#which makes him notice things sooner and try and stop it from derailing

[akarai-the-mage]

Going to be writing about the twins in a toxic relationship so dont read if you want fluffy blankshipping.

Ive written a manipulative Emmet but i havent written anything for manipulative Ingo. I guess i should start off by listing off the differences between them and some ideas i have. This is going to be very disorganised and probably would not be consistant. Im still working through my ideas.

So lets start off with an unhinged Emmet:

I dont think Ingo is that oblivious at all - just more or less in denial. He notices when Emmet is acting possessive or aggressive and he woud definetly try and set his foot down. (not that it changes much). He takes his role as an older brother seriously so he would try and correct this while giving Emmet the benefit of the doubt,which Emmet uses against him to gaslight him into thinking hes overreacting and that would make Ingo more hesitant to call him out. Which intern allows him to get away with more things since Ingo would start believing he's being unfair and thinking the worst in Emmet.

Emmet relies on manipulating Ingo's emotions and gaslighting him, he will cry infront of him and go 'look how you made me feel' and make him feel guilty. If Ingo's being more stubborn then he isnt afraid to play on Ingo's insecurites or even using other people. He definetly has vented to Elesa to make Ingo out to be irrational or stubborn which results in her taking Emmets side and making Ingo doubt everything. She definetly does not know the full extent which leads to some nice angst once this all comes out.

Emmet hates not knowing where Ingo is, he also hates it when Ingo spends too much time with other people. He would definetly make Ingo feel guilty or quietly 'take' care of the other person if he feels Ingo is neglecting him or if he's in danger. Ingo quietly picks up on his twins agression and starts isolating himself since he believes it would be his fault for making Emmet uneasy and for getting the other person hurt for 'his mistake'. (he does not know the full extent he just thinks Emmet gets mad or overprotective and eventually simply doesnt want to stress his twin out)

Overall, Emmet is more overt with his manipulation with Ingo since Ingo would notice quicker that something was wrong (But not exactly what) and it isnt like Ingo would speak up to others out of fear of a misunderstanding and hurting his twin, especially with most people having a bias to believe Emmet more than Ingo and Ingo's desire to be a good older brother wanting to believe the best in him. He'd eventually convince himself that everything's fine and that he's a horrible brother for thinking the worst in Emmet.

Now for an unhinged Ingo

Unlike Emmet he isnt overt, since Emmet wouldnt pick up on it as quickly as Ingo would. Emmet trusts his brother and looks up to him, he would have an easier time writing off his odd behaviours with whatever Ingo tells him. He trusts Ingo to look out for him. Of course he does end up picking up on Ingo's possessivness he's more willing to believe his excuses and would feel horrible for thinking that his older brother doesnt have his best interest at heart.

He's subtle, would never blow up on Emmet and would instead manipulate him by never explicitly doing anything. He would gaslight Emmet and make him question everything he saw (and he isnt afraid to use chandelure if he has to) and would never be mad at Emmet, just disapointed he believed that about his 'beloved older brother' doesnt have his best interests at heart. Emmet would end up feeling awful for doubting his twin and would have his words misinterpreted frequently that he doubts his own feelings.

With Emmet being more social, Ingo does get really possessive and will quietly take care of people by carefully destroying their reputations. It makes it all too easy then for Ingo to ask Emmet not to hang out with that person since 'hes worried about him after all he heard'. It definetly causes Emmet to isolate himself since he starts to doubt everyone who isnt Ingo. Even if he realises Ingo was causing these rumours and isolating him on purpose, he would struggle reaching out because 'what if hes right and they do want to hurt me?' resulting in him keeping quiet.

Overall, Ingo is less overt so Emmet doesnt realise everything's falling apart around him until its too late, compared to Ingo who would be watching helplessly as his brother takes full control. Emmet would also struggle going against Ingo and standing his ground due to Emmet looking up to him and trusting him. Its hard for him to wrap his head around so he would try ignoring it and pretending that everything is alright. He'd convince himself that its fine and all he needs is Ingo.

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring: chapter 3 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Bakugo wakes up with his hearing and a bunch of questions.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language.

A/N: Sorry for the wait on ch 3, I had to work over the weekend. Anyway, hope you enjoy! 

~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Bakugo woke up confused, disoriented, and pissed off. 

He bolted upright, the taste of smoke and ash still on his tongue, but when he whipped his head from side to side, there was no fire, no burning asphalt, no villain, only the empty, dark expanse of his apartment. 

But something was still tugging at him, fucking incessantly, and it took him a moment to realize it was his phone alarm. 

Red eyes flicked to the device on his bedside table, and even though its continuous siren was like nails on a chalkboard, Bakugo found himself unable to move, unable to stop it. 

Because he could hear the alarm. Clearly. Loudly. 

He hadn’t been able to hear his phone alarm in weeks, not really. It was nothing more than a muffled tone that petered out toward the end as it rose in pitch and frequency. Thankfully, Bakugo’s internal alarm got him up most days around the sun, but he’d been late to morning patrols a handful of times. 

But now… 

Numbly, Bakugo finally reached out and tapped his phone. His ears rang slightly in the ensuing silence, but it was barely perceptible, nothing like the perpetual buzzing he’d been living with, like a hive of bees had taken up residence in his head. 

The quiet, after so long, was almost… unsettling. 

And it was all because of that woman. He was sure of it. 

Bakugo pressed his lips into a thin line as he thought about you, the memories of last night flooding back. The blurry image of your face, crouched over him, splattered in a thin mist of red blood and dusted with white plaster. He couldn’t remember much from right after he blasted that villain into the fucking dirt. He remembered the feel of glass breaking around him, and pain, a lot of fucking pain, but then it was black until you appeared. When he’d opened his eyes and met yours, he recalled thinking he should be in more pain, but then you spoke to him and derailed all coherent thought. 

Because he’d heard you. Clear as fucking day. 

That immediately drew his attention, and so did the blood all over your hands. 

There was a lot of it. Way too fucking much for nicking yourself on some glass or whatever bullshit excuse you gave. And Bakugo knew it was bullshit. You weren’t a convincing liar. Well, maybe to some idiot extras you would be, but not to him. He clocked the way you stuttered, the way you fidgeted and averted your eyes. And when you looked at him… fuck, your face was so goddamn guilty. 

Why, he had no idea. 

But he did know one thing. 

You had a healing quirk. There was no other explanation. 

Even if he hadn’t just miraculously recovered the hearing that a doctor told him he would never get back, there were a lot of other little discrepancies. His left arm, for one. Bakugo remembered how it felt when the villain’s asphalt wrapped around his limb, the burning, scalding agony of it. But now, the skin was just pink and barely blistered in some places. 

Then there was the blood. 

When he’d gotten home after ditching the crime scene, Bakugo had immediately beelined for his bathroom to take a shower. But, when he stripped off his hoodie, he realized it was heavier than it should be right before he noticed it was dripping onto his floor. Dripping blood. Without thinking, he’d wrung the hoodie out on the bathroom floor, and a fuck ton of red liquid seeped out of it. 

He had immediately dropped the jacket and started scanning his body in the bathroom mirror, but besides the shallow gash on his abdomen, the burned arm, and a few other minor scrapes and bruises, he was uninjured. 

But… his back was coated in red, and so were the seat of his dark jeans and boxer briefs. It was almost like… he’d been lying in a pool of blood. 

So, you had to be a healer. You just had to be. 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to confirm this since the cops had been circling you like vultures. He also hadn’t wanted to be bitched at by any more heroes, or the fucking media, so he made himself scarce. 

But he needed to see you again. Needed to hear the truth from your own mouth. 

And maybe he could coax you into a deal. 

The doctor Bakugo spoke to yesterday obviously hadn’t known what the hell he was talking about. He had made it sound impossible to fix the blond’s ears, and yet you’d somehow done it easily, in the middle of a fucking battlefield. 

With that kind of power, Bakugo wouldn’t have to worry about going deaf or designing stupid hearing aids with some company. 

With that kind of power, Dynamight would become Japan’s Number One Hero in no time. 

But first, he had to find you. 

Resolved, Bakugo shoved the covers off and slid out of bed, but before he could make it to his bathroom, someone started knocking on his front door. 

No, not knocking. Banging. It sounded like they were trying to break the fucking door down. 

“Bakubroooooooo!” 

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Bakugo grumbled as he padded to his front door. He was only dressed in boxer briefs, but that’s what the idiot got for barging over so early in the damn morning. 

The banging persisted, growing louder and more fervent. 

“I’m fuckin’ comin!” the blond shouted just before he undid the deadbolt and wrenched open the door. 

Eijiro Kirishima, dressed in his Red Riot costume, blinked on the other side of the threshold, his fist still raised to knock. 

“What the fuck, bro?” he asked after a moment of just staring at Bakugo. 

The blond immediately scowled. “That’s my fuckin’ line. What are you doing breaking down my door at six in the damn morning?” 

“Excuse me?” his patrol and agency partner scoffed. “I’m obviously coming to check that you’re not dead since you’ve been MIA for over twenty-four hours.” 

“What?” Bakugo frowned. “I saw you yesterday morning for patrol.” 

“Noooooo,” Kirishima drawled like Bakugo was a particularly stupid child. “That was two days ago, bro. Then that night, I see you all over the damn news, and no one could get ahold of you all day yesterday. I would have come to check on you sooner, but I’ve been having to play damage control with the media because someone decided to blow up a residential neighborhood.” 

“Two days?” Bakugo echoed with a furrowed brow. He’d slept that long? 

“Have you been passed out this whole time, dude?” Kirishima groaned as he shouldered his way into the apartment. “I guess that means you got none of our messages?” 

“Our?” the blond grumbled as he closed the door and followed the redhead to the kitchen bar. 

“Yeah, Denki, Mina, Sero.” Kirishima waved his hand dismissively, marching over to the counter where Bakugo kept the fruit and selecting an apple from the wire basket. “I even asked Izuku to message you, just to see if he’d actually get a rise and response from you.” 

“I don’t need stupid Deku knowing about my problems, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo growled before he stomped over to his fridge to see what he had to eat because he was suddenly starving. 

“Well, that would imply I know your problems, Oh Great Lord Dynamight,” Kirishima snorted and took a bite of apple. “So, what the fuck happened the other night?” 

“I blew up a residential neighborhood,” the blond deadpanned as he turned on his stove, cracking a few eggs into a skillet. 

“Yeah, I saw that. I was more wondering about what led up to it.” 

“What the fuck do you think led up to it?” Bakugo snapped, rummaging through his cupboard for seasonings. “I was walking home from getting a drink, and a damn villain just popped up in front of me.” 

“From what I heard, there were other heroes there, too,” the redhead mumbled around another bite of apple. 

“Yeah, fuckin’ useless extras,” Bakugo sneered as he started to whisk his eggs with a pair of chopsticks, throwing in some leftover white rice and a bit of nori. “They obviously weren’t getting anywhere, and the bastard was tearing up the street, so I stepped in.” 

“To finish destroying the street?” Kirishima cocked an eyebrow, chewing noisily. 

“Fuck off,” the blond said with an eyeroll. 

Internally, though, Bakugo knew the redhead was right. He’d been sloppy, careless, probably still borderline drunk. But he’d just been so angry about the doctor’s appointment, his fucked-up ears, his bleak and silent future. He had just wanted to break something, hurt someone, consequences be damned. 

Except now the consequences were catching up to him. 

Fuck, he didn’t even want to think about what his citizen’s approval rating must be now. 

Silence stretched between the two pro heroes for several long minutes, in which Bakugo finished making his breakfast and Kirishima finished gnawing on his apple core. The blond quickly shoveled a few bites of eggs and rice into his mouth, but his scarlet eyes kept flicking over to the redhead. 

“How bad?” he finally asked. 

Kirishima, to his credit, had learned how to translate Bakugo’s curt grunts years ago. 

“Actually, if I’m being honest, it’s not that bad,” he sighed, tossing the apple core in the trash and scratching at the back of his head. “Could be worse. From the reports I read, most of the damage—besides the road—is superficial. Broken windows, charred and peeling paint, a few busted cars that we’re still trying to figure out if our insurance or the city’s will pay for. It also helped that you saved two people. That definitely softened the blow.” 

“Two?” Bakugo mumbled around one of his last bites. “I just remember the stupid extra on the street that I shoved out of the way.” 

As the memory flashed through his mind, Bakugo frowned. He’d shoved that extra out of the way and got snatched by a giant asphalt hand for his troubles. The blond’s red eyes dropped to his pink and blotchy left arm and then trailed over to his chest. He recalled the sensation of his ribs snapping under pressure, but now only a mild soreness lingered after he took a deep breath. Yet another inconsistency… 

“Yeah, two,” Kirishima said and drew Bakugo out of his thoughts. “Do you seriously not even remember your own heroics? And that girl had such nice things to say about you, too.” 

“Girl?” Bakugo snapped his head up. “The girl whose… apartment I fell into?” 

“Crashed into, dude,” the redhead snorted, but then he narrowed his eyes as a sly smirk tugged at his lips. “But yeah. Sounds like you remember her, huh?” 

Bakugo didn’t like the smug look on his friend’s face. 

“I remember her fuckin’ yellin’ at me.” The blond scowled. “Like I wrecked her place on purpose and didn’t just save her whole block from a lunatic.” 

“I mean, to be fair, if you crashed into my house, bro, I would have yelled at you, too.” Kirishima grinned. “But don’t worry, she’s fine. In fact, when she called the agency yesterday, she asked for you specifically.” 

“She did? Why?” Did she want to confess her healing quirk? Fuck, were there side effects Bakugo didn’t know about? 

“Bro, seriously.” Kirishima rolled his eyes. “You’re Japan’s Number Two Hero, and you saved her life. And, like Mina keeps telling you, you’re not as ugly when you stop scowling.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo flipped him off before he went to dump the dishes in the sink. 

“Yes, dear.” The redhead smirked. “But, in all seriousness, she called to figure out how to file a claim with our insurance. Or at least that’s what she said, but she also asked how you were doing, and she actually sounded genuinely worried.” 

Worried that a random side effect was going to kill him? Or worried that he would say something about her quirk? She’d obviously hidden it for a reason, tried to lie for a reason. 

And Bakugo was determined to find out just what that reason was. 

“Yeah, well, I’m fine,” he grunted as he rinsed off his plate and put it on the drying rack. “Just a few scrapes and bruises.” 

“I can see that,” Kirishima said as he eyed the butterfly stitches stretched across the gash on Bakugo’s abdomen. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t find you dead in a pool of your own blood. That woulda been a real bummer way to start the morning.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugo muttered before he averted his eyes to the living room window across from him. “So… what did you tell her?” 

“The girl?” 

“No, you’re fuckin’ mom,” the blond scoffed. 

“Oh, speaking of moms, you might want to text Mitsuki. I called her last night after you ignored my billionth text, so she’s probably going crazy wondering where you are.” Kirishima grinned and then immediately dodged out of the way as Bakugo hurled a fork at him. 

“You bastard!” Bakugo hissed. “Now, I’m going to have to see that hag this weekend or she’s gonna fuckin’ barge over here.” 

