on his bottom lip as he hunched over the appendage to begin cutting the plastic loose.

Some areas were more accessible than others; in several places, the plastic was lodged half an inch down in the meat of her tail. He felt pangs of guilt every time the poor thing yelped with pain when he would dig his fingertip into the gaping wound to pry it out. She began to squirm around and sob pitifully, so he decided to try and distract her from the discomfort. “My name’s Hanta. Sero Hanta,” he informed her with a quick smile. “What about you? Do you have a name like humans?”

“In your language, it would be Ochako. Uraraka Ochako.”

“Cute name, cute name.” He winced when she whimpered again, for he was digging into a rather deep laceration to force out some clinging particles of the stretchy plastic. “How did you even do this?” he muttered disparagingly. He glanced at her face to see her eyes tearing up and a self-pitying pout making her lips quiver.

“I just swam into it like a big dummy… I freaked out trying to get it off, and next thing I knew, I was up in this channel. I got it all tangled with my fins, so it was getting hard to swim…” She used to her free hand to wipe at the tears glittering on her brown lashes. “I thought I was gonna be stuck here forever…”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it! Good thing I happened upon you, huh?” he interjected as she began to cry piteously. He probably shouldn’t have delved too much into the backstory. A bright idea struck him like a thunderbolt, and he wrenched off his headphones to stick them over her ears. “Here! Listen to this, and it won’t hurt as much,” he instructed her and tapped on his phone screen to restart the music. Her eyes went wider than the full moon above as the music began blasting in her ears. The tears ceased leaking down, and slowly, she began bobbing her head a little. Hanta beamed widely, pleased his clever plan worked, and resumed cutting at the plastic. He gave the mermaid an amused side-eye as she began humming along to the tune.

Once he had tossed the last bit of the plastic up onto the top of the levee, Ochako gave her tail an experimental flap. She flushed pink and slapped her hand to her mouth as she involuntarily splashed water all down his front and into his face. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, it’s just water,” he laughed mirthfully when she began to squeak apologies. “It’ll dry,” he purred and wrung out his shirt. The water gushed down onto the stone levee with spattering splashes. “Anyway, do you think you can swim now?”

“Yes, I do,” she agreed and lowered the headphones from her ears to glance gratefully down at her tail. Thin lacerations painted red cross-crossing lines in the bright pink flesh, but her fins now fluttered freely. He gawked in awe at the realization she could manipulate each one of them voluntarily. She noticed him staring and giggled. “Would you like to touch it?”

“Is that weird?”

“No. Go ahead,” she chuckled. Hanta immediately splayed his palms out over the fishy tail, dark eyes going wide. It wasn’t nearly as slimy as he thought it would be. The scales were a little soft and pliant, feeling like thin discs rolling under his skin. The membranes of her fins were so delicate-looking that he was scared to touch them, but when he did, pinching them between the pads of his forefinger and thumb, they felt like the sheerest lace.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured on reflex. He looked up to see Ochako blushing and bashfully holding a hand to her reddening cheek. Realizing just how embarrassing that was, he hastily retracted his hands and straightened up. “Anywa- Ack!” He had put too much force in the movement and essentially flung himself. He slipped down the rest of the levee to land with a splash in the water. The bank was only about two feet deep, so he could sit there on his rump in the water and grin shyly at the concerned mermaid. “Well, guess now we really don’t have to worry about you splashing me, huh?”

“No,” she agreed with a girlish giggle that made Hanta feel all dreamy-like. Sighing contentedly, he crawled back up onto the levee and reclined against the slope on his back, putting his hands behind his head and bending one knee. “Well, this isn’t how I expected to spend my Saturday night,” he chuckled.

“Me neither,” she laughed and stretched out on her belly beside him. She raised her tail, and as it caught the moonlight, the scales shimmered like thousands of pink opals. Water cascaded down from it like liquid crystal to plop in the water below. Hanta caught himself staring again and returned his attention to her face, finding her smiling warmly.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen a girl- mermaid- as pretty as you.”

“I’m the only mermaid you’ve ever seen.”

“That automatically makes you the prettiest, though!” Ochako laughed loudly at his explanation. He found himself savoring her laugh. It rang out like bright bells, full of cheer and goodness. He rolled onto his side, resting a cheek in his hand. He ignored the way the rough stone scraped his elbow, because he just wanted to keep looking at her. He knew he would probably never see her again, so he sought to get his fill. Ochako tilted her head to the side coyly.

“Hanta?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me about the human world.”

So he did. He told her everything his spastic little brain could think of- cars, trains, movie theaters, bubble tea, traffic stops, coffee, videogames, the little old lady next door with the Chihuahua he swore was the spawn of Satan. The amount of information that tumbled from his mouth was disgustingly overwhelming and mind-numbingly mundane. Still, Ochako hung onto every word with the most rapturous expression on her round face. Hanta found himself getting pointlessly excited about it all and was soon sitting straight up, gesturing wildly with his hands. Occasionally, Ochako would pipe up about a counterpart they possessed in the underwater realm, and they would gush about it for a few minutes. They didn’t notice the moon swiftly traveling across the sky, nor the golden lights of the city flickering out one by one. For that brief period, it seemed like time did not exist at all; that waterway was theirs and theirs alone. That little stretch of levee was a dimension beyond all responsibility and borders. They were perfectly content to waste the night away until the dawn came creeping in, flooding the world with its warm light.

The bubble burst when Hanta’s phone began to ring. He grimaced when he noticed it was his mother, and hurriedly picked up, because he’d never hear the end of it if he rejected her call.

“Yeah. Yeah, Mom, I got caught up at Denki’s. I’m all right. I’ll be home soon. Bye.” Ochako was staring at the phone like it was its own life form when he hung up. She then frowned sadly.

“Does this mean you have to go?”

“Unfortunately so,” he sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck, then smiled sheepishly at her. “This might sound corny and all, but I’ll never forget you.”

“Why do you say that like you’ll never see me again?” she asked, looking hurt. He blinked stupidly at her and then flushed.

“Well… I mean… Isn’t it dangerous for you to swim up in the canal? You know, getting kidnapped by humans and sold off to a circus and all that?”

“Yeah, but I don’t care.” He reeled in her utter disregard for her safety. She gave him a roguish smile that was ridiculously cute on her round face. “I’ll come back tomorrow!” Hanta made a mental check of his plans to ensure that an excursion to the channel was indeed feasible before nodding excitedly.

“Yeah! But be careful,” he grimaced. She giggled coquettishly and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“It’s sweet that you’re worried about me.”

“Well, I am a gentleman,” he huffed, puffing out his chest and closing his eyes with a self-possessed smirk. Ochako took advantage of his lapse in security, and the next thing he knew, she had her lips pressed up against his cheek. All his mental processes screeched to a jarring halt, and he just gawked open-mouthed at her with a brainless “Uhhhhhh…” rumbling in his throat. Ochako giggled at his bashful response and shot him another flirty smile.

“See you around. And thanks again!” Before he could think of anything intelligent to say, she dove off the levee into the water. He tried to scramble to his feet. He only succeeded in tumbling back into the water again, this time with his phone in his pocket. His headphones just barely avoided suffering water damage, and he wrenched his phone out of his pocket to hold it aloft, praying that it was true that it was waterproof. He just barely caught a glimpse of Ochako’s bright pink tail swaying underneath the surface of the glittering black water before it faded into the shadows.

“See ya,” he called softly. Though it was impossible, he still fancied that she heard him.

Groaning, he climbed back up the slope of the levee to the flat sidewalk. He shook himself out like a shaggy dog and wrung as much as the water as he could from his clothes, then placed the headphones snugly over his ears. His phone was thankfully working just fine. He started his music back up and began swaying to the beat a little, then took off in a jog down the path leading home.

“Even if we gotta risk it all right now, oh-! I know you're scared of the unknown! You don't wanna be alone! Da da dun dunna dun dun dun… You’re my sunflowwwwer…”

When his mother inquired what the big smile on his face was for, he merely replied that his Saturday night hadn’t been a wasted one.

DISCLAIMER: The rights to “Sunflower” belong to Post Malone. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @mhafandomman @simplybakugou @sadistiks

[thelioncourts]

title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: (eventually) explicit words: 4695 for chapter one (1/?)

story summary: If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, Damen and Laurent would have never met. But things didn't go the way they were supposed to, not at all, and their meeting ended up being the equivalent of skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute. Damen tried not to complain. After all, he was now living his dream; he was travelling with his best friend without having to make sure their "I"s were dotted and their "T"s crossed. And, sure, Laurent was difficult to work with, to work for, but he was also great to look at and they made it work well as long as they were anywhere but in Paris. But when Laurent's past begins to cause present-day problems, Damen finds out those difficulties Laurent constantly displays were a bit more warranted than he could have ever imagined. And Laurent? Laurent finds out the truth -- and finds out how to smile.

chapter one note: hi, guys! so -- this fic is my baby. i've been fiddling with the idea a bit over a year now and i'm finally debuting it in all its mistakes and all my love for it. before i ramble too long about anything else i feel like i should put a disclaimer here in saying that: this is by no means near finished. i have a plot and major plot points written out in detail and i have the first three chapters completed (prologue doesn't count as a chapter), but that is it. i know how a lot of people feel about WIPs (i feel that way in many cases with WIPs too) and i just want to get that out there for anyone who does want to wait until it's a finished product.now! i fear the summary makes this sound really lighthearted and, while it is and will be (i hope!) it is also going to delve into some darkness, namely in canonical captive prince fashion of pedophilia and rape and molestation. i'm not sure it that will be mentioned or if it will be described or anything, but i feel like that needs to be said for anyone looking for a fluff-fest.

Damen knew what people thought about him. Damen knew that people thought he wasn’t living up to his full potential. Damen knew that people thought he was relying too much on his ‘fifteen minutes of fame.’ Damen knew that people thought he’d be left with nothing in five years. Hell, he had heard it enough from his own father, from his brother, from his ex-girlfriend who was now his brother’s fiancé. Nik had heard it all too.

But Damen knew a lot of other things too. Damen knew that ‘lucky’ didn’t even begin to describe his current life and Damen knew that one wasn’t meant to look a gift horse, or lucky horse, in the mouth. Damen knew, after all his experience, how to cultivate fleeting moments into events to be remembered. Damen knew, after all his experience, that networking was by far the most useful career tool. Most importantly, Damen knew he’d never be happy sitting at the head of a boardroom table or behind a desk in an office eight hours a day. And since the opportunity to do what he did had landed in his lap, he knew he would have been a fool to not take it and run with it. Even knowing what people thought, Damen didn’t regret it, not once.

Still, despite what Damen knew, it didn’t make his brain stop replaying every argument he’d had with his family in the past or, in this instance, about an hour ago via phone call. It didn’t matter how many times Nik told him every harsh word out of their mouths was all out of worry on his father’s part, all out of jealousy on his brother Kastor’s part, all out of regret and envy on Kastor’s fiancé’s part. Each argument always left Damen’s head spinning.

It took the chill of the mountain air rushing against his face to pull him back to reality. He and Nik had been in Cortina d’Ampezzo, a ski town in northern Italy, for just over a week. Today was their last day and they were using it to actually enjoy themselves as opposed to creating content. It’s why they were hitting their favorite ski slopes one last time and why there was cold wind ruddying Damen’s cheeks and why specks of snow were hitting his goggles, leaving them streaked with condensation.

Finally where the ground began to level out, Damen turned his legs, shifting them to just the right angle, before he allowed himself to slide and slow down to a gentle stop. Everything felt wobbly under his feet.

“Quit thinking about it.”

Damen looked up to see Nik who had been right behind him on the course. Nik was already pulling at his goggles, at his hat, and he shook his hair free of both bindings. His nose was red. Giving Damen a pointed look to back up his words, he waited a beat before moving to unbuckle his feet from the skis.

“I’m not thinking about it,” Damen said, copying Nik’s movements.

“Yes, you are. You almost veered off course back there.”

“But I didn’t.”

[Continue on AO3]

“You should really let me photograph you when you’re like this,” Nik said. “We can do a whole thing, call it ‘The Real Damen.’ Let everyone know you’re not always big smiles and no shirts, that sometimes you’re a pouty loser.”

“I’m not a pouty loser,” Damen argued, face screwing up with the insult.

“See,” Nik started quickly, snapping and pointing. “That face. Let me take a picture of that face and we’ll show off the human side of you.”

“You’re a dick,” Damen said. “And what do you mean ‘human side’ of me?”

Their feet crunched across the snow as they made their way back to the ski lodge they’d grown fond of in their week here. They’d grown so fond of it that they made sure to take plenty of pictures outside and inside of the place, of the food and drink offered, of the cute-as-a-button ski instructor who had freaked out upon seeing Damen the first time and who had shown them all the tricks to having a successful ski-filled week.

Just before walking in, Nik clapped Damen on the shoulder and said, “You know what I was thinking about while we were skiing? I was thinking about how you’re going to be lucky to even get a pity invite to your own brother’s wedding.”

“You’re a dick,” Damen repeated, but he was laughing. That was something they were both glad about.

Beyond their dinner reservations that night, Damen and Nik had no other plans for their last day in Cortina and so they spent it wandering aimlessly as opposed to how they wandered about the other seven days, like men on a mission. There wasn’t an urgent need to get content out given how their system worked. They were almost always two weeks ahead, minus the times that they needed to post in real time, though whether that came from posting on Damen’s Instagram story or from carefully, but quickly, edited shots Nik completed in double-time depended entirely on the ‘what’ and the ‘who.’

For the next few hours, they meandered around the streets doing the fun things that inspired them to do just this all those years ago. They ran inside local shops, seeing things that weren’t found in every store across the globe, they took in the talented musicians all along the streets – even in the snow – singing heart-pulling melodies, plucking at echoing strings, pounding on drums that were felt in one’s soul, and they ate so much finger food, making themselves nearly sick. Around them were the Dolomites, larger than life and covered in snow, and sometimes Damen looked up at them and remembered how cold it had been up there, how thin the air was. He also looked up and thought about how awesome those pictures were going to look once Nik got around to editing this stop.

By seven o’clock they were back at their hotel, the Hotel Miramonti, which was made famous for being in a James Bond film (For Your Eyes Only (1981) starring Roger Moore). For their final night, final photos, and for that once-in-a-lifetime thing that had been the inspiration for two teenagers’ bucket list, they decided to dress up for dinner in the best suits they could find in such a town and live it like they were James Bond...because you could do that when you were them.

“Do I look like I’m ready to fight international crime?” Damen asked, stepping out while artfully checking his cufflinks.

“You look like a tool,” Nik deadpanned.

“That’s at least the fifth time you’ve been mean to me today” Damen said. He swiped their room card, tucking it into his black leather wallet, and elbowed Nik as they exited the room. It was cold outside in the mountains in January and Damen was grateful for the coat he’d gotten here as well. He shoved his hands into his pockets, watching as air left from his mouth and rose to form clouds in front of his face.

“Only the fifth time? I’m slacking then,” Nik said. They walked in silence, letting the feeling of being in this place wash over them. Cortina was lively at night. Its restaurants and shops were full of laughter and song, people warming their hands near fires and their blood with alcohol, and Damen wondered how many of these people came here every year and how many were first time visitors, equally as awed by the beauty as he was.

Nik was a step behind him, had been a step behind him all day really, and Damen tried not to dwell on it; but, given how his own conversation with his family had gone, he couldn’t help but think about Nik’s own. He was definitely acting like something was wrong, but he hadn’t said a word about any of it.

“Did your dad give you a hard time again?” Damen finally asked.

Nik huffed out a laugh, that familiar one that said everything he didn’t have to. Still, he said “Not as hard a time as your own gave you.”

A car full of young women drove by them and three of the girls had gloved hands extended out the windows, braving the cold for a ‘hello’ at two well-dressed strangers on the street and Damen, ever the charmer, yelled his own ‘hello’ back at them. They laughed as though he said something awfully funny.

There was a small bar just up the road that was clearly the place to be in Cortina on a Thursday evening. The line, careening out the door, was bubbling with impatience, excitement, and the desire for a packed room of body heat to fight the cold. Damen and Nik both watched as a couple talked animatedly to one another before she moved in, pressing what was clearly an ice-cold hand on her boyfriend’s forearm, making him jump. She laughed and he laughed and the guy behind them mocked them both.

“If this place we’re going to ends up being like that one restaurant back home, we should stop by here afterward and get something good,” Damen said.

“I still maintain that one place is lying about their Michelin star,” Nik said as agreement.

“When you’re a Michelin star restaurant with a three-star Yelp rating, something’s up,” Damen said. “Maybe we should change up everything and talk about food instead. We get real heated about food, I think it’d be great.”

Nik hummed and Damen turned, just so, to look at him. He had his phone in hand, eyes scanning the screen like a teenager waiting for someone to text them back. Damen hit him with an elbow, watching as Nik fumbled once to keep his phone from landing on the snow-wet ground.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Nik said, pocketing his phone.

Damen shushed him. “You’ve been weird all day.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yeah, you have.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nik,” Damen huffed.

Nik sighed deeply, his chest rising high underneath the fitted suit jacket, and he looked up to the sky, watching the cold air moved by the disturbance of warmth.

“Look,” he said after a moment’s pause. “I have something I want to talk to you about. It’s something I should have talked to you about weeks ago, but no time seemed right.”

Damen stopped right in the middle of the walkway they were on, but the few people anywhere behind them just walked on by as though not bothered by the brief interruption in their own journeys. “Spill.”

“No, it can wait until we’re on our way to –” Nik trailed.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about at dinner. But let’s talk about this first,” Damen said.

“We need to get on the same page for where we’re going next,” Nik argued. “You know we’re a mess if we don’t have at least ideas in place before we get somewhere.”

“I know, but if whatever this is has you stressed, we should talk about it now.”

“Damen, come on, this is the first dinner we’ve had in seven days that’s not going to be cold by the time we eat it. Let’s just enjoy this, figure out our plans for –”

“I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Right. And then we’ll talk.”

The doors were opened for them because it was that kind of place and they were greeted by a too-gorgeous hostess and an equally stunning coat check attendant who both smiled at them in the dim lighting of the restaurant. They were led to their seats, the way between tables spacious, and just as they were about to sit, Damen put a hand on Nik’s forearm.

“Hang on,” he started. “You’re not bailing on me anytime soon, are you?”

Nik, with his lifetime of patience, didn’t roll his eyes, but the desire to do so was there.

“I knew it,” Damen said with the confidence of someone acting like they had it all figured out.

They ordered wine because they were in Italy and how could they not, and every item on the menu was so tempting Damen spent a good twenty minutes struggling to decide on just one. He decided to voice that fact out loud.

“I know that, at this rate, we’re going to be until the sun rises, but I could genuinely eat everything.”

“Well, choose one of the everything you could eat and get on with telling me about our next destination,” Nik said, having long decided on a nice risotto.

Taking Nik’s words to heart, Damen spent another minute or so finalizing a decision before landing on a bollito misto to pair well with the Barbera wine they had already drained a bottle of.

“Alright. I know we’ve been talking about exploring the more eastern parts of Europe, but given that I’d actually like to have the time to research it and to also not go there in the endings of winter, I’ve decided on a new place in a familiar country,” Damen explained. “Berlin.”

“Berlin?”