“Maybe you should turn the ringer up on your phone.” The other hero shrugged, ducking again when Bakugo chucked an apple in his direction. 

The blond scowled at his friend, but he didn’t reply. 

If you and your quirk were the real deal, Bakugo wouldn’t have to worry about missing a call ever again. 

When Kirishima realized the projectiles had stopped, he popped his head over the back of the couch and smirked. “But to answer your previous question, I told the girl we would handle the insurance claim on our end if she sent us her info. And I didn’t really have anything to tell her about you since, like I’ve said, I thought you were dead. Kinda. I was at least thirty percent sure.” 

“Have you filed the insurance claim?” Bakugo asked. 

“No.” Kirishima shook his head. “She hasn’t sent in the info yet.” 

“Well… we should go get it from her.” 

This caused the redhead’s eyebrows to shoot up into his hairline, and the surprise on his face quickly made Bakugo backtrack. 

“I just… want to get this shitshow over with,” he grumbled as he averted his eyes again, but he could feel a traitorous heat crawling across the bridge of his nose. “The longer her apartment’s all fucked up, the longer the press is gonna rake me over the coals. The hero ranking’s aren’t far off, and I’m not going to lose to Deku again over some stupid broken windows.” 

“Righttttt,” Kirishima drawled, but his tone was mocking. “Okay, well, I know the hotel the police have set her up at. After we swing by the agency, we can head that way… to get her insurance info.” 

He still sounded unconvinced and like he wanted to needle Bakugo more, but the blond changed the subject quickly. 

“Why do we have to go to the agency?” Bakugo asked, and he frowned as he glanced back at his partner. “Even if I lost yesterday, my next scheduled patrol isn’t till tonight.” 

“Oh, I know.” Kirishima nodded solemnly. “But Nao wanted to have… a word with you ASAP, if I confirmed you weren’t dead.” 

“Fuckkkkkkk,” Bakugo groaned as he dropped his head back. If there was anything Bakugo hated more than the press, it was his actual PR manager. That old hag was good at her job, which meant she was always up Bakugo’s ass about something, and he knew she was going to have a field day with this shitfest. 

“Yeah, I’d recommend coffee and preemptive painkillers before we head in,” Kirishima said. “Plus, some putting on clothes. Maybe we can stop on the way and get her something sweet as a bribe.” 

“No amount of sugar is gonna make that bitch nice to me,” Bakugo grumbled before he spun on heel and started marching to his bedroom. 

“Maybe flowers then?” the redhead shouted after him. 

Bakugo slammed the door in response. 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous,” Bakugo growled around his cargo, kicking his foot out at Kirishima. “Why did I listen to you? I’ve had to go shopping twice today now.” 

“Come on,” his friend laughed as he dodged the blow, which made the bags in his arms crinkle. “You can’t deny the flowers and cookies sweetened ole’ Nao up.” 

“To you,” Bakugo muttered, shifting the package in his arms a bit. “She still yelled at me for fifteen minutes.” 

“Well, you kinda deserved i—yow!” Kirishima yelped as Bakugo kicked him squarely in the ass this time. “This isn’t helping your image, bro!” 

“No one even knows it’s us,” the blond hissed. 

“Yeah, I guess the hoodies and sunglasses help,” the other pro hero mused. 

“And the fact that we’re carrying all this stupid shit.” 

“It’s not stupid.” Kirishima frowned in that earnest way of his, which made Bakugo roll his eyes. “It’s thoughtful to bring gifts to people who are having a difficult time. Especially when you made that time difficult. You basically kicked her out of her house, dude, not to mention her shop.” 

A wave of guilt actually washed through the blond, which he didn’t like. It made his throat feel tight and his stomach churn, and he glanced away from the redhead with a scowl. 

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “It’s not like we aren’t gonna pay for it.” 

The excuse felt flat, even to him. 

“Still,” Kirishima said as he shifted the bags in his grip, pulled out his phone, and consulted the map. “It must be stressful. So, we’re going to be nice to her, alright? Which starts with the gifts.” 

“And how is a fuckin’ fruit basket supposed to help?” Bakugo asked as he glared around the overflowing mound of crinkling plastic and bright fruit that he held against his chest. 

“Uh, one, it’s practical. Her apartment’s all fucked up, the power’s probably still out if not inconsistent on the street, and she’s been living in a hotel for two days, so she probably hasn’t had some nice fresh fruit in a while. And two, it looks nice!” 

“We coulda just left this shit at the hotel,” Bakugo grumbled. “She has to go back there eventually, right?” 

After old Nao chewed his ass out, Bakugo and Kirishima had gone to the hotel the police said they’d put you up in. Except you weren’t fucking there, and the number you left with Kirishima when you called the agency was going straight to voicemail, so here there were, fucking trekking through the city with a bunch of useless shit. 

Bakugo just kept reminding himself it would be worth it when he got the truth about your quirk out of you. 

“Nope,” Kirishima said and drew the blond out of his thoughts. “The city only pays the first two days after an emergency, unless the villain caused all the damage, but, uh, that’s not the case here, so we’ll be accommodating her until her apartment gets fixed up.” 

“At the agency?” Bakugo asked as his red eyes clicked over to his partner. 

As the Number Two and Three Heroes, the two of them had built a solid agency together. Bakugo still didn’t care for a bunch of extras riding on his tailcoats, so they had few sidekicks, all of whom reported to Kirishima and left him the fuck alone for the most part. But they owned a nice, sleek building in a nicer part of town, and one of the floors was dedicated to individual rooms with beds and other amenities. They were usually used when Bakugo, Kirishima, or the other sidekicks wanted to crash after patrol instead of going home—which Bakugo did more often than not—but they’d never had a civilian stay on the premises. 

Until now. 

“Yessssss, at the agency,” the redhead drawled as a shit-eating smirk crawled across his face. “So, you’ll be seeing a lot of her for the next couple weeks.” 

“Wipe that stupid look off your face.” Bakugo scowled and shouldered past the other hero, who snickered as he jogged to catch up. 

“Take the next left up ahead.” 

“Shut up!” the blond growled, but he followed the instructions. 

This was good news, though. Bakugo wouldn’t have to trek to this shitty part of town more than he had to. 

And he’d have a healer just down the hall. 

They marched along in silence for a few minutes, keeping their heads down, but there wasn’t much foot traffic. Bakugo was lost in his thoughts, planning out the questions he was going to ask you once he could distract Kirishima, but the redhead suddenly stopped in front of him. 

“Hey,” Bakugo grunted as the fruit basket crinkled against the other hero’s back. He hadn’t even notice Kiri get in front of him again. “What’s the damn hold up?” 

“Holy shit, dude,” Kirishima muttered, staring out at the road he’d just turned onto. 

“What?” the blond grumbled, shoving past his friend, but then he stopped, too. “Oh… yeah.” 

The street in front of him looked much worse in the bright light of midday. The road was a torn-up mess, more patches of dirt and gravel than actual asphalt. Most of the large-scale debris had been hauled away, but black scorch marks covered the sidewalks in long, dark smears. The walls of several businesses also bore charring along the facades, but most of the damage was focused in the center of the street. A crater nearly six feet deep was carved into the middle of the road, and the buildings on either side were blackened, their broken windows gaping voids. 

And then there was the hole in what Bakugo remembered as your second-floor apartment. A tarp hung over the wound, but one of the corners had come undone, flapping in the wind and giving split second glimpses into the darkened room beyond. 

Guilt crept up on him again, but Bakugo shoved it down, hunching over the fruit basket and nudging Kirishima. 

“Come on,” he muttered before he started moving forward, and a moment later he heard the crunch of boots on gravel as the redhead followed him. 

There were more people on this street than on the last several, but Bakugo could immediately tell they weren’t customers just passing through. People swept sidewalks, clearing away the last of the rubble and glass in front of their shops. Then a few old ladies stood under one awning shaking their heads, their hands laden with containers of food or gifts. 

Guess Kirishima hadn’t been wrong with this stupid idea. 

Then Bakugo realized some of those people were starting to look back at him, so he ducked his head further behind the fruit basket, grateful for his hoodie and sunglasses. 

But then suddenly he was there, standing in front of your ruined shop. His red eyes immediately flickered upward, but if there was a sign there before, it was gone now, burnt to ash. 

“What kinda shop did you say this was?” the blond asked under his breath as Kirishima paused beside him. 

“I’m… not sure,” the redhead said with a furrowed brow. “I don’t think she said on the phone. No time like the present to ask, though.” 

Before Bakugo could stop him, Kirishima shifted the bags in his arms, lifted one hand, and knocked on the charred metal frame of the front door. 

“Hello?” he called through the broken windows, followed by your name. “Anyone in there?” 

“Shit!” The squeaking voice was followed by a crashing sound somewhere in the shadows of the store. 

Bakugo didn’t speak a lot of English, but he did know curse words, and the sound of it made his lips twitch in amusement. 

“Are you okay?” Kirishima called out. “Can, uh, we come in?” 

“Yes, I’m fine!” the voice answered back in flustered Japanese. The words were fluent, though, with barely the hint of an accent. “And, um, I-I guess you can come in, but—” 

That was good enough for Bakugo. 

The blond shouldered past his partner, boots crunching over glass as he ducked into the darkened shop, and Kirishima sighed as he followed. 

The interior, if possible, looked worse than the outside. The room itself wasn’t very big, but it was a mess. Two metal rods had been embedded in the left and right walls at odd angles, obviously caused from the explosions, though Bakugo couldn’t tell what they used to be. Several pieces of blacked mannequins were scattered through the debris, and one wall was a charred mess of shelving and fabric, spots of color peeking through the black ash here and there. 

In the back, left corner were the remains of a tri-fold standing mirror, the ones where you could see yourself from different angles. Large shards of glass were missing, though, so the image of Bakugo and Kirishima standing backlit against the street was fractured. 

Last but not least, in the rear, right corner of the store was a counter that was half collapsed to the floor, behind which stood an empty doorframe that Bakugo assumed led to the back of the shop and upstairs. 

And it was from behind this broken counter that you popped up with a dustpan in one hand and a tiny, handheld broom in the other. 

The first thought Bakugo had was your face was rather plain… but in a somehow pleasing way. Like if his eyes had scanned over you in a crowd, something about the line of your jaw, the slope of your nose, the delicate quirk of your mouth would give him pause. 

His second thought was that his first one was stupid. You were just some extra, of course you would be plain and unmemorable. 

But his third thought was something about the color of your eyes was captivating, in a way that was damn fucking annoying. 

“Sorry, I was just… cleaning… up,” you said, slowly trailing off as your eyes met Bakugo’s. 

He saw the recognition flare in them immediately, followed by fear, and he couldn’t help the frown that twisted his face. 

Why were you afraid of him? 

“No, we’re sorry for barging in here like this,” Kirishima barreled on, oblivious to the stare off the other two occupants of the room were engaged in. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Oh! I’m being so rude. My name is Eijiro Kirishima, or you might know me as—” 

“Red Riot,” you breathed, finally tearing your eyes from Bakugo’s, and you flashed the redhead a half-smile that trembled along the edges. “We spoke on the phone.” 

“Yes.” Kirishima grinned, pointed teeth flashing in the dim light of the shop, before his gaze flickered over to the blond beside him. “And this is—” 

“Dynamight,” you finished once again, and you looked like you were trying desperately to maintain eye contact with the hardening hero, but then your eyes clicked back to Bakugo. You didn’t flash him a smile. “We’ve met.” 

“Oh, yeah, right,” Kiri chuckled awkwardly, and his arm jerked like he was going to rub the back of his neck, but the bags in his hands crinkled and stopped him. 

“What… do you have there?” you asked, frowning at the bags and the fruit basket the heroes were carrying. 

“Gifts!” the redhead declared as he hefted his arms up, and then he shuffled forward over charred fabric and glass and extended the bags to you. 

You blinked at him for a second, but you set the dustpan and handheld broom on the counter, where they promptly slid to the floor since the whole surface was slanted. You winced at the loud clatter and tried to cover it up by taking the bags from Kirishima, which crinkled loudly again as they transferred hands. 

Bakugo would be annoyed if he wasn’t more grateful that he could actually hear the innocuous little noise. 

“O-Oh, um, you shouldn’t have, really,” you started as you peeked into the bags, and then Bakugo swore he saw your eyebrow twitch once you saw what was inside. 

“It’s not much,” Kirishima said, and he was finally free to rub the back of his head and neck as his smile turned a little sheepish. “But, what with the state of your… apartment, we thought you might need some new clothes! And comfy clothes are the best after stressful days. These especially are super soft, we made sure of it. And, if you don’t like them, you could always sell them for a good chunk of change.” 

The redhead winked at you, not in an overly flirty manner, that was just how he was, but your cheeks flared as crimson as his hair, and your eyes dropped to the floor. 

Bakugo took the split instant to get a better look at you and noted you were wearing patched, faded jeans, solid boots, and a bleach-stained orange sweatshirt with some English writing he couldn’t read. Usually, he didn’t really see what other people wore because he couldn’t give less of a shit, but somehow he found your obvious cleaning clothes… endearing. The orange looked good on you, too. 

Fuck, maybe you didn’t heal him as well as he thought. He had to be hemorrhaging into his brain to be thinking this stupid shit. Or maybe it was a side effect of your quirk? 

He needed to get you alone and get answers. 

“Well… thank you, this was very thoughtf—oh, wow, that is soft,” you murmured as you partially drew a sweatshirt out of the bag. 

Bakugo instantly recognized the forest green and orange color scheme, and apparently so did you, because your face twitched, and you dropped the garment back into the bag and traded it for fuzzy socks with Red Riot’s signature gears stitched into them. 

“These will definitely come in handy, my feet are always cold,” you said with an awkward giggle. Then you cleared your throat to cover up the sound. “Thank you, um, Red Riot.” 

“You can call me Eijiro, or Kirishima, whatever you’re comfortable with,” the redhead said with another easy grin. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, after all. Oh! We also got you a fruit basket, and I think there might be a few other sweets tucked in there.” 

Kirishima nudged Bakugo forward, and your face rippled through a range of emotions, like your brain was taking a second to catch up to everything the pro hero just spewed. First, flustered embarrassment colored your cheeks, then confusion buckled your brow, and your eyes widened before they looked at the fruit basket Bakugo was extending at you. 

“Oh, you can just put it down… um…” you trailed off as you turned to the counter and remembered it was half destroyed. Then your eyes jumped around frantically for some kind of flat surface, but the ruined shop didn’t offer any solutions. 

“Told ya we shouldn’t of brought this shit,” Bakugo grunted, shooting a scowl at Kirishima. 

“Yeahhhhh, we probably could have just delivered it to your room at the agency, my bad,” the redhead laughed. “But don’t worry, we’ll carry it back for you, along with any of your other things.” 

“My… things?” you echoed, sounding out the words like a child, and a frown marred your face. “I-I think I must be misunderstanding you, I’m sorry, I’m American. But did you say my room at the agency? As in… your hero agency?” 

“You’re American?” Kirishima asked with wide red eyes. “I wouldn’t have even guessed! Your accent is almost perfect, I thought you were maybe just from like the countryside or something.” 