“Yes. We’ve spent time in Frankfurt and did that tour of Rothenburg a few years back, but it’s been some time since we’ve been to Germany and Berlin is full of things to do. I could also really do with some of that schnitzel we had that one time.”

“You don’t even remember the schnitzel,” Nik reminded him. “You were so drunk because we were there during Oktoberfest and you were competing against veteran Germans at their own holiday. I told you the schnitzel was good.”

“Well,” Damen started with a laugh, “then I’d like to try the schnitzel and remember it this time!”

They were about to start a meaningless bit of banter, something they always did, like brothers who couldn’t keep their mouths closed and their thoughts to themselves, when Nik’s phone rang, causing a few glances from other patrons in the restaurant. It wasn’t uncommon for them both to get a slew of phone calls throughout the day. They had plenty of family, friends, and acquaintances all around the world to keep them busy, and none of those categories included the times they got called for interviews or received offers from brands to advertise in their posts. When they were out like this though, they were both pretty good at giving their eyes and brains a rest from social media so Damen was surprised to see Nik’s hand jump to his phone as though it was a lifeline, or a ransom.

“I’ve got to take this,” he said after remembering to breathe, and he didn’t wait to get a ‘No problem!’ or ‘What’s going on?’ from Damen. Instead he quickly and politely stood from the table and excused himself out the door that led to the currently empty outdoor sitting area.

Damen couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward in his seat like a nosy ya-ya watching the neighbors from her open kitchen window. It was dark out and the lighting of the outdoor seating area was minimal given nobody was going to brave the cold just for dinner and a view; it made it hard to see Nik who was swathed in an already-dark suit. Still, Damen watched, hoping to see something akin to relief or peace or excitement or something good take over his best friend’s face and replace the anxiety that had been there as they had talked on their walk to the restaurant.

For the first few minutes, Damen, continuously sipping on his wine and munching on the bread sitting on the table, could just see him through the throng of people between their table and the door, through the smaller windows of the door itself, through the decorative greenery falling into perfect place just beyond the entrance. Nik was standing there, back to the window, with one arm up and holding the phone to his ear and the other crossed over his chest, hand clenching at the fabric of his newly rented suit. In the time it took Damen to order another drink and wait for its arrival, Nik moved, his walk and talk taking him out of Damen’s eyesight. So, Damen continued to sip on his drink, waiting.

And waiting. And waiting. And ordering another drink. And waiting. And waiting.

It was safe to say Damen’s head was appropriately fuzzy when Nik came back, goosebumps on the exposed skin of his wrists. Damen watched him carefully, looking for familiar signs of something good, but the only thing Damen could recognize was a thrumming anxiety he hadn’t seen since Nik hit the decline button on his acceptance to university all those years ago.

“What was that about?” Damen asked. The words felt heavy – no, furry – on his tongue.

When Nik finally looked up at him and took in the almost-emptied wine glass, he physically shook his head no, as though telling himself instead of Damen. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Are you sure?” Damen asked. The tablecloth was moving with the shaking of Nik’s leg.

“Yeah, it can wait.”

Even though Nik said it could wait, it clearly couldn’t. The remainder of dinner was tense. It felt weighed down by the phone call that had Nik all discombobulated. Damen had tried for conversation, had tried explaining plans for a stopover in Germany, but he was drunk, and things were coming out jumbled and Nik was only responding with disinterested sounding hums, so Damen stopped trying. He opted for more wine instead.

The walk back to the hotel was even worse than the remainder of dinner. Nik seemed to do everything he could to keep with the day’s pattern of staying one step behind Damen at all times and Damen was so focused on walking in a straight line that he couldn’t keep the energy about him to care, not until they were back at the hotel and attempting a climb up the staircase to their room. 407.

Damen tried swiping the room card once, twice, and he was too uncoordinated having exhausted all the energy on walking. Nik gently pried the card from Damen’s hands and, once inside, beelined straight for the bathroom, hands pulling at the suit that felt sweltering in northern Italy’s chilly January weather, and Damen sat down on one of the beds, fingers fumbling with the fine laces of his shoes. It seemed like an eternity until Nik came back out, the whole scene nearly identical to the one at dinner, but Damen had had time to come up with something to say this time, even if his brain was still fuzzy – furry? – with Barbera wine.

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked, the laugh in his voice unavoidable with the wording, but the honest fear behind the words tangible.

“What?” Nik asked, incredulously. He looked a lot more comfortable, dressed as they usually did in shorts and a thin t-shirt. It was his old football tee from school, the number on the back almost completely faded and the lion of their team name not near as ferocious as it had once been.

“Did your family finally get to you? Did you finally get a real job? Are you going to be a salary man now? Are you going to wear a suit like the one tonight all the time?”

There was a beat, then two, and then Nik was laughing, the sound so wonderful after hours of strained silence. And it was such an infectious laugh – though whether that was because the situation was actually funny, because it was late in the evening, or because Damen was still drunk, he wasn’t sure – that Damen started to laugh too. They laughed so loud and so long that someone in a room next to them banged twice on the wall, shouting something indiscernibly Italian through their laughter.

“You really think I could give up all of this for a desk job back home?” Nik asked, though they both knew the question was rhetorical. They had talked about it enough in their travels for it to be too familiar a topic. “I’m not going anywhere. But you might after I tell you about that phone call.”

“Try me.”

Nik sat down across from him on the other bed, leg shaking like it had been at the restaurant. He looked like a man standing at the gallows, allowing himself to be subjected to his fate. And Damen was quite confused and continued to be confused even as Nik started to speak.

“Do you remember three months ago when we were in Morocco and I woke you up at three in the morning and dragged you out to take pictures until after the sun had risen?”

“I definitely remember that because I was not happy. You didn’t even let me get coffee.”

“Do you remember how you told me that that whole thing was really weird and the day after you said it was even weirder that I spent over twelve hours going through all the photos and getting them edited the way they needed to be?”

Damen hummed. “Yeah, you’re not usually that anal about it all.” Nik sighed heavily at him.

“I was finishing my portfolio to send to,” Nik sighted again, “well, a lot of places. Places in Paris. For Paris Fashion Week.”

The raising of Damen’s eyebrow said everything he didn’t have to and Nik put his hands out in an almost defensive manner, face mimicking Damen’s own of surprise, as though he was surprised by himself for saying it, for doing it.

“I know I’ve never shown interest in photographing the fashion world, but the opportunity can’t be overlooked. Especially if I want to stand out from the thousands, or millions, of social media photographers out there. I saw Lazar, that French photographer we ran into last year, talking about it and the impulsivity hit me.”

“You’re never impulsive,” Damen said.

“But I was.” Nik stood and moved to the window, eyes searching the barely illuminated night of Cortina. “I spent a day thinking about how I was submitting my type of work to a bunch of snobs in the fashion industry who don’t care about anything we do. Then I forgot about it. We were busy enough and it wasn’t the most important thing to be focused on, so it fell to the back of my mind. It wasn’t until I saw Lazar say Dior had called him that I started to try and brush it off as a lost opportunity, but two days later I got an email from a man named Estienne asking if I would be available for a phone call. A phone call from Etoile whose owner called at dinner and offered me an opportunity to come shoot for them.”

“Wait, which brand is Etoile?” Damen asked.

“You’ve seen them before. They were big in the news about two years ago for a floral design they did for their fall collection. They’re also the only all-male modeling and clothing agency in Paris,” Nik said.

“And they called you? They want you to come to Paris and photograph their models and their clothes during the,” Damen struggled for a moment to find a good comparison, “fashion Olympics?”

“Calm down,” Nik said, but he was smiling; he couldn’t help smiling. “Because this time is such a big deal for all the brands and because they get so many applications, they’ve called ten photographers back. They want us all to come to Paris early and attend a few photoshoots with their runway models. They want us to get to know them, to familiarize ourselves with the models and the fabrics. The owner says he believes photography is best when the subjects are familiar. After that, they’re going to choose four photographers to stay for fashion week.”

“Nik,” Damen said once. “Nik! This is amazing, this is –” he got up, coming up next to Nik at the window, and smacked him hard in the arm. “Why they hell didn’t you tell me sooner? Why didn’t you want to tell me tonight?”

“I didn’t want to tell you when I was putting it together because I didn’t want it to be a thing. You get intense about anything that could remotely be viewed as a competition and I didn’t want you getting caught up in something that, honestly, I thought had little opportunity to be a success. And then tonight I was just nervous for the call and then it happened, and I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“You didn’t know how to tell me you got offered the opportunity of a lifetime?” Damen asked incredulously.

“No, I didn’t know how to tell you that I’m going to be in Paris for at least a whole month,” Nik said. “I know you can do some of your own stuff, but also most of your ‘stuff’ is you doing shirtless workouts on your story. And while that keeps your followers, you’re a shit photographer and a whole month without new content might be too long. I was going to wait until I could contact a few people who could maybe meet up with you in a few places and be temporary fill-ins for me.”

“Dude,” Damen said, starting to laugh again. He smacked Nik’s shoulder even harder this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about because I’m not going anywhere without you anytime soon.”

Nik’s eyebrows furrowed close together, wrinkling his forehead and squinting his eyes, and he looked ridiculous. “But it’s going to be an entire month, Damen. I don’t think you’ve stayed in the same place longer than a week since you came down with the flu while we were in Wales.”

“I’ve never had a reason to stay in one place longer than a week. But to miss out on seeing you around a bunch of highbrow models and their high maintenance lives? I’d regret that the rest of my life.”

It was Nik’s turn to smack Damen in the shoulder. His hit was harder than any of Damen’s had been, but Damen didn’t even flinch. He smiled, the smile of a proud brother that just watched his own kin graduate or a father having taught his child to ride a bicycle, and it made Nik turn away from him to hide his own smile.

“Besides, I think Paris has plenty to offer us for a month. I’m all about once in a lifetime opportunities and front row seats at Paris Fashion Week seems like one of those, even if I don’t quite get it. And who knows, Nik,” Damen said, getting Nik’s attention back on him. “It’s the city of lights, the city of love.” He waggled his brows. “Maybe we’ll finally get you a girlfriend and you can stop saying photography is your only love.”

Nik smacked him again.

Surprisingly, Nik fell asleep first just an hour later. It gave Damen time to come down from the wine, to let the chill from the room sober him up, and he laid there, letting his mind wander freely and his eyes get heavy when two far too sobering thoughts hit him at the same time.

Reaching under his own head, Damen pulled at the pillow and flung it with perfect precision so it hit Nik in the face with a resounding thwack, making Nik yelp and snuffle with a startle.

“Wha—?”

“Are we going to Berlin tomorrow or not?” Damen asked. “We never decided.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Nik said, definitely half-asleep and thinking of nothing but falling back to complete-sleep.

“Hey.” Damen threw another pillow with the exact same perfect precision.

“Damen, I swear to god,” Nik grumbled into the pillow that was now on top of his face.

“I’m mad at you.”

“About?”

“You’re doing something our families would consider worthwhile now,” Damen said. “This goes way beyond social media. Now my dad’s going to call me going ‘Why can’t you be more like Nik? Why don’t you have any skills beyond standing for pictures? Why do you insist on shaming the family name?’”

Nik was laughing. “Go to sleep, Damen.”

Damen was laughing too.

[clefaiiiry]

Thanks to @tumblunni for beta reading :p

Companion to this.

Title: Clarity

Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions

Word Count: 5,265

Characters: Jun | Barry, Hikari | Dawn, Shirona | Cynthia, Akagi | Cyrus, Handsome | Looker, Dr. Nanakamado | Professor Rowan, Saturn (Pokemon)

Additional Tags: Friendship, Sign Language, Selectively Mute Dawn, Recovery Process, Implied Twinleafshipping, Japanese Names as Surnames

AO3 Version

“Only an idiot would go after him,” Barry had said.

It was unfortunate for them that Dawn had never thought highly of her own intelligence.

The pocket dimension (or the Distortion World as Cynthia had called it) was unlike anything Dawn could compare to. It was cold, colder than she was used to even after living her entire life in Sinnoh, but she felt no desire to bundle herself deeper into her coat. Even so, she lingered closer to Infernape than usual.

Gravity appeared to be inconsistent. Dawn had taken to using the tall grey trees that sprung up at seeming random angles. Some walls would pull her down while others would crumble if even the slightly pressure was applied. The swirling blue vortex seemed to be impossibly close and terrifyingly distant at the same time. She tried not to think about it too hard.

The air was heavy with dread, the faint cries of the Pokémon that inhabited this lonely place echoed through the empty space.

Infernape chirped as he clambered up a rock for better vantage of the area. The sprawling floating islands stretched for as far as Dawn could see. But she still couldn’t spot the Galactic leader.

[How hard is it to find one anti-social weirdo?] Dawn signed. Infernape shrugged.

The ground shook violently, a long shadow rose up across the two. While the tremors finally calmed, the shadows took shape. The huge creature that had torn open a rift as Dialga and Palkia were summoned. It took all her self-control to make sure she didn’t start shaking.

Why are you here, dear sweet child? It didn’t speak directly, it’s voice floated in the empty space from no discernible direction.

[I’m here to bring Cyrus back to our world,] she signed. The creature sagged.

A man like that has no interest in returning to the complete world. Why bother?

[Everyone deserves redemption.]

The creature’s body shook, as if laughing, though it remained audibly silent. Ah, that’s it? How utterly hopeless. Before she could argue, it swooped over her, curving around the floating islands with the grace of a Milotic.

He is closer than you think, dear sweet child.

The TV set in Rowan’s lab was about a decade too old to be in such a high-tech environment, but the staff had grown to appreciate the background noise. It was often left on the news, but anyone was free to switch channels with permission.

Barry had long since abandoned the samples he was pretending to look over as he gave his full attention to the slightly fuzzy image. A fake talk show host sat across the desk from Champion Cynthia Shirona.

“Thanks again for coming on, I’m sure you must be awfully busy these days,” the host said, his grin so wide that it almost split his face. Cynthia offered a pleasant smile in return and Barry almost believed it.

“It’s not a problem, we don’t get many challengers these days.”

“Why do you think that is, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Cynthia’s smile wavered for a moment. “I believe it is out of respect for the previous Champion. Miss Hikari only reigned for a few months and never lost a battle in her time as Champion. I feel as though I am not a suitable substitute, and many hope to battle her when she returns.”

The host leaned back in his chair. “Do you have any idea when that may be?”

After a moment of silence, she said, “I can’t say for certain, we don’t know enough about what happened to her to properly predict the outcome. But it’s been a year already and some are beginning to doubt that she may ever come back.”

The host tutted in pity. “We can only hope that Miss Hikari returns home safely.”

Static overtook the screen and Barry groaned, sitting up to tinker with the antenna.

“Need a hand?”

Barry glanced up at the voice. Lucas dropped to a crouch beside him and gave the TV a good whack. Barry snorted.

“You know that doesn’t actually work, right?”

But the image onscreen fizzled back to life. Lucas smirked. “Don’t argue with results.”

His expression faltered when he saw Cynthia.

“Miss Hikari’s family and friends are still grieving for their loss even after all this time,” she said, turning her attention towards the camera, “I ask for only respect from the people of Sinnoh.”

Lucas took off his hat and rubbed the back of his head. “Jeez, it feels like yesterday.”

“She was gonna be eighteen today,” Barry grumbled, though didn’t look up from the screen, “we always said we would go on a trip around Unova or Kalos or something...”

With a sigh, Lucas pushed to his feet and went to open a window. Sandgem Town was only just warming up after a particularly harsh winter, but Lucas had always insisted that the fresh air was good for them.

“I asked the Professor for a field assignment,” he said, lifting a box marked ‘For Oreburgh’ and passing it off to Kadabra, “he’s sending us off to Lake Valor for a week to look at how the Pokémon in the surrounding areas are adapting-”

“After Team Galactic blew it up,” Barry interjected.

Lucas shuffled awkwardly. “Well, yeah, basically.”

“Great...” Barry huffed as he pushed to his feet. When he noticed how Lucas was playing with his coat, he sighed. “I do appreciate the effort, but couldn’t you have gotten anywhere else?”

“It was the only one still open,” Lucas offered meekly, “And I thought it might be good for you to try and face some of this stuff. You can’t exactly avoid it forever...”

As much as Barry hated to admit it, Lucas was right. He’d already put off revisiting the lakes since Dawn disappeared; it brought up too many emotions he wasn’t ready to face. He hadn’t set foot in Veilstone City either, not wanting anything to do with the ‘reformed’ Team Galactic. He knew they were up to something, there was no way they would suddenly shift into a genuine energy company overnight.

“If that’s too much,” Lucas began, “we can start off in Sendoff Spring and work our way up.”

After a long moment, Barry finally nodded.

“So long as we don’t stay in Veilstone.”

Barry had only ever seen Sendoff Spring in photos. They really didn’t do the place justice. It had the clearest water he had ever seen. Goldeen and Magikarp gathered in small clumps, a rare Seaking or even rarer Gyarados poking their heads above the surface to make sure these humans wouldn’t cause any trouble.

Lucas was perched on Torterra’s back as he set up the time lapse camera, muttering to himself as he worked.

“We left a few gauges in Turnback Cave last time we were here,” he said as he rummaged through he duffle bag, “if you wanna go check on them.”

Barry glanced over to the Golduck who were sizing them up from behind the treeline. “Will you be okay by yourself? What about the buddy system?”

Lucas laughed. “It’s fine, I’ll be with you in, like, five minutes.”

Even with Lucas’ assurances, he left Empoleon to keep watch. He found himself regretting his choice of footwear as his trainers struggled to keep grip on the rocky slopes. He ended stumbling and landing on his ass. A pair of Bibarel snickered at him but a quick glare sent them scurrying back into the tall grass.

Everything Barry knew about Sinnoh’s mythology came from Dawn or Cynthia. He certainly wouldn’t go out of his way to study it himself; most of it was pretty dull to him anyway.

Flood lights illuminated the first room, the signs of archaeological excavation everywhere. Cynthia had recently given the go ahead for a dig so long as the local Pokémon populations weren’t disturbed. Barry clambered over the tools and pits, finding the gauges Lucas had been talking about along the back wall.

He had started jotting down the numbers when he heard a heavy, dull sound. Almost as if something was being dragged. Barry reached for his belt, fingers gracing his Poké Balls.

Carefully sliding one foot in front of the other, he creeped along the wall. The sound grew louder as he moved closer to a sprawling painting of the Lake Spirits until another sound made him jump to action.

“Help... Anyone...?”

Someone was behind the wall. Barry threw out Snorlax and yelled through the wall as loud as his lungs could manage,

“Stand back, I’ll get you out!” He whipped around to face his Pokémon. “Body Slam!”

Snorlax roared as he threw himself into the wall with all the force he could muster. The wall cracked and groaned. A weak yelp came from the other side.

“Again!” Barry yelled. Snorlax obeyed. The section of wall shuddered and collapsed, dust billowing up into the air and catching in Barry’s throat and eyes. He choked and spluttered for a few seconds, fanning his face in a meek attempt to clear the air.

When it finally settled, Barry climbed through the hole and squinted through the darkness.

“Hello?” He called, doing a full three-sixty-turn before he caught sight of bright eyes in the dark.

Luxray eyes.

He fumbled for his torch. His heart almost stopped.