“I thought you said we were supposed to be nice to her,” Bakugo snorted at his partner like you weren’t in the room, and he saw you frown at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Oh, shit, no, that wasn’t what I meant!” Japan’s Number Three Hero immediately began waving his hands in front of his face, his mouth moving twice as fast. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I really think your accent sounds nice! It’s very cute!” 

Now, not only did your cheeks flush again, but the red hue traveled down your throat and across your collarbones, peeking out the stretched collar of your orange sweatshirt. 

Bakugo found himself half distracted by the sight, but the other half was wondering why he suddenly felt irritation flare up in his gut. 

“Okay, you don’t have to take her out on a date now,” the blond snapped, shifting his burden of fruit and plastic. 

“I-I think we might have gotten off track,” you stuttered as you clutched the bag of Dynamight and Red Riot merch to your chest. “You said something about your agency.” 

“Yes, right.” Kirishima cleared his throat. “We would have mentioned this in our follow up email after you sent in your insurance info, but—” 

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry!” you cut him off with a grimace, and you actually dipped your head and shoulders into a bow. “I meant to send that yesterday, but my laptop is broken, and my cell service isn’t great—” 

“No, no, it’s fine!” the redhead interrupted this time. “You obviously have a lot on your plate. I just meant that this might seem kind of sudden, but—” 

Fucking hell, this was taking too long. 

“You’re staying at our agency until we can pay for the repairs to your apartment and shop,” Bakugo said bluntly. If he didn’t step in, the two of you were just going to stammer circles around each other all day. “Starting tonight. We have rooms with beds and shit, so pack whatever clothes or crap you need.” 

Your mouth fell open as you gaped at Bakugo. “I… what?” 

“You deaf or something?” The words rocketed from his mouth before he could stop them, before he could even think about what he was saying, and he saw the way the question struck you like a physical blow. You flinched, your cheeks paling, and he saw dawning, guilty horror glint at the back of your eyes. 

He’d been right. You did do something to his ears. 

“Bro, you were just talking about being nice.” Kirishima frowned at Bakugo before he turned back to you. “Ignore him. We’re really sorry about the inconvenience this whole… incident has caused for you, but we’ll take care of everything you need until your shop’s grand reopening, so you don’t have to worry about a thing, okay?” 

You continued to stare at the two heroes in shocked silence, your wide eyes clicking back and forth between the two of them as you clutched the bags to your chest like a lifeline. 

“That is… all so generous,” you finally breathed, your tone rising in pitch like you were growing increasingly flustered. “It’s, um, a lot to take in.” 

“Of course.” Kirishima nodded fervently. “What else can we do to help?” 

“Could you leave?” 

Bakugo blinked in surprise and then had to stifle his snort. 

“Oh, no, I’m sorry!” you quickly followed up when you saw the redhead’s falling expression. “I didn’t mean… I just meant, could I have some time to process this? Um, alone? L-Like Dynamight said, I need to pack a few things, a-and there are some people I need to speak to before, uh… well, is it okay if I tell someone where I’ll be? Like, at your agency?” 

“Yessss?” Kirishima said with a confused frown. “Why wouldn’t that be okay?” 

“O-Oh, I just don’t really know how the whole hero and media thing works here,” you quickly lied, and Bakugo clocked the way you averted your eyes, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed thickly. “I-I wasn’t going to post on social media or anything, I barely use that stuff anyway, but one of my customers, Mrs. Kojima, would be upset if I disappeared without saying anything.” 

“Aww, that’s sweet.” The redhead grinned before he glanced at the shadowed ruins around him. “What kind of shop is this by the way? I don’t think you mentioned.” 

“A-Alterations,” you said, ducking your face in embarrassment again. “My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited this place from them.” 

“I thought you said you were American?” Kirishima asked, but not in an accusatory way. He was just too curious for his own good and didn’t possess much of a filter. 

Bakugo usually didn’t care for small talk, fucking waste of time if you asked him, but he found himself focusing intently on you, awaiting a response. 

“I am.” You nodded. “My parents were both born here, but they moved to the States after they married, and I was born there. After my grandparents passed, my dad was going to sell the shop, but I was looking for something… new, so I decided to move here instead about a year ago.” 

Bakugo pursed his lips at this new information. If you had a healing quirk, why were you patching up clothes in some little shop all the way across the world from your surviving family? Could it be because your quirk was dangerous? 

“Wow, that’s cool,” Kirishima said with an impressed expression that quickly turned sheepish. “Except about your grandparent’s passing. My condolences.” 

“Thank you,” you muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips, but then you quickly shook your head. “I-I’m sorry, didn’t mean to give you my whole life story, I tend to talk when I’m nervous.” 

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Red Riot laughed like he did when he was meeting shy little kids on the street, flashing his sharpened teeth jokingly and winking in an overexaggerated fashion. “I promise, we look scarier than we are.” 

“Speak for yourself, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo scoffed, which made you jump, like you’d forgotten he was there. 

And that rubbed him the wrong way for some reason. 

Kirishima merely smirked before he partially covered his mouth with his hand and lowered his voice into a stage whisper directed at you. “All bark, no bite, I’m telling you.” 

“Stop making me seem lame, you bastard!” the blond growled, but the effect was kind of ruined by the fruit basket crinkling in his hands again. 

This actually seemed to startle a giggle out of you, and the two heroes whipped around, one with a grin and the other a scowl. 

“See, you don’t need to be nervous,” Kirishima said before he slung an arm around Bakugo’s shoulders. “But we’ll get out of your hair for now so you can have some time to pack and everything. Don’t worry about picking up too much, though, we’ll have cleaning crews in here before we start the remodel, and we don’t want you to get hurt in here. If there’s stuff up in your apartment that you don’t want to bring with you to the agency but don’t want thrown out, make a list, and we’ll be sure to keep everything safe.” 

“O-Okay,” you said, still standing there with the hero merch clenched to your chest and a dumbstruck expression on your face. “T-Thank you again, Red--, erm, Kirishima.” 

“Of course!” He grinned. “I have patrol tonight, but we’ll send a car to pick you up—” 

“No,” Bakugo cut in as he locked eyes with you. “I’ll pick you up. What time?” 

The blond could see Kirishima shoot him a look in his peripherals—probably because they both had patrol tonight—but Bakugo ignored his partner, maintaining eye contact with you. 

You, meanwhile, squirmed under the explosive hero’s intense scrutiny, your face paling and flushing in turns. “I… no, you don’t have to do that, I can take the train—” 

“I insist,” he interrupted again, narrowing his eyes so you would realize he wasn’t going to back down. “Like Shitty Hair said, we caused this… inconvenience, so I’ll pick you up. What. Time?” 

You swallowed thickly, your throat audibly clicking. “S-Seven?” 

“I’ll be here at seven sharp,” Bakugo said. “And you better be out front or at least answer your phone this time.” 

You better not run, he didn’t say, but by the look on your face, you understood. 

“Seven sharp.” You nodded, biting your lip as a resigned expression settled over your features. “Got it.” 

“Great. See you then.” 

With that, Bakugo turned on heel and crunched his way out of your store, leaving Kirishima stuttering apologies in his wake. 

But that didn’t matter. 

All that mattered was, tonight, he’d finally get you alone and get to the bottom of your damn quirk.

[ct-multifandom]

Miracuclass Amogus Cringe

I was going back and forth about making this post, but then I saw @charming-mage ‘s and I was like screw it we’re doing this. This ended up 10x longer than I thought it’d be.

Marinette (crewmate) - tries to organize everyone into a buddy system to corner the impostors, gets frustrated when people agree to her plan and then start running rogue. When discussions start she’s leading the conversation and asking the most questions. She greatly prefers crewmate over impostor because she likes the mystery solving element of discussions.

Marinette (impostor) - whenever she kills someone she goes, “ahhhh” out loud and panics while her avatar sprints away from the body. She likes coming up with convoluted plans, especially when she can communicate with her fellow imp(s), and tries to make it seem like she’s in two places at once wether it be through venting or falsified testimony.

Adrien (crewmate) - he has to unmute and ask how to do like every individual task to the point where he’s been voted out over it before because cmon, you’ve gotta be lying about it at this point, just piece it together and stop unmuting during task time. He makes puns and sings little improvised songs while tasking. When he suspects someone but they don’t get voted out, he offers to tail them at the cost of his own safety. Same with fixing sabotages late-game. To him, getting killed is just part of the game progression, and it’s not a big deal because he trusts his fellow crewmates to avenge him and doesn’t mind ghost-tasking.

Adrien (impostor) - okay maybe he lies about not knowing tasks sometimes. But it also took him a while to learn imp mechanics and he kept asking about them out loud like, “what’s the red square task on the floor? Why’s my name highlighted?” And somehow nobody noticed while his partner(s) were like nggggg Adrien no... At least he’s good at playing innocent/fake-detective-ing in discussions. Whenever he kills someone he makes some stupid one-liner about it out loud.

Alya (crewmate) - we got Sherlock Holmes over here. She overanalyzes every tiny detail and isn’t scared to sacrifice the sus for the greater cause. When she finishes tasks, she likes to hang out by security and snoop in case of the rare satisfaction of catching someone red-handed. If there’s an emergency meeting, it’s probably because she probably saw something. She supports Crewinette’s plans to corner the imps. She thinks tasks wins are boring and that it’s a lot more fun to win through voting correctly. If they task-win or lose she stops before the new game and asks who the imps were and for a recap of their actions.

Alya (impostor) - a force to be reckoned with. She’ll wait for the perfect moment to strike someone, and then cover her tracks, join a group and win herself a strong alibi anyways. Her reputation as a ruthless detective protects her, even when the game is set to show that the ejected person was innocent. She always chooses someone to kill and someone to blame for it, but sometimes she gets carried away and they vote her off for pointing too many fingers.

Nino (crewmate) - he’s just tasking, man. If he gets killed he’s like, “oh mf” and just keeps ghost-tasking. He mostly hangs out during the discussions unless he has something solid to say, only jumping in at the end to confirm, “so we’re voting for _?”. He leads his own little crewmate squad around when he finishes tasks to protect them while they finish theirs.

Nino (impostor) - mostly plays off the strategy of his partner(s). He likes playing the protective team-player type “innocent diversion” role while the partner(s) get to killing, so when discussions start he’s totally in the clear, which gives him an opening to dodge suspicion in the future if he needs to take over killing. He pretends to fix sabotages all the time because people rely on him to do that as a crewmate.

Max (crewmate) - freakishly good at the card scanning task. People always ask for his secret and he’s like? It’s so easy? He has every map memorized to a t so he can point out the contradictions in people’s stories like an ace attorney character. It’s surprisingly really helpful. He’s the opposite of Alya in that he’s a big supporter of the “guys, stop voting off random innocent people, we have like five tasks left. Whoever hasn’t done them, just finish them” strategy.

Max (impostor) - he tries his best to protect his partner(s) in the discussion while laying low himself, and sometimes he gets voted out for it, but if he senses that there’s nothing he can do, he’ll throw them even further under the bus to build credit for himself. He doesn’t like sacrificing innocents as a crewmate, so his defenses are only sus when he’s caught being wrong. He sabotages a lot to control people’s movements and vents liberally unless he committed to a tasking group. That being said, he can go whole rounds without killing out of caution.

Kim (crewmate) - he’s the guy who calls emergency meetings early into the game only to say, “I miss you guys :)” He gets voted out all the time for doing troll-y crap and ignoring Crewinette’s plans. He’s also severely confused by some of the tasks and game mechanics, but fakes it till he makes it, until the discussion where he rarely says anything valuable and just jokes around. Sometimes, though, he’ll offer a tiny offhand detail and everyone’s like Kim, I hate to say it, but you’re a genius or that’s the piece we’ve been missing! And he’s like haha ok. He’s always behind on tasks, sometimes out of laziness, sometimes out of confusion, but he’s one of the people Max is impatiently waiting on.

Kim (impostor) - he gets caught in the act a lot and it’s hilarious, but other times he gets away with everything the entire time, which is kinda scary. He’s weirdly good at introducing so much confusion and derailment to discussions that everyone gets totally lost and doesn’t know what’s going on, allowing him to survive when they could’ve easily figured him out. Unlike Max, he knows literally nothing about the maps and always says he was at the “slidey thing” or whatever and everyone’s like idk wtf the slidey thing is, and if this were anyone else they’d be gone immediately, but it’s Kim so he might actually be telling the truth. He refuses to learn the names of anything because this really helps him out.

Alix (crewmate) - always trying to convince her friends to experiment with ridiculous game settings. Occasionally, she gets to them, and they get games with comically unbalanced imp:crew ratios, awful lighting, an overwhelming load or lack of tasks, or hilariously low cool downs. She revels in the chaos. When she tasks she usually moves from place to place alone but tries to hop in with groups to confirm her movements. She’s pretty good at sussing imps out when they offer enough information, but otherwise she just makes goofy comments with Kim.

Alix (impostor) - not too worried about killing people and venting. She moves fast and dashes from place to place, joining a group on the opposite side of the map from her last body. If anyone says, “I saw someone vent but I didn’t see who” it was probably her. She likes the “stand in a clump and watch the chaos ensue when one person drops” technique as well as the gambling “hope that the UI for the task everyone’s doing covers your killing and venting” strat. Sometimes she’s forced to vent to a dead end and gets caught, and sometimes the big brain detectives catch her, but she’s usually pretty smooth.

Rose (crewmate) - a big fan of hide and seek mode. She likes grouping up for tasks, protecting each other at the cost of efficiency. During discussions, she has a hard time believing anyone’s the impostor, and everyone’s like, Rose, we know there are exactly three of them, you can’t defend every individual person. Whenever she gets killed she is like *gasp* et tu, Brute? No matter who it was.

Rose (impostor) - runs around with her squad when... oops... looks like something got sabotaged! Uh oh, wonder who could’ve done that? She’s in a battle against that task bar more so than the players, and tries to stay away from killing. She emulates crewmate behavior perfectly so no one ever suspects her until really late. If she’s the only imp left and she has to kill, it’s like an Agatha Christie locked room mystery level of drama and betrayal within her squad. But we were all together the whole time... omfg no way... it was one of us.

Juleka (crewmate) - she secretly prefers when everyone tasks alone, but goes with the squad for Rose. She only talks in discussions if she’s 100% sure about something, and she often incomprehensibly mumbles vital evidence. ~10 minutes later when they catch the imp she’s like iItoldyouso and the crew’s like ??? If she gets killed and her tasks are done, she haunts that impostor relentlessly. Sometimes she even organizes ghost brigades in ghost chat and gets everyone to follow them.

Juleka (impostor) - definitely gets a kick out of the kill button. Whenever she takes someone down she’s like heeheehee. If she was peer pressured into a task team again, she’ll anxiously try to slip away unnoticed for a second to catch someone in the hallway outside, but if she’s alone, she’s on a hunt. Nobody is safe. When she defends herself on voice chat she also mumbles incomprehensibly and everyone’s like sure, fair enough.