Before him stood a girl, who hadn’t changed in the year she’d been gone. Not physically at least. Her eyes were wild, her stance weaker, leaning on her Luxray for support. Her scarf was hanging untied from her neck, her coat tied around her waist, but her trusty hat remained in place.

Luxray stood strong, her frame wary, weighed down by an unconscious man draped over her back. But Barry couldn’t find it in him to care about that.

“Dawn?” he asked slowly, easing forward.

Dawn’s tired face eased into a relieved smile. “Barry...” she sighed, her voice scratchy from lack of use.

And then she fainted.

The closest hospital was Veilstone, so despite Barry’s preferences, they found themselves sat in the hallway of Veilstone Memorial, twiddling their thumbs and trying not to panic.

Cynthia arrived about an hour after they had first check in, flustered and closely followed by Looker from Interpol.

“Somehow the press already knows that they’re back,” Cynthia said as she paused to catch her breath, “there’s a crowd of reporters outside wanting to know what the deal is.”

“Holy shit,” was all Barry could say.

After the third hour, Professor Rowan appeared, his expression unreadable. Looker finally let out a regretful sigh.

“I know emotions are still high, but I need to take a statement,” he said, looking to Barry and Lucas.

Barry explained what had happened, conveniently leaving out how he’d destroyed a potentially priceless wall painting when Cynthia was still present.

“Wait, I thought she was mute?” Looker asked with a frown.

“Selectively,” Barry explained, “it’s her anxiety.”

“Ah, I see...” Looker muttered as he scribbled down notes in his pad.

Cynthia cleared her throat. “What about Cy- Akagi? Was he... awake when you found them?”

With a shake of his head, Barry said, “No, he was out. Luxray was carrying him.”

“Their Pokémon are at the nearby Centre to make sure they haven’t suffered any ill effects from their time in the other world,” Lucas added.

She seemed a little disappointed with the answer, but said nothing.

Rowan seemed to notice. “Miss Shirona, would you mind accompanying me for a short walk?”

Cynthia exchanged a glance with Looker before she nodded. The two strolled away, speaking in hushed tones.

When Barry frowned, Looker said, “They used to be close. Miss Shirona and Mr Akagi. Grew up together I believe.”

“Cynthia was friends with him?” Barry’s voice dripped with disgust.

Lucas narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly silenced himself.

It was the seventh hour when a doctor came by to confirm that Dawn was stable but still unconscious. She encouraged the boys to head to bed and get some rest. It was only then that Barry realised it was past eleven o’clock and his body sagged with sudden exhaustion. Looker held back to question the doctor, but Barry and Lucas headed for the Pokémon Centre.

As Cynthia had mentioned, there were a few reporters outside. Most of them had headed off when they figured out that they weren’t going to get any of the juicy stuff from staking out the joint. That or the hospital staff had forced them to move along. Only the truly dedicated or clueless remained and they tried to pounce on the boys for an interview only to be totally ignored.

The nurses at the Pokémon Centre handed over a set of Poké Balls once Barry and Lucas could prove their identities. Dawn’s Poké Balls.

“What about Akagi’s?” Lucas asked.

“Miss Shirona already came by a while ago and picked them up.”

Their room was basic, but they didn’t need anything fancy. Lucas was asleep in seconds, snoring like a freight train as soon as his head hit the pillow. Barry lay awake staring at the ceiling. He barely slept a wink.

It was about a week before Dawn was awake and lucid enough to accept visitors. Before they headed in, the doctor pulled them aside to explain the rules.

“Don’t make any sudden moves or loud noises, don’t mention anything about Mt Coronet, and do not tell her anything about Mr Akagi’s condition outside of ‘he’s fine.’ She is still experiencing high levels of stress and anxiety. If she goes into a panic attack, call the nurse.”

Lucas went in first, insisting it was better for Barry to calm himself down before he raced in shouting and freaked her out any more. He begrudgingly accepted.

While he waited, Looker appeared and sat beside him.

“I’ll have to head in after you,” he said.

“Doctor said you can’t ask her about what happened,” Barry warned. Looker sighed.

“I expected as much... But at the very least I want to see how she’s doing with my own eyes.” He reached down to pet Croagunk. “Akagi is still totally out of it. If he does wake up he’s completely hysterical.”

“Honestly? I don’t care if he gets any better,” Barry said. Looker stared at him with an expression he couldn’t figure out.

“Why do you say that?”

“You gotta forgive me for not having much sympathy for the guy who tried to destroy the universe and dragged my best friend through a wormhole.”

“My understanding was that Miss Hikari followed from her own will?”

“You get what I mean!” Barry snapped. “Dawn was always too nice for her own good! She thought that even something like... that can be forgiven. He doesn’t deserve her sympathy.”

Looker sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “I don’t think she thought he deserved her help, but she thought he needed it.” He tapped his temple. “That’s the working theory, at least.”

“I’m doubting your ‘working theory,’ Mister Looker.”

“If you think that is questionable, don’t read any of the newspaper articles that came out over the last week.”

Barry had made a point of avoiding any news stations after Lucas noted that he would probably just get angry at whatever he saw.

There was a distinct click of the door reopening and Lucas poked his head out. He glanced between Barry and Looker with a frown.

“Is now a bad time?”

Barry pushed to his feet and made his way to the door without looking back. “Now is great,” he said as he shouldered past Lucas into the room. Lucas tensed, ready to bite back but he thought better of it and slipped out, closing the door behind him.

It was like a dream, from the way the light filtered through the window to how utterly defeated the girl in the bed looked.

In all the years he had known her, Barry had rarely seen Dawn looking so broken. The only other time he could think of was after her mother had locked her out one night in their early teenaged years. She had turned up on his doorstep in tears but refused to speak of it the following morning.

Dawn glanced over as he entered and gave him a fragile smile.

“I know, I look super weird without my hat,” she said, her voice straining as she spoke.

The only people she spoke aloud to were Barry, Lucas, and Cynthia but even then she preferred to sign when possible. Barry frowned.

“You don’t have to talk.”

She shrugged. “My arms are tired from talking to the doctors.”

There was a chair next to the bed, dragged over from the corner and battered from excessive wear and tear. Barry slowly lowered himself into it and offered a hand to Dawn. She took it and rubbed a thumb over his knuckles.

“I missed you,” she said. Those words broke something within Barry. His chest felt tight and his eyes stung as tears sprung up in the corners of his eyes. He reached up to wipe them with his free hand.

“I missed you so much,” he sobbed, clutching her hand like a lifeline.

With a soft tug, he found himself bundled into a tight hug. Dawn lightly stroked his back as he wheezed and bawled. His words stopped making sense as he rambled for what felt like hours. She never said a word, just let him cry and kept stroking his back.

Once he’d finally calmed down enough to speak properly, he pulled back to wipe his face. “Why... Why did you leave?”

Dawn blinked in confusion for a moment before the words finally settled and she looked to the window. She squeezed Barry’s hand.

“Giratina would’ve destroyed him if I let him go in there alone.”

White hot rage shot through him. “Who cares about him?! You could’ve died!”

Dawn jumped at his volume. He immediately recoiled with apologies.

“I’m sorry I just... I was so scared that I’d never see you again. That you’d just thrown everything away from some asshole who wanted to destroy everything.”

The air was heavy and cold, making him shudder. Dawn’s eyes were hard.

“You don’t know anything about what happened,” she said, her free hand tightening in the sheets, “you weren’t there. So don’t you dare try to paint this like some black and white issue because this isn’t like one of those dumb cartoons we used to watch.”

Her voice started to quiver in her throat, as if it were about to give out. “Why would I throw away my life for someone I didn’t think deserved a second chance? If he was as evil as you think then why...” She coughed and gasped around the words. “Why did Cynthia cry when she found out he was still alive? Why did Rowan look so relieved? Why would anyone care about a man if he were pure evil?”

“I...” Barry couldn’t form anything, his response dying before it could escape, “I didn’t think...”

“No... you didn’t think with your head. You just went with your heart...” She smiled fondly. “Like you always do.” It was her turn to cry. “It’s why you’re my best friend. But...” Her voice almost gave out with a croak. “I need you to trust me on this... Please, Barry...”

They were quiet for a long moment, only the foggy sounds of the city outside and the nurses roaming the halls punctuating their moment.

“Okay...” Barry hugged her once more. “I trust you.”

Over the next month, Barry dropped in to visit every opportunity he had. Between the short visitor hours and his job at Rowan’s Lab he could rarely spend more than an hour with her, but Dawn appreciated the effort.

“It’s not like there’s anything else to do around here,” she had said, “the doctors won’t tell me anything.”

The time spent in the hospital was either in her room or the rehabilitation centre. Her time in the other world had weakened her muscles and left her easily disorientated and her Chatot was left with her at all times to alert staff of impending panic attacks.

Occasionally her perception of reality slipped and she was back in the other world, clawing at the sheets and crying out for anything to cling to. Barry soon learnt that the worse thing he could do was the call the doctors. She seemed to settle faster if a familiar face was there instead of a looming stranger in a white coat. Not to say that they didn’t work hard to make sure her recovery was as smooth as possible, but there were a few areas in which Barry didn’t trust them as much as he trusted himself.

Whenever they met up, he tried to keep her updated on the situation outside but she could only deal with so much before she wanted to talk about something else.

Dawn tried not to talk about Team Galactic around Barry. Anything about them came from Cynthia or Rowan.

One day, about three weeks after she’d checked in, Barry noticed flowers on her bedside table.

“Apparently they’re from Saturn,” Dawn said as she reached over to readjust the arrangement, “or whatever it is he goes by these days.”

It took far too much self-control not to make a point of knocking them down.

Before he could comment, she had asked about how Lucas was doing and they didn’t mention Team Galactic again for the rest of the exchange.

With Dawn still under the watchful eye of the hospital staff, Cynthia had been turning down interviews from all angles. Interpol was hanging around, trying their best to be covert but everyone knew of their presence. It was enough to scare off most of the reporters, so Barry didn’t mind too much.

It was week four before Dawn finally got sick of not being told anything by the doctors and asked Barry to bring in outside goods. He started sneaking in snacks and newspapers, something Lucas didn’t have the heart to discourage.

“If anyone finds out, I don’t know you,” Lucas joked, but from the look on his face he’d been totally serious.

Dawn always accepted the papers with a mix of excitement and dread. Barry had purposely avoided sensationalist papers and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“What’s the worst one you’ve seen?” she asked, glancing up from the headline ‘Champion Hikari is expected to make full recovery.’

“Some folks from Kalos are trying to push the secret love affair angle.”

Dawn retched. “Ew! That’s so gross! Are you serious?” When Barry nodded, she groaned. “People are the worst...”

Barry shuffled his feet awkwardly. “How much do you know about...”

“About Cyrus’ condition?” Dawn sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “Only what Cynthia told me. That he’s awake more often but he’s always hysterical unless Cynthia or one of his Pokémon is there.” She looked down, brushing some loose hair behind her ear. “He asks about me a lot. He thought I was dead for the first week until Cynthia could get him to calm down.”

When Barry said nothing in response, she trailed off.

“Sorry, I know you don’t care about him.”

With a shrug, Barry said, “I’m trying this ‘empathy’ thing, but it’s kinda hard.”

Dawn laughed. “You’re trying your best and that’s what matters.”

Week five rolled around and Barry felt oddly apprehensive as he entered the hospital. Cynthia was trying to convince the doctors to let her move Cyrus to the medical centre at the Pokémon League, though hadn’t had much luck so far.

She was in a Holo Caster call when Barry spotted her in the lobby, foot tapping rapidly as she let out a huff. She hung up on the person mid-sentence.

“Jeez, what did that guy ever do to you?” Barry joked. Cynthia rolled her eyes.

“Another station wanting an interview. I’m gonna need a secretary at this rate.”

They made their way to the ward, exchanging tips on Roserade care when they noticed a familiar face.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to come by,” Cynthia said softly, reaching out to shake Saturn’s hand.

The young man was awfully stiff, his frame holding no strength. It was hard to believe he was now the head of the leading energy provider for Sinnoh. He took the offered hand through obligation rather than comradery.

“I feel as though I owe him a visit at the very least,” he muttered, “blame Mabel.”

Cynthia chuckled. “Fair enough, I’ll show you to his room if you wish.”

Saturn just nodded and trailed closely behind her, like a child making sure they wouldn’t lose their mother while out shopping.

“I’ll meet up with you later, okay Barry?”

Barry just nodded, watching until the two disappeared around a corner. He headed off to Dawn’s room.

“What do you mean I can’t see her? She’s my daughter!”

The doctor looked exhausted, the effects of this morning’s coffee having not yet kicked in. “She has explicitly requested that you are not allowed in to see her.”

“This is ridiculous!” Johanna threw up her hands in dismay. “You can’t stop me from going in!”

“Ma’am, we keep telling you that we can’t let you in.”

Barry hoped to sneak past without being noticed but the woman whirled round as soon as she heard movement, eyes focusing on him like a Mandibuzz.

“And you! How dare you ignore my calls! I have a right to know what’s going on here!”

“Please, Mrs Hikari, you’re making a scene-”

“Not until this little brat-”

Barry looked straight past her to the doctor. “Am I alright to go in?”

The doctor nodded. Johanna sounded about she was about to start sobbing. He paid her no mind as he pushed into Dawn’s room.

Soft music came from the radio set on her bedside table. She had managed to convince the doctors to let her keep it, even if it did have access to news stations. They couldn’t protect her from the outside world forever

Dawn didn’t look away from the window as Barry walked in, humming softly to herself. “Morning,” she said, stretching a hand out for him to take.

“Did you know your mom’s here?”

She scoffed. “How could I not? She’s gonna scream the place down. I can’t tell if she’s genuinely worried or just mad that all the effort she put into her precious protégé is gonna be for nothing.”

Dawn’s words held venom unlike anything he had ever heard from her. She had never been one to outwardly bad-mouth how her mother had raised her, that was Barry’s job. Dawn always found herself trying to excuse her mother’s behaviour, no matter the seriousness.

What had happened to her in the other world?

“Dawn...”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, waving her hand, “I’ll be fine, just...” She took a deep breath. “Give me a minute.”

The music from the radio drifted into soft piano, an old Kalosian piece that had been growing in popularity recently. Barry pushed up to his feet and extended his hand to Dawn.

“What...?”

“Come on, I don’t think we’ve danced since we were twelve.”

Dawn blinked once, twice, and reached up to wipe her face. She took his hand and slid her legs over the side of the bed. Physical rehabilitation had been going well but she was still shaky on her legs. After some careful manoeuvring, she perched her bare feet on stop of his heavy boots and let him guide her around the small room, swaying out of tempo with the music.

They didn’t care, both simply content to be together without having to worry about the outside world.

Dawn was released after two months, but only under the agreement that she would inform the doctors immediately if she experienced any issues and would continue to attend therapy sessions once a week.

Meanwhile Cynthia had somehow convinced the doctors that Cyrus was ready to be discharged alongside her. Either the doctors were just sick of her asking or just didn’t want to deal with him anymore. Barry was willing to believe both.

It was only after he and Cynthia went to pick them up that he realised he hadn’t seen Cyrus since the initial discovery in Turnback Cave. He wasn’t exactly on the edge of his seat to see the man again but accepted that it was going to happen whether he wanted it or not.

The lobby was strangely quiet, though Barry assumed it had something to do with Interpol. Looker hovered besides the two, Dawn excitedly signing as Cyrus struggled to keep up.

The agreement was for Cyrus to stay with Dawn on Route 229, but Cynthia would be arranging for a psychiatrist if necessary.

Barry had offered to take her back to Twinleaf Town, but Dawn had made herself very clear that she had no intention of going back.

[Besides, there aren’t enough bedrooms even if I did want to stay there,] she signed.

The Villa on Route 229 had barely been touched since the incident at the Spear Pillar. Barry and Lucas would drop by every month or so to make sure everything was in working order, but it otherwise stayed empty. It was far enough away to give them space, but close enough to society that they could seek out assistance if necessary.

Tension leaked from Dawn’s form when she opened the door. She and Cynthia went to pack away her things, leaving Barry with Looker and Cyrus.

“Interpol will be dropping by throughout the next few weeks to make sure you’re settling,” Looker said as he glanced to Cyrus, “and to make sure you don’t start anything. Nothing personal, just a cautionary action.”

Cyrus just nodded.

“Right then,” Looker fixed his poor posture and glanced to Barry, “are you sticking around as well?”

“For as long as Dawn wants me here, yeah.”

Looker smiled and opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it and shook his head.

“Then, gentlemen, I wish you well,” Looker bowed his head, turned on his heel and headed out into the cool spring air.

Cynthia left shortly after she was certain everything was secure. Duty called.

“We’ll have another battle at some point to see who gets to keep the title,” she said as she summoned Garchomp.

[We both know I’ll win,] Dawn signed smugly. Cynthia threw back her head as she laughed.

“We’ll see about that.”

She turned her attention to Cyrus, who had been silent since they arrived.

“Are you gonna be okay? I can stick around if you want?”

Cyrus was still looking at his feet. He shook his head.

[If anything happens, I’ll give you a call,] Dawn signed.

With a sigh, Cynthia reached over to pat his shoulder. Cyrus finally met her eyes. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help. It’s why you’re here.”

Cyrus stared at her for a long moment, shoulders tensed like a cornered Pokémon. He remained strung high even as Cynthia took her hand away, turning to climb up onto Garchomp’s back.

“Have a good night. I’m not too far away if you need any help, okay?”

[I think we’ll be okay, thanks Cynthia.] Dawn smiled wide. [Have a safe trip.]

With one last look, Cynthia gave her partner a pat. “Come on, let’s get going,” she said. Garchomp chirped and took a running start before taking off, propelling herself upwards into the clear sky.

They watched until the dragon disappeared from sight.

[smartgirlsaremean]

My Heart’s in the Highlands - Chapter 4

Fandom: OUAT

Pairing: Bellish

Rating: T

Summary: With Rumplestiltskin gone, Belle can't face going back to the Enchanted Forest without him. She leaves Storybrooke forever, travels the world, and ends up in a small village in Scotland, where she meets a constable with a very familiar face.

AO3

Chapter 4: A Frieze and a Litany

The further Belle climbed up into the hills, the lighter she felt. Lochdubh was no bustling metropolis, but today the mildest, friendliest conversation would be an irritant. She’d always been an odd duck, even in Avonlea: she was more inclined to spend time with her books than with people and preferred libraries to ballrooms, and in a society that valued its women more for their social graces and beauty than for their intelligence, she had received her fair share of bemused looks and wary glances. The people of Lochdubh, though, had so far taken her under their wings like the delightful fellow odd ducks they were. It wasn’t their fault that she didn’t want to be around anyone on this particular day.

As she walked out onto a flatter section of the hill, she took a shaky breath, not attempting to stem the flow of tears. She was reminded forcibly of the rock trolls of Arendelle here, where a number of moss-covered boulders were scattered about and the mountains stretched up all around her. Bending down, Belle picked up a smooth gray stone and turned it over in her hand, wishing all of a sudden that she could transfer into it all her memories of the Enchanted Forest and the Dark Castle and Rumplestiltskin, not to forget them forever, but in order to have them available to her always. Every day the memories lost some of their sharpness and clarity, and she dreaded the inevitable day that she woke up and struggled to recall Rumple’s impish voice and golden eyes.