Mylene (crewmate) - seasoned task group leader. She also sings little task songs like Adrien. She tries to organize people into chatting regular status updates so they can tell if someone goes missing. She reports every body she finds and actively participates in the discussion, but whenever she makes good points, she gets overlooked. Then, the crew’s like Mylene, why didn’t you say anything sooner? And she’s like agjdjdhh Either that or she gets voted off for always reporting and being too eager to discuss on top of it.

Mylene (impostor) - gets her partner(s) inside her team and tries to tag-team anyone passing by, only for all the impostors to have alibis when she reports. If the ratio is right, they can destroy their own group, and then immediately point the finger at whoever is left, which works about half the time. Mylene is a pretty convincing actress, but the high IQ tricks only work a couple times.

Ivan (crewmate) - he’ll take one for the team if he has to, especially in those sabotage cases where you’d have to be isolated and vulnerable. Otherwise he’ll protect his group. He has an “innocent until proven guilty” attitude when he runs into other people on the map, and skips during a lot of the votes.

Ivan (impostor) - we all know he can’t lie to save his life. He usually gets voted out really fast if he kills someone because he gets nervous and starts saying contradictory things when questioned. That being said, he’ll do what he can to keep his partner(s) in the clear. He never vents because the risk is too high for him, instead just running around and saying, “sorry” out loud when he catches a victim.

Nathaniel (crewmate) - he’s the opposite of Adrien in that he’ll do anything to avoid getting killed. He runs around tasking on his own, but he’s usually behind because he’s so focused on avoiding everyone, to Max’s frustration. He also never reports bodies. This causes him to be sus at all times, so he gets voted out a lot. Wild Nath sightings are rare and terrifying because he’s never in the clear and he’s just standing there, menacingly. Imp!Alix sees him as a fun combo of Where’s Waldo and Assassin.

Nathaniel (impostor) - the millisecond that cool down timer runs out, someone is getting killed. Hit and run. He’s good at entering a fairly crowded large space, striking, and staying in everyone’s blind spots while he runs away, especially when the lights are out. He likes venting to isolated areas and killing as many people per round as he can, laughing when someone finally reports and everyone unmutes to go WHAT!? at the number of deaths. He tends to operate separately from his partner(s) unless they have an actual plan.

Chloe (crewmate) - gathers every single person in medbay and makes sure they all watch her scan. Yeah okay, we get, you’re a crewmate. She feels personally offended whenever someone kills her, which is often, since people tend to jokingly target her. During discussions, she accuses anyone and everyone of being sus, even if she just walked past them or saw them tasking alone. She likes stalking people as a ghost and spilling tea in ghost chat.

Chloe (impostor) - reacts similarly to Marinette when she kills. She will throw her partner(s) under the bus if it’s more advantageous in the long run, and she’s great at shifting the blame to innocents. People vote her out a lot anyways, and she says she can’t believe that they even like this stupid little game. Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Unless she wins. Then it’s fun.

Sabrina (crewmate) - discussion detective supreme. She keeps track of every piece of evidence and testimony, every detail. She tails the sus at a distance, trying to catch them doing something. Sometimes it gets her targeted, but sometimes she catches them and calls emergency meetings to snitch. Somehow she manages to do this and finish her tasks at the same time.

Sabrina (impostor) - sabotages everything, and tries to get her partner(s) to do it too. Once she won because the crew just didn’t fix O2 in time. She avoids killing Chloe, but feels bad if she has to kill anyone else too. She typically just sticks to making other people seem suspicious, and likes the game mode where you can’t see if you voted correctly or not.

Lila (both) - she rarely joins these games. She isn’t even a member of the chat group they use. They occasionally invite her, and she usually lies about how busy she is, but she accepted a couple times to further her narrative. She pretends to be really bad at being an impostor to establish herself as someone incapable of trickery. Regardless of her role, whenever the body announcement pops up, she goes, “oh nooo, not [victim(s)]... nooo....” and Mari’s like stfu Lila.

Bonus Polaroid kids because,,, they <3

Kagami (crewmate) - hella efficient at tasks. Two discussions in and she’s done. She’s the interrogation specialist who stresses out the imps and crew alike with her barrage of questions. She likes moving either alone or in partners, three people maximum, unless Crewinette needs her, in which case she’ll stick to the plan no matter what.

Kagami (impostor) - you’re walking through the base / there’s no one around and comms are down / out of the corner of your eye you spot her / Kagami Tsurugi. She will have you cornered and you won’t be able to do anything about it. She always has a made up explanation for what she was doing, but sometimes it falls through solely because she’s always acting sus.

Luka (crewmate) - he likes crewmate a lot more than impostor. He’ll tag along with a task group until he’s done, and then he’ll go lurk in the corner and spy on people. He moves along the walls, and a few times this has led to him witnessing murders in the middle of the room while the imp only saw him after it was too late. Cue the mad dash for emergency meeting.

Luka (impostor) - works together with his partner(s) to perform some high level backstabbery. He rarely gets voted out unless he messes up because he builds bonds of trust with like half of the crew while he leads the rest into his partner(s)’ traps. He feels bad about killing sometimes, but he doesn’t mind sabotaging.

Zoe (crewmate) - she finds one or two other people she trusts and follows them around. She uses the logic of “well we could’ve both killed each other by now but we didn’t so they must be safe”. She immediately recounts everything that happened to her that round in discussions, even irrelevant details, just in case they might end up useful, and tends to bandwagon with voting.

Zoe (impostor) - tries to catch people in secluded corners or rooms with closable doors to kill them. She avoids taking risks, but sometimes she reports her own bodies and tries to act all surprised by the discovery. She’s a good actress, but she’s not the best bs artist, although the crew is used to her giving a ton of details right from the start, so they don’t suspect her unless there’s a hole in her story.

Marc (crewmate) - does tasks on his own but makes sure to stop near crowds when he can. Whenever he’s running around alone and sees someone else, he immediately turns around like ohmygodohmygod and anxiously dances around the other person who’s more than likely just another, equally anxious crewmate with places to be. He still gets killed a lot.

Marc (impostor) - he goes full anime villain mode. All according to keikaku. He’s one of those people who disproportionately rolls the impostor role and ends up with it like twice every five games. He plans out every move he’s gonna make, every complex lie and big brain play, and sometimes he gets that glorious evil win, but sometimes his plans are totally sabotaged by stupid things like Kim’s trolling.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Huwumi: "I think I'm in love with you and that scares the crap out of me."

Oh, Anon... I am so weak for soft, emotional confessions like this~! 

"Avoidance is the approach of a coward," Father had once told her. It was one of the few pieces of advice he offered her after her Quirk presented and he deemed her a failure. She hadn't thought much about it back then. After all, she had no plans to go into Heroics so it seemed rather impractical of him to give. Especially since it was mere weeks after she'd announced her decision to go into education.

Hindsight, however, revealed that he was correct. And that she, Todoroki Fuyumi, was a damned coward.

She was a little embarrassed about it, if she were honest. She was almost 23 - a grown ass adult! - but she was still playing silly kid games like this. She wanted to blame her students in some small, immature way. When one spends most of the hours of the day interacting with and grading assignments completed by children who are just starting to grasp concepts like the toilet and reading words, one could arguably develop some tendencies gleaned from that age range. Like how her students tended to shy away from new things because they were scary. Typically in the form of one of the students acting up or attempting to derail a lesson to avoid the subject all together.

Which worked great for preschoolers with preschooler problems. Not so much for Fuyumi and her 5'8" of Winged Hero problem.

And a part of her knew she was being silly. It wasn't like Pro Hero Hawks - or Takami Keigo, as she addressed him in private - had done anything to earn the cold shoulder from her. Or, rather, not intentionally or even knowingly. It was just a her problem brought on by her own hang ups and fears. He really didn't deserve the treatment she was giving him and she knew that. And that knowledge only worked to further highlight why her fears were absolutely founded and why avoiding him was the right course of action.

It had all started out from a mutual physical attraction nearly a year prior. It was at one of those charity events where Pros went to rub elbows and grease palms and do other such things she'd been trained to look away from. And it wasn't like she hadn't seen him before. Hawks was a model when he wasn't working as a Pro, for heaven's sake! She'd seen him in magazines in various states of dress and camera filter effect. She'd seen him on the news, all red and gold, zipping to and fro to save civilians. She was aware he was an attractive guy but something about seeing him there, dressed to the nines and his hair slicked back, had certainly done something for her specifically.

And if she ended up spending a portion of that night ushered away from prying eyes with his tongue down her throat? Well, nobody else had to know.

Things continued like that between them; playing like they were teenagers hiding in broom closets all over again. And it was… honestly nice. He wasn't Fuyumi's first foray into relationships but things with Hawks felt different, hit different. The physical side of things were very good and she had no complaints there. A good portion of the people she had dated in the past had done so without any real sincerity. They were just interested in her because of her family ties to the Number Two Pro Hero and what being important to her could win them. After the fourth time someone asked her out for the express purpose of using her to fast track their own Heroics career, she decided to just circumvent the emotional side of things. She would stick rather tightly to friends-with-benefits arrangements to get that infernal itch scratched and then dip the moment a partner started trying to push for more.

But Hawks was different. He didn’t need her for any of that. He was the Number Two by his own merits and skill. He didn’t need to use her as a rung on that social ladder when he was already hovering right at the top.

But that didn’t mean the emotional side of things didn’t still terrify Fuyumi.

And slowly things were becoming less physical. Or, rather, he was seeking her out for more than just a quickie. It started as him walking her home from work every so often, when his shifts and days off lined up properly. It was… nice. He never talked about his own work day when she asked, but he would ask her about hers. He’d listen to her anecdotes about her students and the mayhem they enjoyed causing or the latest plot twist in the drama she was watching. He would hover around the Todoroki estate those days, stay for dinner and watch a few programs with her before leaving for the night. From there, it progressed to him taking her out for lunches or coffees when their days off lined up over the months to follow. They’d talk about this or that and it just felt so right, like she could just be herself and that was enough to keep him engaged with her.

But then he had offered her a smile, chin cupped in one hand and a look that was far too soft in his eyes, and declared, “See, this is the best expression on you. When you talk about something you really care about, your eyes light up and you talk a little faster. It’s cute.”

That exchange had her confronting her own feelings and, unsure of what to do with those epiphanies, she decided to run away. And that was two weeks ago.

“You can’t avoid him forever,” she chided herself as she gathered her things at the end of her day. She’d been able to ignore his texts and calls easily enough, and then been able to dodge him when he stopped by her work by convincing some of her peers to claim she was busy with something or had already left for the day. So far he hadn’t tried to come by the Todoroki estate but she was certain it was only a matter of time. He was well-versed with where she lived and the inner workings of the Todoroki home from their meet-ups. “Eventually you’ll have to talk to Hawks about it.”

“Well, I’m not sure if I’m flattered or concerned that I’ve been on your mind,” Fuyumi didn’t even bother trying to muffle the startled squeak she released as she whipped around to face the figure leaning heavily on the frame of her classroom door. He was still in his Hero uniform, even still sporting his visor, and his headphones hanging at his neck. A small part of her wished he’d been wearing them so that he didn’t hear her.

She took a deep breath to compose herself before standing up a little straighter. “Hawks,” she said, dipping her head politely. Perhaps if she aimed for being politely callous he’d just leave on his own accord. That way she could spare herself having to say anything condemning because saying things out loud would make them all far too real.

He stepped forward and she moved back, watching his movements carefully. She didn’t like that he was wearing his visor. It made it harder for her to read his mood. She had learned that his eyes tended to be the biggest give away to what he was really thinking at any given moment. It was incredibly subtle things she’d noticed - the slightest slackening of his upper lids when he was content, the slimming of his pupils when something displeased him - but she found it all incredibly enthralling. “Oh, so I’m Hawks now? Not Keigo?”

She opened her mouth to make some kind of smart retort back, like calling attention to the fact that he was still adorned in his Hero gear, but the words wouldn’t come. Her hands shifted grip at the edge of her desk behind her, trying to find something to ground her. “I need to get home and start on dinner before Father gets home,” she said, forcing the excuse out and having to resist wincing at how forced the words sounded. 

He moved slowly towards her, like he was approaching a startled animal. Which, she realized, was a pretty fair assessment. If she wanted to make a teasing comparison based strictly on name alone, he was the hawk and she was the field mouse poised on a tree stump in a field. Once he was close enough he settled one hand beside hers on the desk and leaned closer to her. “Look, if I did something to piss you off, just tell me. Ghosting me doesn’t fix anything,” he said, a bite of irritation making his voice a bit harsher than usual.

Not that she blamed him.

“You didn’t,” she said evenly, leaning more heavily against her desk to put just a hair of extra space between them.

“So you’ve been ignoring me for no reason?”

“There’s a reason but it’s not-!” she cut herself off, scowling up at him for a second before fixing her glare on the floor. “It’s not a you thing. It’s a me thing.”

He growled quietly and it startled her enough to look up at him, taking in the frustration and hurt she could just barely make out. “Don’t give me that ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ bull! Just tell me the truth!” This was exactly what she’d been hoping to avoid. She didn’t want to hurt him. Underneath the bravado of the big, confident playboy, she’d seen he was a genuinely sweet guy. And she knew that, some day, she’d end up hurting him.

She’d hurt them both, but she could deal with breaking her own heart. No, what she dreaded was having to hurt him.

“I think I’m in love with you,” she admitted, forcing herself not to flinch as she watched his body stiffen, “and that… that scares the Hell out of me.”

She was trembling after the words escaped her. She wasn’t sure why she’d let the truth out. Maybe to just rip the bandage off now? Just get it over with and embrace the pain sooner rather than later? She knew she had already started to as the silence between them stretched out and she let her gaze fall. This was it, she told herself as she squeezed her eyes shut. He’d tell her she was crazy and walk away and she’d be hurt for a while and she’d swear off exclusivity again. But then there’s a gloved hand cupping the side of her face and tilting her head up. She felt her shaking get worse as her eyes met his, visor removed, and saw nothing but what she could only call… relief? “What if you weren’t the only one who was scared of that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” she breathed as his thumb traced along her cheekbone.

“I’m not exactly versed in the way of relationships,” he laughed quietly, the tension slowly waning from his body. She felt herself start to relax and match him a bit more. “I mean, I wasn’t really raised in an environment where that kinda thing was… given a lot of focus. I’ve had a few other sexual partners, sure, but a committed relationship where it’s about more than that? Never. I never really wanted that until you, Fuyumi.”

She swallowed hard. “I'm not easy to be with,” she mumbled before she could stop herself, her voice cracking and trembling.

“Are you trying to persuade me to walk away? Because that isn’t going to work. I’m not one to just walk away from something once I’ve got my hooks in,” he said, amusement dripping from his words as he pulled her closer. His wings spread out and curled around them, too, as tucked her head under his chin and let them mutually rest against each other. “When you really do want me to go, I’ll go. But until then? You’ll just have to get used to having me around.”

She wanted to tell him he was wrong, because that was a silly thing to say, but she also knew how happy his words made her selfish heart. She knew how much she wanted to hear those words and have them be worth something more than hot air. For as much as she wanted to cling to him she also wanted to shove him away. Because good things never lasted for Fuyumi. Good things in her life were fickle; either leaving abruptly like her brother and mother, or being nothing but surface level like her past partners. For as much as she wanted something or someone good to be permanent, she knew it wasn’t.