The wind picked up and Belle turned the stone over in her hand as she walked a little further out towards the view of the harbor. The water was covered in little white waves and she could make out a few people walking on the shore and along the pier. Today’s melancholy aside, she was happier in Lochdubh than she had been in a very long time - since the days just after Rumple’s return from Neverland, in fact. She had a purpose again, and while it wasn’t exactly of the far-reaching, world-changing nature she’d expected when she dreamed of heroism, it was a worthy purpose.

Neal, Emma, and Henry were still safe in New York and hadn’t heard a peep from northern Maine or any other realms. Neal’s weekly emails reassured her that Rumple’s sacrifice hadn’t been in vain, that Neal was happy and healthy and thriving with his girlfriend (had he married her yet? Belle didn’t think so) and his son. Henry would start middle school in the fall, Emma had resumed her work as a bailbondsperson, and Neal had gone into graphic design. That had been a little amusing to her - the two-hundred-year-old son of a sheep farmer and spinner making a living with computers - but Neal was nothing if not adaptable and quick-witted.

In his most recent message, Neal had written as if she would return if the others somehow made it back to the Land Without Magic, and she didn’t know how to correct him. She had a few friends amongst the inhabitants, but overall her memories and associations with the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke were too painful. She was happy here, creating new friendships and forging new bonds, and she felt accepted and appreciated in a way she hadn’t known since those very few weeks with Rumplestiltskin.

She jumped when the barking of a dog interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to see Hamish and his Westie terrier Jock ascending the hill.

The library was closed. Hamish scowled at the sign (Closed on Sundays) and tapped his book against his leg impatiently. That sign hadn’t been there the week before or the week before that. Could she close a public building without warning?

“Morning,” Doc Brown said cheerfully, sliding a book into the bookdrop in the door. Hamish started and turned to look at him. He hadn’t noticed the new bookdrop either.

“Did you know about this ‘closed on Sundays’ business?” Hamish asked, gesturing at the sign.

“Aye. She was just waiting for the drop to be installed before she felt comfortable closing.”

“Well, what if someone needs a book?”

“Who could need a book that urgently?” Doc grinned at him. “She works all alone in the library ten hours a day and, until today, seven days a week, Hamish. The girl deserves a break.”

How had he not noticed she was the only librarian? He shifted his weight and looked away. “Guess my book’ll keep,” he said finally.

Well, there went his morning plans. TV John was manning the station, and Hamish had fully intended to spend at least an hour at the library, discussing his latest book with Belle and listening to tales of her travels. She had a fair few, after all, and while he’d never suffered wanderlust, he enjoyed a story well-told. The fact that the library was usually deserted before noon, which meant that he could enjoy having her undivided attention for an hour or two, was just icing on the cake.

Stopping at the station for Wee Jock, Hamish decided he might as well do some “policing” up in the hills. John could easily reach him on the radio if he needed to - which was doubtful, of course - and he hadn’t been for a trek in months. The day was overcast but not wet, and when the wind was calm the temperature was downright pleasant. Summer in Scotland was changeable at best, but for the moment at least it was a great day for walking.

He’d lived in Lochdubh for nearly eight years, but still he never tired of the views from the hills around the harbor. Great smoky blue heights loomed on every side and sheltered the little village from the worst of the wind and storms. A man felt safe here. Protected, even. Free, for all that, though the mountains could seem like barriers. Glasgow had never been for him, the suffocating closeness of the buildings and the faceless mob of people - a man could pass unnoticed his whole life in that mess, buried under anonymity. Hamish liked to make a difference , to be important , and in a city that was well nigh impossible for men like him. For people of fire and talent, like Isobel and Alex, city life acted as a fuel for their brilliance, but for a man like Hamish Macbeth, whose only claims to virtue were loyalty and honesty (and even those were dubious claims at best) and whose only talents lay in making fly lures and hoodwinking the brass ...well, he was no one outside of Lochdubh, and he liked it that way.

Higher and higher into the hills he climbed, his thoughts twisting and unformed, and the wind was just picking up when Jock gave a loud bark and went dashing up the slope to a slight figure standing and staring out over the water. Hamish didn’t recognize Belle until he was almost directly before her; she looked so much smaller and daintier against the backdrop of the peaks with her hair pulled into a tight braid. She looked up, startled, and then smiled a little at the Westie as he barked and ran little jumping circles around her legs.

“Hello, Jock,” she said as she bent to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Haven’t seen you up here before.”

“It’s been awhile since we went on a proper trek,” Hamish told her as he drew nearer.

“Me too. Not since the library opened, anyway.”

“Longer than that, for me.”

Belle nodded, but her eyes had a far-away look to them, and Hamish was struck, as he’d been in the bar all those weeks ago, with the thought that she could sometimes look much older than she was. Her expression was pensive and he noticed that she held something in her hand that she turned over and over.

“Fond of the hills, are you?” Hamish asked.

“Mmm.”

“You’ve done a lot of climbing then,” he prodded when she said nothing more.

Belle blinked and shook her head slightly, turning to focus her gaze on him. “What did you say?”

Hamish gave a dry laugh. “Nothing terribly gripping, apparently.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle sighed. “I wasn’t really...expecting company.” Her gaze dropped to the object in her hands and he glanced down as well; it was nothing more than a smooth round stone, but she was gripping it as if it were all that tethered her to the earth. “It’s nice and solitary up here, y’know?”

Ah, she’d come up here to be alone. Hadn’t she said something once about a dead loved one? Was today an anniversary of some kind? A birthday?

“I can go if you like.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” She stared at the stone, turned it once more in her hand, and then tossed it away, watching as it sailed through the air and bounced down the hill. “I should probably be heading back soon anyway.”

“I know what you mean, though,” he offered. “About the solitude. It’s good for easing a troubled mind.”

Belle smiled sadly and, instead of walking away, sat on the grass, pulled her knees up to her chest, and locked her arms around them. “Two years. I know I’ve said that a few times since we met, but today makes it official. Two whole years. I feel like I’ve lived a thousand lives since then, but just now it feels like yesterday.”

Hamish sat next to her, and the words spilled from his mouth without his quite realizing it. “Three for me.”

She turned an inquisitive gaze on him. “Is it any easier today than it was a year ago?”

“No. Yes. In some ways, I guess.”

She sighed and looked back out to sea. Hamish tried to follow her gaze, but he was drawn to study the curve of her cheek, the curl of her hair. It was still completely unbelievable to him that she had no one. Not one person in the world to claim her, no one to call her own.

He tried to think of something to say, but as silence stretched between them he decided that conversation was overrated. She’d come out to be alone, to remember and process, and he’d come out to enjoy silence and beauty. He had both here, so he’d stay as long as she let him, but he wouldn’t require anything more from her. After a few minutes he turned his attention back to the water and sky and clouds and enjoyed the all-too-rare feeling of warm sunshine on his face and hands.

Hamish wasn’t sure how long they sat there basking and listening and breathing, but he snapped to full awareness as Belle rose to her feet and brushed grass off of her jeans. When he made a move to join her she shook her head. She gave Wee Jock one last scratch behind the ears, favored Hamish with a gentle smile, and then set off down the hill towards town. He watched her go as long as he could see her, then lay back on the grass and, crossing his arms behind his head, stared up at the sky.

He hadn’t felt so relaxed in ages.

[vannahfanfics]

Our Scars

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

Characters: Takeshi Yamamoto, Kyoko Sasagawa

Hi, guys! I’ve been obsessed with Hitman Reborn! as of late, so I’ve decided to participate in Katekyo Hitman Reborn! RarePair Week (because we all know how much I love rarepairs). I’ve decided to start with the Day 2 prompt, “Scars”! Hope you all enjoy it :)

The pattering of the rain against Kyoko’s umbrella was soothing as she strolled along the wet sidewalk, her rainboots squeaking with every step. A plastic bag swung below her bent elbow, containing a selection of decadent cakes from her favorite bakery. She had delivered most of them to Tsuna and her friends, and now had only one last stop- Takeshi Yamamoto’s house. Kyoko still didn’t understand much of their world- the dangerous situations and such- but she understood well enough that she was invaluable to them as support. Kyoko could fill the role of supporter perfectly fine, and so here she was, delivering some treats as a reward for their hard work with… whatever they were doing in their spare time.

The iron latch shrieked in protest as she lifted it, and the wooden gate agreed with its partner, sounding an earthy groan. The rain was cascading something fierce now, throwing up splashes against the rubber material of her rain boots with every walloping raindrop. Ripples in the two-inch-deep water distorted the yard into a sea of green and brown and gray. Kyoko carefully picked her way over the slick stones that marked the path to Takeshi’s house. She cried out when the sole of her boot slipped over the smooth surface and caused her ankle to roll inward. Tears sprung to her eyes and a whine to her throat as the fiery pain rocketed up her leg. She remained there a while, hunched over with her hand buried down in the boot to rub tenderly at the screaming flesh, but she protectively held the bag of boxed cakes to her chest.

They had Yamamoto’s favorite today… I said I would hike through the weather, and I shall hike through this pain, too! Huffing in resolve, she straightened back up and limped up to the porch. She rapped loudly on the doorframe before opening the door, which was always unlocked, and announced her presence. She heard Takeshi’s father chime a greeting from within the bowels of the home. While she awaited his arrival, she stepped onto the welcome mat and removed her rainboots and folded up her umbrella, setting both neatly aside. The smiling man came round the corner and embraced her with a polite hug and kiss on the cheek. Kyoko had made many calls to Takeshi’s house, and she was regarded more as family than a guest at this point.

“My dear Kyoko! I sure hope you haven’t come tromping through this horrendous rain just to call on my boy,” the kind man scolded her as she rifled through the plastic bag.

“Not just him!” she laughed and procured a sweet confection, holding it out to him. His eyebrow raised above a twinkling eye, and a wide grin split his weathered features.