She closed her eyes and let herself melt into his embrace, forcing her mind to shut down as her fingers curled in the material of his jacket.

Dear God did she want this to be the one good thing that didn’t fade.

[shibereshu]

hii, i love your writings! i sent another ask but i forgot to write the request jcdsjf anyway: i would like a scenario where you are paired up w Leedo from oneus for a blind date ^^

thank you for request !! it’s not as much leedo as i had originally planned but i think it’s compensated for the sake of the storyline i had?? the action is more y/n having feelings for leedo than actual action with leedo but !! i think ! it’s worth it in the end?

i hope you enjoy this and if so i hope you request again ! to everyone reading this, our requests are open and the groups we write for are in the desc. of our blog! we have a prompt list you can use for requests! enjoy !!

You sighed melancholically once again, which made your friend next to you sigh too, but for her it was kind of a sigh of desperation.

—“Can you stop doing that? I feel depressed just looking at you!” —She told you. You just ignored her and stayed silent, which made her sigh again.

You knew she didn’t say it in a bad way. She was always there for you when you were sad or just needed to be with someone, which was the reason she was at your house at that moment, sitting on your bed and looking at you as you sat on your desk chair facing her but looking down at the screen of your phone, never ceasing the movement of your thumb to keep scrolling down on it.

—“(Y/n), at least look at me! How can I help you if you don’t even tell me what’s wrong? I told Youngjo to postpone our date to tomorrow so I could come cheer you up.” —She spoke again. You looked up, making eye contact with her for a second, and then went back to looking at your phone, although this time you just stayed still while staring at the screen.

—“You didn’t have to, you should have gone and have fun.” —You whispered, loud enough for her to hear, even though you wouldn’t have minded if it had stayed as just a thought that only you heard.

She whispered back even lower to the point where you could only guess that she asked you not to say that. She got up from the bed and approached you, leaning down to look at what kept you so focused on your phone’s screen.

—“Lee Geonhak- Wait, were you looking  through Geonhak’s instagram all this time?” —She asked, and you didn’t say anything but felt your suddenly blushed cheeks speak for you. She let out a loud gasp and then squealed for a second, a smile forming on her face.— “You like Geonhak!? Why didn’t you tell me!? He’s Youngjo’s best friend!” —

—“I-“ —You almost denied it on instinct, but it was no use hiding it from her, and even though it embarrassed you, you had actually been wanting to tell her for quite some time.

You didn’t know how you went so long without her noticing. In your opinion, it would just take looking at you when you were hanging out with her, Youngjo and his friends –including Geonhak- to quickly notice. Looking at the bright side of it, you were relieved because if your childhood best friend hadn’t realized, then Geonhak couldn’t have either.

—“You could have told me, you know? I can set you up on a date with him!” —Minsoo said, and you quickly lifted your head to look at her and protest, cheeks still colored in red.

—“No! You can’t do that! I don’t want him to know that I like him! Or- At least, not yet! Please, Minsoo!” —

You shouldn’t even be begging her, she was your friend, but her sounding so determined to do that for you made you feel somewhat scared. If they told him you wanted to go on a date with him, he would instantly know that you obviously had at least some sort of feelings or interest for him. And if he didn’t feel the same way, it would become awkward. And if it became a little too awkward, not only would you lose what you thought was already an almost-inexistent chance of being more than friends, but probably the chance of being just friends. And you’d rather take that than nothing.

Before she could insist, you spoke up again.

—“I don’t even want to try anything, just being his friend is enough.”—Minsoo pouted.

—“Why? What if he’s interested too?” —She asked, and for a second her insistence made you suspicious. Not only that, but her excitement when she discovered you liked him. It wasn’t such a big deal. Quickly she derailed your train of thought with a gasp and a huge smile formed on her lips.— “I have an idea!” —

She went back to the spot where she was sitting on the bed before, and you looked at her with eyes full of curiosity.

—“Let me set you up on a blind date!” —

—“Huh?” —Was the only thing you could let out, and she repeated it as if you just hadn’t heard. You had heard her just fine, you were just confused as to how she had come up with that idea and especially why.

—“That way you can distract yourself from your feelings for him if you really don’t like him! And you get to go on a date! When was the last time you went on one?” —

Deep inside, you thought the idea was ridiculous. You knew you’d feel terribly bad going on a date for someone without really wanting to. The other person could really be looking to meet someone to date, meanwhile you’d be there while your heart was already taken by someone else. Just because you didn’t want to try to pursue anything with Geonhak didn’t mean you wanted anything with anyone else.

Still, you didn’t even protest and agreed to her idea.

Two days later, there you were again, in your room. And there was Minsoo, again, sitting on your bed, except this time her boyfriend Youngjo was sitting next to her, both of them looking at each outfit you took out of your closet.

—“Oh, that one! The dark red one!” —Your best friend exclaimed suddenly, holding the dress you were holding on your right hand and that you had just taken out of the closet. When you turned your head to look at her, you saw Youngjo nodding in approval too.

—“It’s not too casual, but also not extremely elegant. It’s perfect for the restaurant we chose.” —You glared at him for a second and then at her. You didn’t even remember giving her permission to tell Youngjo, or anyone about that matter about your feelings. But you couldn’t get mad at her because you knew none of them would actually tell Geonhak anything about it.

You settled on the red dress as they proposed and went to the bathroom to get dressed. In a few minutes, you were back, makup already on, to which Minsoo whined because she wanted to get to do your makeup. You told her she could do your hair so she regained her excitement and happily got up from the bed to help you finish get ready.

As she did your hair, the three of you kept chatting. Sometimes even about things not related to your date or dating in general, probably since they could feel you were somewhat nervous. But even if you didn’t talk about it, the feeling was still there.

Even if you didn’t mention them, the feelings for Geonhak were still there, and you still didn’t know if you wanted to go on a date with someone you had never seen at all and therefore couldn’t have been interested in. Not only were you lying to yourself, but you were starting to feel like you would waste their time. In order to not let them notice what you were thinking, you held in a sigh.

Not long after that, you were on the car, and the sooner you got to the place they had chosen for the date, your brain started trying to fight your nervousness by complaining about even having agreed to the date, regretting it before it even began.

—“Why would you even choose a fancy restaurant? I’ve never been to one! You know I’m not very picky with restaurants. I would have been okay with at… I don’t know! A normal restaurant!” —Minsoo sighed once again and Youngjo just chuckled. At first, she had tried to protest against your own complaints, but at this point she was too tired even of that and let you vent and get your nervousness out of your chest.— “Oh, no! Did he choose it? Is he going to be a rich fancy guy? Oh, god, what am I going to do?” —

Youngjo slowly drove the car to a stop and interrupted you before you could go into another crisis and could go from complaining to panicking.

—“We’re here, and so is your date! Look!” —He exclaimed, and you looked out the window instantly.

The first person you saw was Kim Geonhak, and your eyes widened to the point anyone would have thought your eyes would fall out of their sockets. Mind probably too clouded from the many feelings you were accumulating and were overwhelming you, you looked away from the window as if by not looking at him the chances of him seeing you were reduced.

‘Geonhak is there! Why is he here!? Oh my god, he’s going to see me go on a date with someone else! If I ever had any chances, now I will never have any!’ you screamed inside your head, even though outside you were frozen and quiet, eyes still open in shock. Youngjo called your name a few times and even waved his hand in front of your face trying to get you back to your senses, which finally got your attention. After that, you looked out the window again and as you did, you saw Minsoo smiling from the rearview mirror, smirking at you.

—“… Minsoo? Do you have anything you want to tell me?” —

—“Enjoy your date, (Y/N)!” —She said, with a smile.— “Come on, get out of the car! Have fun! We’ll pick you up later! You’ll thank me for this.” —

‘I’ll thank you for this? Yeah, right… For sure I will…’

Not satisfied with her response, you unbuckled your seat belt and after grabbing your purse, you opened the door and got out of the vehicle. When you did and looked up, you and Geonhak made eye contact. For a split second, he looked surprised to see you, but you weren’t sure since you quickly turned around to look at Minsoo through the car’s window. She was still smiling.

—“Minsoo…”  —

—“Geonhak is your date.”—

Everything was dead silent for around 5 seconds. The world seemed to stop turning. And then, in a millisecond you reached out for the handle of the door to the seat you had been in less than a minute prior, but at the same time you heard the sound of the lock being activated, so you couldn’t open the door. Still smiling at you, Minsoo and Youngjo said goodbye and then left.

—“Enjoy your date, guys!” —

‘Guys?’ You looked next to you and saw Geonhak standing there, making you jump in your spot a little and at the same time calling his attention. He looked at you somewhat surprised at your reaction and you quickly apologized.

—“Sorry, I didn’t hear you approaching.” —You said, and then cleared your throat as if that would help with the nervousness that made you feel like you were going to start stuttering any second.

You were on a date. With Geonhak. Geonhak was your date. At a fancy restaurant. Geonhak was, just like you, dressed elegantly enough to go to this restaurant. And just like any other time you looked at him, you thought he was the most beautiful person you had ever seen. Then, he apologized for startling you and smiled. Now he was the most beautiful person you had ever seen.

Both of you don’t even realise you’re just standing in silence taking in each other’s appearance after who knows how long. Finally, he clears his throat and speaks.

—“I’m glad Youngjo and Minsoo did this because I couldn’t dare to ask you on a date myself, and I have liked you for some time now.” —

You stayed silent, body frozen again from shock but you feel your cheeks warming up again. Just like when your best friend had found out about your feelings, but even worse, making Geonhak feel like he shouldn’t have said all that yet. He had literally admitted to not just wanting to go on a date with you and being interested but to having real feelings for you. You knew your reaction wasn’t one of rejection, but instead one of true shock because you didn’t expect him to return your feelings. But he obviously didn’t, which made him speak up again.

—“You don’t have to return my feelings, I want us to get to know each other better.” —

—“No,” —You shook your head and smile, the blush on your cheeks a little less prominent and the warmth it brought your face feeling more comfortable now.— “I’ve liked you for some time now too.” —Geonhak seemed to almost instantly relax at your words, which made you smile a little wider as you continued.— “In fact, Minsoo set me up for this telling me it’d be a blind date and I felt so bad for accepting because I didn’t want to go on a date with someone I didn’t know or didn’t feel interested in.” —

He smiled back at you as he listened, and then chuckled. He’s smiling at you, you’re smiling at him, the atmosphere feels light and bright thanks to the relief of finding out about your reciprocated feelings for each other, but then in a second the smiles vanish from your faces as something reminds to look to the restaurant next to you where you were supposed to have your date.

You couldn’t help but cringe a little at the thought of really having to go there after all, and looking at your date from the corner of your eye you could see he also didn’t look too excited to eat there, not even if it was with you.

—“You… Didn’t choose this restaurant, right?” —You asked, looking at him, and he looked back at you, shaking his head before answering.

—“No, I thought you did… But now that I know you didn’t, this does seem like a place Youngjo and Minsoo would choose… But for themselves.” —You nodded and he let out of a sigh. You mimicked his action but then, an idea came to mind so you smiled at him.

—“Hey, so… This means Minsoo and Youngjo are the ones who paid for the reservation, right? In that case…” —

Arching his eyebrows but smirking at you, Geonhak seemed to catch on to what you were trying to say. Without waiting for you to concrete, he extends his hand towards you and smiling back at him, you take it. His hands are soft, and your fingers fit perfectly linked with each other’s.

He tightened his grip on your hand a little before finally both of you start walking, leaving the fancy restaurant behind. You didn’t know where you would go or what you would do, but being with Geonhak and looking at your linked hands, you knew it was gonna be a great date. Maybe, after all, you’d really have to thank Minsoo for this.

[fbdo1986]

idk the only fbdo prompt i can think of is cameron falls asleep on the couch so ferris and sloane have a contest to see how much random shit they can put on him before he wakes up. Besides that, the way you wrote cam & sloane’s 1st kiss was very good, how bout writing ferris and cam’s 1st kiss? Unless that’s gonna be in ur new fic of course. Anyway, i’ll be back if i can think of cuter prompts

yo anon… you’re the best!!!! how about i write both???!! it’s hard for me sometimes to write ferris/cam and i have no idea why?? but i’ll do it for you anon! and honestly i’m not too sure if my fic is gonna involve any kissing tbh! i kinda foster ideas as i go

okay! since i am incapable of putting this one in the same timeline of my sloane/cam fic heres one that goes post the fic im working on, which is an interpretation of that fateful day off! (it’s probably a few days after or so)

warning: slight mention of ab*se bc like. cameron’s dad exists

ALSO SORRY THIS IS SO FUCKING LONG I GOT CARRIED AWAY!

Cameron narrowly escapes to his room, his hands shakily pressing the button to dial up the Bueller residence. He was high of pure adrenaline, and unfortunately, fear. The spiel about how ‘he wouldn’t be pushed around any longer, and seriously doesn’t a teenager deserve to have a life of his own? and how he’s done nothing except nearly exhaust himself to make the man proud and he doesn’t even notice!?’ actually takes old Morris Frye by surprise, and in a good way. He ruffles Cameron’s hair and goes on about how for the longest time he’s been waiting for his son to become a man, and how maybe, he’s proud of Cam. That is, until he realizes Cameron’s mentioned the car. Then all bets are off. It starts with a loud bellowing yell and Cameron can sense it’s only gonna escalate from here. Quickly, Morris is inching his way closer to Cameron and even though Cam is giving an explanation as quickly as words can exit his mouth to try and derail his father, it’s no use for the man who loves his car more than his own family. The man is seeing red, the red of that precious 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California that tumbled to its death from the garage. And Cameron needs to get out of there before he gets any closer. 

So he makes it to his bedroom, and the immediate response is Ferris. There’s no one who can save him like the boy who can get out of trouble in any situation. The line rings and he hears the familiar, moody hello of Jeanie Bueller. “Hey, it’s Cameron. Can you put Ferris on, please?” His voice wavers, and Jeanie immediately understands. Cameron won’t lose it, not like how he used to, but these things build up. 

“Ferris! It’s Cameron!” Jeanie yells, and Mrs. Bueller asks if everything’s alright. Jeanie keeps silent, letting Ferris spill if he decides to.

Ferris has something inside of him that is fine tuned to discussions of Cameron or Sloane. This shout isn’t typical Jeanie tone, and immediate sirens begin to blare in his ears. From across the house he’s at the phone in the hall, immediately replacing Jeanie at the line. “Hey, what’s up?” He keeps his voice light. Maybe it’s nothing. 

“Fer, I need an out. My old man is gonna kill me for this car. I mean it. He’ll find a way to give me hell. If it was his way I’d never come back.” He lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding in. “Please.”

At this point, Ferris has nearly bitten the inside of his cheek raw. He suddenly regrets all the things he’s ever done to put Cameron at risk of being hurt by his old man. Sure, he did think taking the car out was good for Cameron—he always wished Cameron could loosen up and fully enjoy what good things happened to him—but he could’ve never imagined the state it’d be in by the end of the day. He meant it when he said he’d take the heat for this, and he still does. It kills him to know his foolishness could cost Cameron harm. Ever since Ferris Bueller understood just how horrible things get in Cameron’s house he immediately knew he’d always be there for him. It takes a little longer to realize the reverse is true, that he’d be complete and utterly lost without Cameron, and that he needs him to stay sane. He won’t let that show in his words or his tone. He’s gotta be strong right now because that is what Cameron needs.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll get you out of there.” He covers the receiver. “Jeanie, can I use your car?” A silent nod of understanding from his sister. Mrs. Bueller is insisting to take care of it, she’s always liked Cameron, but Ferris wants it all under his control. “I’ll be there soon, alright?” He asks Cameron, hoping he doesn’t know that he’s keeping his voice from shaking. At least he can’t see his hands.

A deep breath. “Thank you, Ferris. Seriously. You don’t understand how much I appreciate this.” Cameron always knows that Ferris is and always will be there for him, but he’s always grateful when he steps up for things like this. 

Like lightning after Jeanie gives him the keys, Ferris races out of his house and hops into his sister’s car. Ferris is thankful for his driver’s license despite his absence of a car. And he’s thankful for Jeanie at this moment, too. And most importantly, for Cameron. He fights every urge to completely speed over there, since he’d never forgive himself for getting a speeding ticket on the way to his best friend’s house. When he gets to Cameron’s he makes his way to Cameron’s window. He’s willing to risk heat from Morris for sneaking Cameron out, and if the man even thinks he’s getting at Cameron for this he’s sorely mistaken. Has Ferris ever fought anyone? Absolutely not, but Morris Frye deserves to have a taste of his own medicine for once in his life. Ferris raps on the window as quietly as he can, his eyes lighting up immediately when Cameron turns to face him. 

Cameron fights a loud, enthusiastic expression of gratitude, but his sentiments remain. “G-d bless Ferris Bueller.” Ferris simply grins. But his eyes widen with concern when he remembers why he’s here. “Wait, Cam. Are you hurt? Did that son of a bitch—” Ferris can’t stop himself from grabbing at Cameron’s arms and getting a bit too close to look at his face.

Cameron chuckles, swatting him away. “I’m fine, Fer. Quit breathing on me. But seriously, I’m alright.” He looks at Ferris, the absolute goof of a best friend right in front of him. Despite his cool exterior, he really does wear his heart on his sleeve. He’s thankful that all those threats that he’d find a new best friend were never serious. Cameron almost embraces him. Almost. He settles for a shared smile. 

“Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.” Ferris rocks back onto his heels and Cameron swiftly stands up from his bed. They get out through the window and shut it tight. 

The ride to Ferris’s is awkward. Ferris wants nothing more than to crack a joke and relieve this tension, but he doesn’t want to disrespect what’s just happened to Cameron. The radio is on low, playing the current hits. When they reach the Bueller’s Cameron is bombarded with concerned but sweet proddings from Mrs. Bueller and a comforting look from Jeanie. Cameron feels a bit lighter already, but he only feels like he can fully breathe once they’re in Ferris’ room. The Cars are softly playing from Ferris’s stereo while Cameron flops directly onto the bed and Ferris sits next to him. 

“Jesus Christ.” Cameron’s voice is muffled against the comforter, and he slowly turns to face up and look at the ceiling. “I hate this. I can’t believe I have to run away to solve my problems.”

“To be fair, you’re not running away. You’re literally 10 miles away from your house. Plus, I helped you escape.” Ferris leans back on his palms and looks at the ceiling too. “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t done it sooner. I wouldn’t last a day there. I don’t know how you do it. Fuck what Morris says, Cam, you’re the bravest man I know.” He breathes out a sigh and wishes he could say more. 

Cameron shifts and turns to Ferris for a moment. “No way, man. That’s you.” They exchange a glance. Despite being friends for seven years, words like these don’t get shared often between them. “Thank you. Again. Not even just for this, Fer.” He looks at Ferris intensely. “My life outside of that house is what it is because of you. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” 

Ferris averts his gaze, but a smile plays on his lips for a moment. He pauses and draws out the phrase, “You, my love, are worth it all.” 

Cameron’s face is immediately drowned in heat. He doesn’t know why this is so significant but all he feels is his heartbeat in his throat and he can’t help but sit up, dumbfounded. He looks at Ferris and there’s nothing that can convince him the boy was joking. Ferris, inversely, however, is turning pale. 

“What?” That’s all that escapes Cameron’s mouth, but it’s not upset or repulsed. Only curious. 

“Look, Cam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it and it just slipped out and you’re just great, okay? That’s it. You’re just great, the problem is how great you are.” The words slip out so fast Cameron is just barely hanging on. 

“I’m what?”

“You’re fantastic. You’re everything I could ask in a friend and more and I’ve just been thinking it over for a few days and I’m so sorry I ever jeopardized your safety. I need you and all of this wouldn’t even matter if it wasn’t for you, Cameron.” His eyes, deep with worry and passion all at once meet Cameron’s. And without a second thought Ferris’s hands are cupping his face and he presses a kiss into Cameron’s lips. Cameron’s caught off guard, insanely surprised, but as his heartbeat slows he can hear Ferris’s breath in an exhale and Cameron presses a kiss back into Ferris. Cameron smiles and after a moment Ferris parts from the kiss and looks up at his best friend. 

“Didn’t mean shit, Bueller.” Cameron laughs and all of a sudden the light is back in Ferris’s eyes and Ferris can’t think of anything to do but tackle Cameron in a hug. It knocks Cameron’s lanky frame over, but they just lay there and continue to laugh.

[fenfyre]

A werewolf AU of Jean presenting as an omega and going into hiding because he doesn't want to accept it - because he doesn't seem like one and fears rejection - but Eren and/or Marco coming to find him and telling him he's the most gorgeous omega and he/they won't let anyone tell him otherwise and being all fluffy. And in case longer, the first heat together and Jean being all (grumpily) embarrassed and needing a lot of praise to cope.

"Leave me alone!", Jean cried out, his voice breaking pathetically around the words as he flung the pillow against the slowly opening door. He knew who was on the other side, could smell the homey scent of bread and crisp autmn leaves and it didn't lighten his mood at all. Of all the people who could come to check on him it had to be Eren fucking Jäger. Of course. Because he hadn't been humiliated enough already it seemed.

Despite his vocal protests the door opened again after just a few seconds and green eyes came to peek around the corner. They were larger and kinder than Jean had ever seen them and for some reason that only made him angier. He didn't need anyone's pity, let alone Eren's.

"I'm not gonna leave you", the other boy said, voice quiet as it carried into the room and Jean scoffed.

All out of projectiles he pulled his blankets closer, huddling up in the soft material as he pulled his knees up against his chest and kept glaring daggers at the tousled mop of hair slowly sliding further into the room. 

"I know you're upset but..."

Eren didn't get to end that sentence before Jean was snarling at him, baring sharp canines that glistened in the light of the setting sun falling through the window. He ducked back behind the door until Jean stopped and only slowly began to peek around the corner again. 

"Jean", Eren began and stood brave when he got snarled at again, much to Jean's dismay, "I'm not here to make fun of you. We're all very worried ... it's not like you to get hung up on that stuff..."

Jean felt his jaw drop in sheer disbelief, the endlessly ignorant words leaving him dumbfounded and unsure whether to laugh or scream.

"Stuff?", he parroted back, a humourless laugh following the single syllable. "Sure, it's just that nobody's gonna take me seriously ever again and that I'll have to leave the Corps because  how could I ever lead a squad like this and anyway, which Alpha would want a mate like that but you know ... it's just ... stuff, yeah."

Eren huffed out a quiet breath that made Jean bristle and want to continue. But he didn't expect the calm "I'm sorry" that left him speechless just long enough so Eren could slip into the room and close the door behind himself. 

"If you really think like that I get why you're pissed and terrified", Eren said, still way too calm and understanding. It confused Jean to no end to hear him talk like that. "But you have to know not everyone thinks like that, right? That things have changed, are still changing..."

"Changing?" He shot Eren a sharp glare but didn't tell him to leave. Why didn't he just tell him to leave? "How would you know what's changing for omegas?"

"How do you?"

The question derailed him for long enough so Eren could approach him and hop onto the table next to the bed, legs swinging back and forth as he looked at Jean with cheeky curiosity. "Do you know any other omegas in the Corps?"

Jean took a breath to speak but couldn't find a quick answer. He frowned, gaze flicking away, then back to Eren. 

"No..."

"No", Eren shrugged, "but that isn't because there aren't any. I asked the captain..."

"You did what?"

"...and he said people just don't notice them because they don't get treated any different than Alpha or Beta soldiers. So if you're scared nobody's gonna give you a squad or want to follow you, don't be. It doesn't matter at all."

That couldn't be true ... could it? Jean had been so sure this would destroy the very purpose he had found and built up for himself. But if Eren told the truth, and there was no reason he wouldn't, then he didn't have to be afraid. Still there was a restlessness deep down inside those few words couldn't soothe. 

He pursed his lips in defiance, tight jaw clicking with the movement. 

"There's always gonna be cocky asshole Alphas trying to start shit", he grumbled and pulled his knees even closer. It was strange, seeing Eren sit there with his eyes so curious and his legs swinging innocently.

"You thought you'd be an Alpha until a few days ago. Would you have treated us any differently? Looked down on Betas and Omegas?"

Jean's fingers dug deeper into the soft material of his blanket, arms wrapped around his own knees as he thought about the seemingly easy question. He would have liked to answer quickly but found he couldn't. In the end Eren shrugged.

"There's always gonna be cocky assholes, period. But you know how to deal with those. I mean ... you've been dealing with me for years, right?" 

With the way Eren chuckled, like he was recalling his fondest memories instead of all the instances him and Jean had clashed over the years, it was hard to not at least smirk back at him. So Jean did and watched green eyes grow just a bit warmer. 

"And at least from where I'm standing I can tell you that if we're gonna have a problem in the future, and we both know it's gonna happen again sooner or later, it'll be because you're an arrogant dick. Not because you're an Omega."

That was ... strangely calming to hear, Jean had to admit. He gave a slow nod, thinking Eren's words over. Then his smirk grew wider.

"And for me it's gonna be because you're a reckless bastard. Not because you're an Alpha."

A satisfied nod of acknowledgement. Jean grinned back. 

Then Eren raised a hand to scratch at the nape of his neck, seeming less amused and more serious all of a sudden. His eyes drifted away from Jean, first down to the ground and then over to look out the window as if deep in thought.

"And Jean...", he began, haltingly but firm, "fuck anyone who doesn't want you as a mate just because of this, yeah? Anyone who'd reject you just cause you don't act like a 'proper' Omega is insane."

The words were so soft and honest Jean didn't know what to say for a while. At some point Eren's eyes flicked back to him, careful and considering, only to grow warm and fond the longer Jean met his gaze. It was oddly tender, this strange moment spanning between them, and Jean was compelled to reply something, anything, that would show his appreciation for the way Eren handled the situation. But before he could think of the right words Eren's lips slanted back into a smirk again and his eyes twinkled with mischief.

"We both know the real reason to reject you is your face."

It took a second until the words had fully registered with Jean, enough time for Eren to jump to his feet and make a mad dash to the door. It didn't take long for Jean to take up the pursuit, though, the reason why he'd been shutting himself in for days now all but forgotten. 

~

Commissions | Kofi | AO3 | twitter | pillowfort

[quicksilversquared]

Lost Heart: Chapter 26

The Last Loose Ends

Magic can be a dangerous thing to play around with, particularly when that magic is tangled up in a curse. When Nathalie Sancoeur experiments with magic that she doesn’t fully understand, it sends her on a path to become Paris’ most dangerous supervillain and tips the balance between superheroes and supervillain.

But which way will the balance fall?

links in the reblog

Adrien had to admit that his girlfriend was doing a great job at not giving away her excitement as their class piled onto the bus, a quiet buzz running from person to person as their classmates tried to figure out where the mystery location for their field trip would be. Marinette was patiently listening to Alya's wild and completely inaccurate guesses as they boarded, a neutral look on her face. Adrien was having a hard time containing his (somewhat vindictive, honestly) excitement himself, and had to keep himself out of the conversation for fear of spoiling the surprise.

He could only hope that the drive to the embassy wouldn't take long.

Alya and Nino slid into one seat, with Lila settling on the seat across the aisle from them. Madam Mendeleev settled herself directly behind Lila- Adrien wouldn't be surprised if she was doing so to ensure that Lila wouldn't try to make a break for it- and he and Marinette sat behind Nino and Alya, close enough to pay attention to their conversation and to not look suspiciously disinterested.

And, as a bonus, they would get to see Lila's face when they arrived at the embassy.

"I'm impressed that Madam Mendeleev actually managed to keep this secret," Adrien murmured in Marinette's ear as they got settled. "Like, surely there were parents who wanted to know where we were going. The only reason our parents didn't say anything was because we already knew what was going on."

"Well, people know that she's not going to arrange anything too crazy." Marinette smiled up at him, curling into his side. Her charm bracelet peeked out from under her jacket sleeve, glinting in the winter sunlight. "So that probably helped. And there might have been some parents told, on the condition that they not spoil the surprise."

"Mm, good point." Adrien pressed a kiss to her hair, conscious of Lila scowling as she eyed them from her seat. While she was clearly trying to hide it, Lila was super sour about Adrien being clearly taken now, so she couldn't try to claim that they were close to dating, or dating in secret, or-

Well, he didn't know what else she would try to claim, really, but ever since he and Marinette started dating- or, rather, ever since they first claimed that they were dating- Lila had been eying them with increasingly irritated expressions. Clearly she had had something in mind and their relationship had derailed it. He would have thought that his father being outed as Hawkmoth would have been even more of a deterrent- after all, who wanted to be at all associated with a supervillain, no matter how indirectly?- but it seemed that his fame as a model probably overruled that association.

With the last of the two troisième classes loaded into the bus, the doors closed and the bus started off. Adrien settled down in his seat, content to more or less tune out the rest of the bus in favor of watching Marinette's expressions as she listened to Alya and Nino. She had been doing an admirable job of not being annoyed with the two of them for the attitude that they had given Ladybug in the final battle, he thought, though it probably helped that they hadn't seen Alya and Nino much over the break.

Besides, Lila was a much more deserving target. Even disregarding everything that she had pulled during the school year, they still hadn't been able to go for the rest of the winter break without hearing about her and her latest lies.

After Christmas had fully passed and a large part of the dust had settled from both the final battle and the news of who Hawkmoth and the Purple Lady/Mayura had been, most of Paris was happy to give all of the credit to Ladybug and Chat Noir, with a side bit of thanks to their temporary superhero teammates. But Lila had stepped forward several days before school started up again (after she had "returned" from her visit with Swedish royalty) to brag about how the Ladyblog post that she had inspired had been a major motivating factor in the superheroes deciding to take the Purple Lady down when they did, garnering a decent amount of media attention. It had been both insulting and annoying, and meant that now Ladybug and Chat Noir had to do a media release explaining exactly what had really happened sooner rather than later unless they wanted to hear news outlets singing Lila's praises.