“You truly are an angel,” he tutted dramatically and took the box. He gestured loosely towards the back of the house, too absorbed with opening the container to be descriptive. “Takeshi is training in the dojo. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you,” he said with a pat to her head before strolling off to enjoy Kyoko’s generous gift.

She ignored the stinging pain in her ankle as she trekked through the house she now knew by memory. At the rear of the abode was a spacious room, where Takeshi often trained hard with the sword. She came to the door and found it closed.

“Yamamoto?” she called as she knocked lightly on the dojo’s sliding door. His grunts floated through the wood and cloth. So did the ring of the katana as he cleaved the air over and over in practiced, precise movements. Kyoko shifted her weight from foot to foot for a few seconds, but a wry smile soon began poking at her expression. He’s so in the zone he can’t hear me, she thought amusedly. “Yamamoto, I brought cake!” she called louder and opened the sliding door. “Yama- oh.” Her voice died in her throat, and she stopped opening the door halfway, too stunned by the visceral image of shirtless Takeshi in the middle of the dojo.

Sweat rolled over the rugged contours of his body, pooling in the waistband of the sweatpants that were slung loosely over his hips. His arm muscles flexed as he brought the katana down in a long arc, and Kyoko’s eyes sparkled with the light that refracted over its hyper-sharp edge. His black hair slicked to his forehead, and every few seconds, he would jerk his head to flick the dampened strands out of his eyes. His eyebrows were narrow slopes furrowing his brow in the most impressive display of raw concentration Kyoko had ever witnessed.

Kyoko liked Takeshi, a lot. How could she not? He was so friendly and easygoing. His smile lit up even the darkest room, and his laugh never failed to send joy bubbling up in her body. She liked him, sure, but she had never considered the fact that she may like him… But she sure considered it as she lingered in the threshold of the door, silent, watching him bring that sword down in empty air again and again. All words were lumps in her throat; thus, she could only gawk open-mouthed at him until he finally noticed her.

“Oh, hello, Kyoko!” he grinned jovially and swept a hand through his hair. The way the sweat-soaked strands parted beneath his fingertips made Kyoko’s mouth run painfully dry. Her eyes wanted to focus on every inch of him- his pectorals heaving as he panted, those crimped hairs still sticking together awkwardly from his hand parting them, his bright eyes and beaming smile- but that was horribly improper of her, so she looked at the floor instead. Shuffling her feet shyly, she retrieved the cake box and held it out. “Cake?” The evident elation in his voice made her heart flutter, although she could have brought him a neat rock, and he’d get just as excited about it.

She heard the click of the sword sliding into its sheath, followed by the patter of his bare feet over the wooden floor. A red haze drifted to her cheeks when his large hands enveloped her own for a brief moment as he retrieved the box. He whistled when he flipped it open, admiring the cake within. “It looks delicious! Thanks, Kyoko!”

“You’re welcome.” It was impolite not to look directly at him when she addressed him, so she forced her eyes upward. Her cheeks darkened incredibly as she did. Yamamoto has such a lovely smile… she thought dreamily. Cheerfully, he swiped a finger across the mountain of cake icing and then popped it in his mouth. He hummed appreciatively and popped the finger out. She wasn’t sure why, but the action made her body flush with heat, she tore her gaze away from his face. Her eyes landed on his arm, and she inhaled sharply. Yamamoto blinked in confusion, followed her intense gaze, and then smiled wanly.

“Oh… You’ve never seen them, have you?”

Thin white scars sliced through the tan skin of his arms. Some of them were many centimeters thick, indicative of a blade biting deep into the flesh. Possessed by some force, Kyoko allowed the bag of cakes to drop to the floor and reached out with both her hands to trace the crisscrossing marks. Takeshi watched her with lidded eyes, his irises swimming with a deep emotion for which she had not the name.

“So many,” she murmured under her breath. Her small, thin fingers tracked the map of healed wounds up to his thick bicep. Her eyes were wide when she looked to him again, expecting to find his smile sad or regretful. Instead, she saw the unmistakable glint of pride hiding within his curled lips. “I don’t… Didn’t they hurt?”

“Of course they did,” he laughed nonchalantly, as if a teenager bearing such marks were utterly typical. “But I don’t regret them. I earned them protecting my friends. I’ll gladly scar this entire body of mine if it means I can keep them safe.” As he stared at the pattern of thin white lines over his arm, Kyoko did not doubt that he was envisioning the faces of his dear comrades there. Kyoko couldn’t understand their world at all, even now, but she could appreciate Takeshi’s overwhelming desire to protect those closest to him.

Yet…

Her eyelashes were beaded with tears as she gripped his upper arm with two quivering hands. His fingernails bit into the flesh, pressing small crescent moons into his skin, but he did not complain. He only looked at her in bewilderment as she stood in front of him, shaking.

“Yamamoto, I… I would much rather you be careful,” she sniffed miserably. Her thumbs pressed into a half-an-inch thick bulge of scar tissue, making the skin around it glare white as the blood flooded out of the capillaries. “One day… It may be too bad a wound to heal.” She swallowed the thick lump that was beginning to form in her throat, but it just bobbed right back, making it laborious to breathe. The tears dripped from her lashes to splash down onto his arm. “I-I don’t know much about what it is you and Tsuna and everyone else do, but… I do see that it’s dangerous, and… I just want you to be safe. Please be safe, Yamamoto.”

His hand slid underneath her chin, soft fingers cradling her tear-stained cheeks. She offered no resistance as he tilted her head up. This time, his smile was sad, incredibly so.

“Ahhh, now this is no good. Kyoko is kind enough to bring me cake, and I’ve made her cry? How shameful of me,” he whined self-deprecatingly, with only the faintest hint of amusement. His thumb stroked over her cheek to catch the fresh rolling tears. His teasing tone tugged a small smile onto her lips, making him smile softly in answer. “Ah, that’s much better. Kyoko’s smile is the most beautiful in the world.” She laughed airily and flushed, hitting him lightly in the chest. He still dripped with sweat, so the slap was especially loud.

“You kid too much!”

“Kidding? Does that sound like me?” he joked, drawing another bubbly giggle out of her. His thumb continued to caress her cheek, though her tears had dried thanks to his comforting. His eyes searched her face eagerly, like he was committing it to memory. “No, I don’t joke. Not about this.”

“Yamamoto…” His name left her mouth in a whisper. His eyes ceased roaming her face to settle upon her lips. That rosy tint rose to her cheeks again, but she did nothing as his face encroached upon her own, save for purse her lips and close her eyes in preparation.

The kiss was soft and sweet. Kyoko inhaled deeply when his lips molded over hers, otherwise he would have stolen all the breath from her lungs. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but Kyoko savored those few precious moments, savored the feeling of joy rushing from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. As Takeshi pulled away, she subconsciously chased him, desperate for just a few seconds longer. Her eyes fluttered open as a chuckle rumbled in his throat.

“Kyoko, you’re so cute!” he praised and patted her on the head. “It’s no wonder I adore you.” Kyoko’s entire face turned the color of a tomato.

“Y-Yamamoto! You can’t just say things like that!” she sputtered, slapping her hands to her cheeks and finding them unbearably hot.

“Takeshi!” he corrected with a wave of his hand. “I just kissed you, so please call me Takeshi!” She crouched down with a squeal, drowning in second-hand embarrassment with how casual and relaxed he was. Her bangs hung in her eyes as she hung her head, unable to look at him. She was so mortified that she couldn’t even focus on the burning pain in her ankle as she heaved all her weight upon her feet. Takeshi laughed lightheartedly like he always did, then crouched down to pat her head more. “Kyoko, Kyoko, don’t be embarrassed! It was a compliment!” She responded with a high-pitched whine. “Come on, let’s get out of here and eat some cake, yeah?” The plastic bag crinkled as he raised it, and when she finally pried her eyes open, she was staring at his baggy sweatpants. She looked up to find him offering a hand to her.

His fingers were rough and calloused. The wrapped tightly around her smaller ones, holding them tight as he eased her back into a standing position. She expected him to drop her hand after that, but he just kept right on holding it, swinging their arms between them as he headed through the door. “Ow, ow!” she yelped as the one step forward send brutalizing pain rocketing up her leg.

“Kyoko, what’s wrong?” He was on his knees immediately, taking her swollen foot in tender hands to inspect it. Both embarrassed and flattered, she nibbled on the skin of her knuckle.

“Well… I slipped and rolled my ankle in your yard.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly.

“Clumsy Kyoko. What am I to do with you?” he sighed and straightened back up. In one sudden, swift movement, he had scooped her up off the floor. Kyoko squeaked and buried her pink face into the palm of her hands, beating on the thick muscle of his shoulders.

“Yama- Takeshi! No! Your father will see!”

“And? He’s been nagging at me to confess my feelings for a while. ‘Kyoko is such a nice girl! She would be so good for you! Better hurry up or someone will snatch her up!’” His mockery of his father’s tone, complete with waggling his finger, was too amusing for her to focus on the sheer mortification that she was a regular topic of conversation in the household. Her hands continued to shield her apple-red face as Takeshi escorted her down the hallway, but she did find the way she so perfectly muscles into his muscular arms quite nice. Her fingers twitched before curling around Takeshi’s the meat of those muscles, and she did not miss the smile that alit his face.

On that rainy day, Kyoko certainly didn’t think her cake delivery would turn out such a way, but unexpected happenings make life worth living, do they not? Smiling as Takeshi carried her through the house, she traced the complicated map of those scars again, nestling her head into the crook of his neck.

They all lived such dangerous lives, Takeshi and the others. It worried Kyoko sometimes, but at the end of every day, she would be there to support them through thick and thin. It was a taxing job, a job that left deep scars on her heart… but then again, earning scars for those you loved could be quite rewarding in the end too.

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