They had been planning on doing that anyway, of course, so that they could go out without reporters shouting questions at them, but both he and Ladybug had hoped to hold off on what was sure to be a long media appearance until after they had finished all of the mentally grueling visits to the prison to see Nathalie and Mr. Agreste to try to purge all of the effects from the Heart curse from them. But now they had to move it up to be as soon as possible.

Even though he wasn't really listening, Adrien knew right away when Lila joined the conversation again, because Marinette's largely neutral expression had immediately turned annoyed. Adrien tuned in at once, just in time to hear Lila offer to help Alya and Nino (and, obviously Adrien and Marinette too, because she was so nice) study for their Foreign Relations unit- if she had any time to spare, because getting details for getting a new charity project set up for widowed women in South Africa was so much work, of course, and everything had to be just perfect for the UN to add in their financial support, and of course she was going to be missing school with her family's trip to Hollywood the following week, so that was just another strain on her schedule...

Adrien squeezed Marinette's shoulder as Alya and Rose immediately started offering their help, falling over themselves in their offers only for Lila to demurely turn them down, assuring them that if she had a less rushed deadline for her charity work in the future, she could teach them the ropes then but right now she didn't have the time to teach anyone. Alya and Rose nodded in understanding, eager as ever.

It was infuriating, but Lila's lies would come out soon enough, and then they would never have to see any of their friends manipulated by her again.

Only minutes later, the bus turned a corner and trundled towards the somewhat imposing building that made up the Italian embassy. Adrien's gaze slid over to Lila, who hadn't noticed where they were yet. She was still bragging about her supposed project when the bus pulled over and started slowing down, and it wasn't until the bus came to a full stop that she looked up, past Nino and Alya and towards their destination.

Adrien had the deep satisfaction of watching Lila's words slowly die mid-sentence as the blood drained from her face. Next to him, Marinette buried her face in his shoulder to muffle a snicker.

"We've arrived!" Madam Mendeleev announced, standing up. "Class, since we're doing a Foreign Relations unit at the moment, I thought that it would be prudent to start it off with a visit an embassy. This, of course, is the Italian Embassy."

There were gasps of delight as that sunk in, and then all eyes turned to Lila, who- well, she had recovered admirably, Adrien had to admit. She managed a small smile and faux-humble shrug before turning her attention back to Madam Mendeleev.

If Adrien looked closely, he could see the strain in her smile.

"I expect all of you to be on your best behavior," Madam Mendeleev continued, her voice sharp. "We're lucky enough to be getting a presentation from a couple embassy members. We'll be going into their largest conference room and waiting there for our first presenter to arrive. While you're waiting, I want you to come up with questions to ask. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Madam Mendeleev."

"Great. Ms. Bustier, if you could lead the way…?"

Adrien and Marinette were among the last of the students to get off the bus and head for the building, with Madam Mendeleev bringing up the rear. In front of them, they could already hear Lila telling their classmates in faux-disappointment that no, her mom hadn't said anything about doing a presentation for a field trip and it was no surprise either, she was very busy with important meetings and coming up with international agreements and all that, plus getting things set up for their upcoming trip, and they would probably just be meeting with some lesser officials, staff members for the ambassadors instead of the ambassadors themselves.

The smirk that flashed across Marinette's face at that was too attractive to be allowed, really. It screamed confidence and absolute triumph.

It was really a pity that she hid it so fast.

"On a scale of one to ten, how likely is it that we'll actually learn much anything today?" Marinette murmured in Adrien's ear, rolling up on her toes so that no one else would overhear. "I mean, if things start coming out…"

"I get the impression that we'll get a short presentation first before Mrs. Rossi shows up, so- well, still not much, but not nothing, either." Adrien couldn't see Madam Mendeleev planning a field trip like this without planning for them to get at least a little bit of learning in. "I'm impressed that you-know-who is still keeping the act up. Lying until the end, I guess."

Marinette grinned and then started humming some ominous music under her breath, which just got Adrien snickering. In his pocket, he felt Plagg perk up and add in to the tune, quiet and slightly out of tune but loud enough for both him and Marinette to hear.

Adrien nearly choked on his laughter before struggling to put a straight face back on. After all, Madam Mendeleev expected them to be on their best behavior, and that probably didn't include bursting out into loud laughter in the middle of the embassy.

They went up a floor, and then were ushered into a large room with tiered rows of seats. Adrien's desire to sit close and get a great seat to see and hear the presentation warred with his want to actually be able to see Lila's downfall without craning his neck or being obvious about it, and it was only Marinette's tugging that made the decision for him. That, and the fact that Lila had settled herself fairly close to the front- two rows back, so she wouldn't be quite front and center, but close enough that it wouldn't seem strange; it also allowed for the maximum number of people to cluster around her, which of course was Lila's favorite thing- meant that they didn't have to sit that far back to see her.

"So, questions," Marinette said, pulling out a notebook. She glanced over at Adrien, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Common misperceptions people have about the job? It might be a good way to prompt the, ah…"

"Oh, good thought." Adrien watched as she wrote that down. "Uh- okay, I'm coming up blank. Pretty much everything I can think of would get covered by that question."

Marinette made a face. "Yeah. And the thing is, that's all I can come up with. And it's such a common question, honestly. I know someone else is going to come up with that."

Adrien couldn't help the wry grin that slid onto his face. "Yeah, well, once it's asked, it's not like we're going to stay on topic long after that, are we?"

It wasn't long before the first presenter came in, welcoming the classes and giving them a quick history of the embassy and the relationship between France and Italy. In her seat, Lila was clearly relaxing, though Adrien couldn't help but notice that she was taking a lot of notes.

Clearly someone wasn't nearly as familiar with things around the embassy as she pretended to be.

"And now it's time for our main presentation," their presenter finished, smiling at the group. "Someone that at least one of you is familiar with- Ambassador Rossi!"

Next to him, Marinette muffled a snicker as Lila startled, eyes going wide and cheeks paling. Adrien ducked his own head to hide his amusement. Oh, it was starting.

Mrs. Rossi breezed into the room with a smile, surveying the students. Adrien hastily composed himself, just in time to see Mrs. Rossi glance from him to Lila with a confused look on her face. It was almost as though she expected him to be sitting next to her daughter or something.

…what had Lila done this time?

"Good morning, everyone," Mrs. Rossi started after an awkward pause. "I'm an ambassador here at the Italian embassy. I just started here relatively recently, after previously working in Croatia and, prior to that, Belgium. I thought that I might start my presentation today by covering what ambassadors do and don't do, and common misperceptions about the job!"

Marinette crossed out her question, then shot an amused glance at Adrien. Her expression clearly read oh, she's doing all the work for us! and honestly, Adrien couldn't agree more.

Across the room, Lila's expression was tightening and her eyes were flicking around, clearly already anticipating how this was going to go. She had surrounded herself, though, and was clearly trapped in the room. There was no easy path out, and she was going to have to watch everything fall apart around her.

….it was possible that Adrien was getting ahead of himself and seeing things that weren't there. He would be feeling trapped right now if he were in Lila's shoes, but she was probably trying to come up with ways to steer the conversation so that all of her lies would just slip under the table unnoticed. It wouldn't work, of course- not with Madam Mendeleev already suspicious, the two of them there to poke the whole thing along, and a whole host of overly enthusiastic Lila fans- er, their classmates- there in the room, ready to gush over Lila's supposed adventures.

(Fans, classmates. Same thing, really.)

"An ambassador is a diplomat who represents a country- in my case, Italy- stationed in the capital of a foreign country, in order to represent their home country," Mrs. Rossi started, smiling at them. "The person selected for the job requires approval from both the home and foreign government before they get fully appointed. Once appointed, we undertake a number of duties."

Adrien nodded absently. They had already covered this in class yesterday, and he had paid attention then, knowing that they would be going to the embassy and the information would likely come up on a test later.

"For one, the embassy strives to help visitors from our country when they're traveling abroad," Mrs. Rossi continued. "Sometimes people run into trouble with their passport, or they have a brush with the law and need our help to sort things out. That's usually smaller stuff, not particularly difficult to do. Then there's the big stuff- working to establish trade and peace between our countries. That's more fiddly work, and it's sometimes very delicate. Everyone of course wants an agreement that favors their own country, and it's a fine line between holding your ground to get what you want for your country and giving enough so that negotiations don't break down. I'll talk more about that later, with some recent examples," Mrs. Rossi added. "I'm sure it sounds quite boring to you, but it is very important."

Right behind Lila, Rose was pretty much wriggling in her seat, no doubt dying to ask about the other part of the diplomat's job, the part where they met famous people and made charities and- well, whatever else Lila had been telling them. Adrien felt a little bad about how crushed she in particular would be- after all, Rose had really been wanting to learn how to actually get involved with charities and how to start her own, a selfless goal- but Marinette had tried to tell her friends previously, she really had. They just hadn't listened.

"And as for misperceptions… well, there are a lot of them," Mrs. Rossi told them with a little laugh. "One misperception is that we travel a lot. Obviously I live abroad, as does Lila, but once we move to a country, we generally stay there. With the exception of visits back home to visit extended family, of course."

Looks of confusion were starting to take over the section around Lila, who had gone stiff. Her hands were fisted on the desk.

"And- well, we're pretty normal people," Mrs. Rossi added with a laugh. "People think that we have a really glamorous job, but it's really not, at least not in the way people tend to imagine. We meet with other political figures, we meet with lost and panicked citizens of our own country, we meet with other diplomats."

There were more and more frowns all around. Lila had gone really pale now, her knuckles turning white under her skin.

"But you do meet some famous people, right?" Rose wanted to know, raising her hand. "I mean, Lila has told us about all the people she's met! Jagged Stone and Ladybug and Mr. Spielberg and Prince Ali and-"

Mrs. Rossi frowned, her eyes going to her very pale daughter. "I'm sorry, what?"

"And you were traveling for months right after Lila came to Paris, she was Skyping us from all over the world!"

"She told us that she was in talks with Prince Ali to work on a charity together!"

Lila looked like she wished that she could vanish. Her jaw had opened and closed a few times, but clearly she couldn't come up with anything to say.

Mrs. Rossi was looking thoroughly confused. "We- no, we've not left Paris for more than a weekend at a time. Lila, you told me that the school was closed due to ongoing akuma attacks!"

There were gasps all around the room. Ms. Bustier looked horrified. Jaws were hanging open. Adrien spotted Alya and Nino glancing back at him and Marinette, confusion and realization on their faces.

He had to wonder how soon any traces of Lila would vanish from the Ladyblog. He wouldn't be surprised if things would be cleaned up before they even left the embassy.

All around the room, people were blurting out things that Lila had told them, lie after lie after lie. Mrs. Rossi looked overwhelmed, and then her eyes narrowed at her daughter. The teachers rushed to the front of the room to try to get things under control, and Adrien exchanged a triumphant smile with Marinette.

Lila wasn't going to get away with her lies, not this time. And hopefully now that the truth was out, things would be able to go back to normal soon.

And after everything that they had had going on recently, they really needed normal.

  Several weeks later

Chat Noir brought up the tail end of the group of superheroes as they headed through the hallways of the prison, taking the now-familiar path back towards Nathalie's cell. The group had been cheerful earlier as they gathered near the jail, then as they headed to the jail for their eighth of who-knew-how-many-visits- Ladybug in particular still had a cheerful spring in her step after a particularly good day at school, and not even their upcoming task had been able to put a damper on that- but now that they were actually in the jail, a feeling of seriousness had fallen over the group, just as it had during their other visits.

Working on Nathalie's cure always required a fair bit of concentration, which was part of the reason why the mood was somber, but going past all of the other prisoners was never pleasant, either. Chat Noir didn't know about the others, of course, but he always found himself wondering what people were in for. He didn't want to ask- he might be sheltered and a bit socially oblivious, but that just seemed like not the greatest idea in the world- but he wondered, all the same.

The others referred, of course, to the other superheroes- Ladybug, of course, plus Queen Bee and Paon. Then Jade Turtle was there instead of Carapace, and Kagami had been tapped to play the part of the Fox instead of Alya for these trips to the jail.

After all, the first of their visits to the jail had been before Lila's (rather spectacular) downfall and Marinette and Alya were still working on repairing their friendship even now, several weeks later. Ladybug had been irritated with Alya (and Nino) for their behavior towards the end of their time as superheroes, so of course it made sense to tap their other bonus teammate to step into the Fox's boots.

(In Chat Noir's opinion, there was another reason why the change was a good thing. Kagami was a private person, one who wouldn't be tempted to tell anyone about what she saw in the prison. While he wanted to believe that Alya would resist the urge to publish anything as a 'scoop', he- he couldn't be positive. And that sounded awful and felt awful to say, but he just couldn't know. Sometimes it seemed like Alya had lost her filter.)

The final member of their group was actually one of the prison's social workers, a woman who was a friend of his mom's. She had been given the Butterfly Miraculous for the duration of Mr. Agreste and Nathalie's treatments so that she could monitor their emotional moods and the changes as they went through the spells and potions that would reverse the effects of Heart and impartially report that to the courts as evidence for sentencing. Only a select few people knew about her identity, since she was keeping her Miraculous in between their visits and they didn't want anyone going after her to try to steal the power for themselves.

They had literally just defeated Paris' supervillains a month ago, they didn't need to have another one pop up right away, especially when they needed all of the upper Miraculous to cure Nathalie.

"Ms. Sancoeur has shown some improvement since you were last here," Mariposa told them once they had moved past the occupied cells and were passing some closed rooms. "She still has a way to go and she's been more disoriented, but there is some emotion there now. Not much, mind, but it's better than the void that was there before." She shuddered, a disturbed look on her face. "Anything is."

Chat Noir could feel Plagg's answering shudder in his mind. Mariposa had told them before what it felt like to be near a heartless person with Nooroo's powers, and how wrong it felt. She could tell when the emotions were fully returned again which, combined with Jade Turtle's spells, had helped them realize when Mr. Agreste was fully recovered.

As unnerving as it was to work with Nathalie… well, it had been worse with his father, at least in Chat Noir's opinion. Watching him come fully back to himself- well, it hadn't taken long, since he hadn't done anywhere near as much damage to himself as Nathalie had done to herself, but there was just some unsettling difference that Adrien wasn't quite able to put his finger on. Mr. Agreste wasn't exactly cuddly now- he never had been- but there was something there that had changed.

(He was still stiff and aloof, though. He had thanked the superheroes for their time and effort, only showing any real emotion to Paon because, well, he knew she was his wife. Adrien hadn't seen his father since the arrest so he didn't know how his father's treatment of civilian him would change at all, and, well…would he really know? His father could put on an act and pretend to care more than he actually did.)

"It's good that she's improving," Paon said, a small smile on her face. "After seeing her those first few times… well, I was worried. Nathalie had so much potential when I met her, and for all of that to be gone…"

"Heart is very complicated to heal," Jade Turtle reminded all of them. "The damage isn't as straightforward as it is with Body, and Ladybug, Chat Noir, you remember how long that took to heal."

Ladybug made a slight face. "To be fair, part of that was that we were having trouble getting the potion ingredients that we needed for that final awakening spell. If we had had those earlier, that would have shaved off some time."

Jade Turtle smiled. "Very true." He glanced back at them. "I would expect that today, we would see a larger response. The potions have had plenty of time to build up in Ms. Sancoeur's system, and we introduced a new one since our last visit. Mariposa, are the potions still going well?"

Mariposa nodded. "We're still slipping them in her food and drink. And we've been ensuring that even if she suspects that there's anything in there, she won't be able to get rid of the food in any way, not without us knowing."

"Good, good. Ah, and here we are!"

"Time for the fun part," Queen Bee said with a sigh. "Hopefully she won't try to attack us again."

There was a general murmur of agreement as Mariposa opened the cell door, glancing inside before leading the way in. Chat Noir followed Ladybug in, lining up with the others along the padded wall before glancing across the room to where Nathalie sat, expressionless as she regarded them from her place on her bench. She wasn't restrained this week, which was a good sign, and for the first time Chat Noir wasn't sensing malice hanging heavy in the air.

It was improvement, for sure. And hopefully after today, Nathalie would actually start having emotions again.

"All right, let's get set up," Jade Turtle told them. "Paon, if you could get the candles, and Queen Bee, you've done the herbs before-"

Queen Bee was already heading across the room. "On it."

Jade Turtle smiled at that. "Fantastic. Now, while the rest of us wait…"

  Marinette was very glad to get home after they finished up at the jail. She was exhausted, and she just wanted to flop on the couch and rest.

The spells- there had been more than usual, and they had repeated the spells more than they ever had before because Nathalie had just kept responding to them- had absolutely drained the entire group, but they still had to head back to the center of the city, get Queen Bee and Kitsune back to their homes, retrieve their Miraculous, return them to Master Fu's massage parlor, and then finally- finally!- return to the bakery. By the time they got back, the bakery had closed for the day and the elder Dupain-Chengs had already moved upstairs and gotten dinner ready, enough for them and Marinette and the two Agrestes.

It had become a tradition of theirs, ever since they told her parents that they were Ladybug and Chat Noir. Once they were done with their work at the jail, they would head back to her family's place and have dinner together. Then Mrs. Agreste would retire to the guest room, and Adrien would crash on Marinette's chaise lounge.

It was a good arrangement. The mansion's staff got a much-needed day off, Mrs. Agreste and Marinette's parents got to know each other better, they could actually talk about what they had done and seen and felt at the jail, and- well, it was just comfortable. It had taken a couple weeks for Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng to fully become used to the idea of Marinette and Adrien being Ladybug and Chat Noir, but the dinners helped them get adjusted.

It helped, Marinette thought, to have Mrs. Agreste there. She was a permanent adult superhero, someone who could watch out for the two of them when they had to go do superhero business. She was also someone who could work alongside Marinette for her Guardian training, each of them having an area of focus so that they weren't overwhelmed by trying to learn everything before- well, in case anything happened to Master Fu.

Mrs. Agreste could focus on learning spells- she had an aptitude for them, after all- and Marinette could focus on potions, and then they could teach each other later on, when they had more time.

It was really, really great to not have the pressure of being the singular person in Guardian training. On top of that, it was nice to have time to hang out with Mrs. Agreste and get to know her more while Adrien was at basketball or fencing or- well, any of his assorted activities. Alya had teased her about "getting to know the in-laws already" when Marinette had mentioned the amount of time that she had spent with Adrien's mom (though not what they were doing, of course) but Marinette didn't dare repeat that to anyone else.

Adrien would be fine with it, she was willing to bet. Her kitty was just as heads-over-heels for her as she was for him, and talk of the future wouldn't freak him out. Their parents, though, even though they all knew about them being Ladybug and Chat Noir now….

Well, it was better not to freak their parents out by getting too serious, too fast.

"You guys look happy," Mrs. Cheng commented as the three of them filed into the room. "Did you make a lot of progress today?"

"Yeah," Adrien said happily, tugging Marinette over to the couch so that they could sit and relax together. Healing spells took a lot out of them every time, and this time, they had done an extra round of spellwork. "Nathalie actually seemed human again by the time we left. I mean, she still wasn't back to normal, but when I looked in her eyes there was actually something there."

"Mariposa said that Nathalie doesn't feel entirely like an empty void anymore," Mrs. Agreste chimed in, settling down on the other couch. She held herself regally, but Marinette could tell that she was just as exhausted as she and Adrien were. "Which is progress. A few more sessions, and she'll be back to normal." She sighed, the exhaustion peeking through the cracks a bit more. "Well, mentally back to- to whatever normal she had before she started using Heart. I'm not sure how that'll line up with what I remember for her."

Marinette made a face. She knew that it was hard for Mrs. Agreste to come back and find that so many things had changed while she was in a coma. Her husband was in jail, their family secretary and friend was also in jail, her old friend Madam Tsurugi had backed away from doing the right thing by helping bring the terror on the city to the end because she was worried about her family's reputation… it had to be really, really rough.

All things considered, Marinette was really impressed at how well Mrs. Agreste seemed to be re-adjusting to being awake. She had been keeping her hours at part-time at Gabriel to ease back into the work, but that was to be expected- things had changed during her absence and she was still recovering her strength, after all, and she was working on rebuilding her personal life as well as starting up Guardian training in her free time. It was a lot even then, but Mrs. Agreste seemed to be handling it so far.

"That's great news!" Mrs. Cheng exclaimed. "I know how you've talked about how unnerving she was to be around before, so for her to feel human again, that's a big step."

"It really is," Marinette agreed, smiling as Adrien flopped over into her lap, nestling his head down until he was comfortable. "Add that in with how good school was earlier, and today's been pretty great."

"Oh? What happened today at school?"

As Marinette told them, with Adrien chiming in every so often, she couldn't help but smile. It was so nice to be able to tell her parents everything about her day again, something that she hadn't been able to do for over a year. There were no more secrets coming between them, no misunderstandings and confusion just because she had to keep her double life secret. It was all out there, and they understood everything that she had had going on.

If someone had told Marinette a few months ago that she would be sitting here now with Adrien as her boyfriend, with his mom recovered and his father and Nathalie in jail and with her parents knowing their secret- and with Lila expelled from the school and Chloe actually making an effort to not be horrible anymore- she wouldn't have believed them. It sounded too far-fetched, too unbelievable, too good to be true. But it was true. It had taken a lot of work for them to get where they were and it hadn't been easy, but it was definitely worth it.

She really was the luckiest Ladybug of them all.

[tj-hearteyes-kippen]

looking for love in all the wrong places

a soulmate au where everything you lose ends up in your soulmate’s possession somehow  (on ao3 here)

or: a few times Cyrus was a disaster gay and one time he was still a disaster gay but differently

or: solemates 

Cyrus wasn’t disorganized, per say. Just a little… absent minded. That’s what he was going to call it. His water bottle would slide out of his bag without him noticing until he got home, or he would get too caught up in some conversation to remember his pencil case on his desk. Never big things, just useful ones. He hoped his soulmate appreciated it, cause he’d lost a number of really nice pens.

Cyrus had gotten small hints to his soulmate’s personality, little things that showed up in his room or in his bag that certainly didn’t belong to him. When he was younger, sometime in elementary school, he’d freaked out a little when he thought it was Buffy. He loved her, for sure, but he knew they weren’t meant to be together like that. He’d brought the running shoe to school in a panic, shoving it in Buffy’s face as soon as she got there. “You didn’t happen to lose this, did you? It was in my closet this morning and I know it’s not mine.”

She wasn’t phased. “No, mine dont look like that. Besides,” she said, wrinkling her nose a little, “that looks like a boy’s shoe.”

So. An athletic boy probably. Cyrus could work with that.

He had tried to “accidentally” misplace the shoe later that day so his soulmate could have it back, but the universe didn’t work quite like that. He always found the shoe right where he left it, and he eventually just gave up and brought it back home. He put it in the wicker basket where he kept all of his soulmate’s things, tucked in the corner of his room by his desk.

When Cyrus and Jonah had first met, it was really easy for Cyrus to get a little carried away. For as long as he knew that his soulmate was probably an athletic boy, he didn’t really have any guy friends. But Jonah was a boy, and he played ultimate, and he was really cute and nice and Cyrus would have really loved for Jonah to be his soulmate.

Andi’s soulmate never lost anything that gave her particularly good clues as to who they might be. So it was a little unfair of Cyrus, but he never put a lot of stock into Andi’s crushes. It didn’t really mean anything that she liked Jonah. Not if Cyrus didn’t want it to.

Buffy was generally pretty tight lipped about her soulmate and whatever crushes she did or didn't have, which gave Cyrus’s imagination a lot of room to work. Cyrus would never tell her for fear of death, but when they first met TJ he thought for a second that he could have been her soulmate. He had told Andi this one day and she made him swear to keep that thought to himself. “She would have bothyour heads on a spike. Besides,” she said, turning her nose up slightly, “Buffy deserves better than that jerk.” Cyrus agreed, mostly, but he hadn’t met TJ yet. Once he met TJ though, things were a little different. Cyrus couldn’t explain it. He just knew there was something about TJ that everyone else was missing. He wanted to figure it out.

Anyways, Buffy was less pressed about analyzing the clues and finding her soulmate at this age. She was always trying to be the voice of reason for Andi and Cyrus, reminding them that things would just happen when they were meant to. That was a completely reasonable and logical approach and it was also way less fun. Why would the universe even bother with all these clues if not to overanalyze them?

It wasn't even a particularly dramatic moment, in reality, when Cyrus learned for sure that he had been a little off base. Jonah had reached into his pocket for something, probably his phone, and came back out with a tube of chapstick instead. Chapstick that Cyrus had certainly never owned and therefore couldn’t have lost. “Soulmate,” Jonah laughed. “They lose stuff like this all the time.”

Cyrus laughed along politely but he felt a little crushed inside. It had been reckless to let himself think it could have been Jonah, really, and in the long run it was probably better to find out sooner rather than later. It still sucked.

He pretended to get a text from his mom so he could go home. “Bye Cy-guy!” Jonah said in his usual chipper way, completely unaware of what Cyrus was feeling.

“See ya.” He said back numbly and then went home to lie face down on his bed for the rest of the day. He called up Buffy, later, and admitted the whole situation to her despite his embarrassment.

“It really felt like I was meant to meet him, you know? Now I just feel like I got way too attached to the idea of having him in my life.”

“Sometimes I think the universe gives us people we’re meant to keep who aren’t our soulmates. Like you, me, and Andi. You guys are still friends, Cy. That doesn't have to change.”

“I know. I just thought…”

“I know.”

So. Cyrus was never letting himself do that again.

It wasn’t even that hard to not do it again, once he got over Jonah. He mostly hung out with the same people all the time and he probably would have noticed if it was one of them, he figured.

Instead, Cyrus chose to spend his time imagining the moment he and his soulmate finally found each other. In his head he was very suave and he could only hope that all of this practice being dramatic and romantic would pay off in reality. Maybe it was for the best he hadn't found his soulmate yet. He probably would have said something dumb.

Not to say that he completely stopped thinking about who it might be. Every time they were at one of TJ’s games Cyrus would look at all the boys on both teams and decide if he thought it could be any of them. He was not ogling, despite what Buffy and Andi said.

(Ok, maybe just a little bit of ogling. All he's saying is if the universe wasn't there to pick an athletic boy for him he probably would've done it himself.)

In the end he was really there for TJ though, not his teammates. “Underdog!” TJ said happily as he bounded over after the game. He moved to give Cyrus a hug, but Cyrus was faster than that.

“Uh, no thanks, sweaty basketball guy.”

TJ gave him an exaggerated pout. “But I played so well!”

“Which I will reward you for after you’ve showered.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” TJ said, then noticed Buffy and Andi standing off to the side. “Buffy, Andi,” he gave them a bro nod, “thanks for coming.”

Once TJ had made his way back to the locker room and plans for a post-game meal at The Spoon had been settled, Buffy gave Cyrus a look. “Careful,” she said, and Cyrus genuinely had no idea what she was talking about. He said as much, and Buffy just raised her eyebrows and shook her head, getting ready to head out. “Nevermind. We’ll meet you guys there, yeah?”

Cyrus knew there was more to TJ than everyone initially thought, but it still surprised him sometimes when TJ would show off an unexpected new layer. A freshly showered TJ was at The Spoon talking animatedly about this book he’d been reading, and book nerd is not something Cyrus ever would have pegged TJ for. The author of the book he had been talking about sounded familiar, too, but Cyrus couldn't place them. He told TJ this and TJ just shrugged. “I mean, I’ve probably talked about them before. I love their work, so.”

It wasn’t until he got home that day that he realized where he knew the name from. Cyrus’s soulmate had lost a book by that author before! He thought, a little ridiculously, that he was glad TJ and his soulmate would have stuff in common so they could be friends. TJ had become pretty important to Cyrus, so it would suck if he had to play mediator like he used to have to do with TJ and Buffy.

The next morning got off to an unfortunate start, which is how Cyrus should have known that the universe had shenanigans in store for him that day.

Rats he thought as he rummaged through his bag, realizing his snack had disappeared somehow. As usual, he hoped his soulmate was grateful. They should really thank him when they finally meet. Cyrus only lost stuff that could be useful to anyone. (Except that time he blessed them with a mud soaked shoe, but he liked to pretend that didn’t happen). His soulmate, on the other hand, managed to lose an entire basketball last week. How does one lose a basketball? What was Cyrus even supposed to do with a basketball? He shook his head and headed towards the vending machine to get a replacement snack before his next class.

“Hey,” TJ said, sliding into his usual seat next to Cyrus right before the bell rang. Cyrus smiled at him and then turned his attention towards their teacher.

At the end of the period she explained their homework before dismissing the class. TJ gently kicked Cyrus’s shoes. “Want to work on that together after school?”

Cyrus’s legs were not long enough to kick TJ back from where he was sitting. “Sure! My house?”

“Perfect! Later, Underdog.”

Cyrus knew that he and TJ were always the face of focus when they worked together so he anticipated incredible amounts of productivity from the two of them that afternoon.

...Okay, so maybe the homework had gotten slightly derailed.

TJ was sitting on the floor sifting through the drawers in Cyrus’s desk while Cyrus was trying to make increasingly complicated paper airplanes to throw at TJ’s head. “Hey,” TJ said, apparently out of drawers, “What’s in here?”

Cyrus looked up to see TJ peeking into the wicker basket. “That’s where I keep my soulmate’s stuff.”

“Oh,” TJ sat back. “Sorry, I should have asked before I looked.”

“No, I don’t care. Go ahead.”

Cyrus focused back on his airplane. He gave it a test throw and it turned and went to the side of the room. He got up to get it from the floor.

“Hey, I used to have a pair of shoes just like this! One of them fell out of my bag though and and I could never find it…” TJ trailed off before looking up at Cyrus in stunned silence.

Cyrus turned to see TJ holding the shoe from his soulmate basket and froze. TJ? It couldn’t be. But then he thought about it. TJ was athletic. TJ was a boy. TJ was an athletic boy that Cyrus had an unexplainable bond with since the moment they met and suddenly it all made sense. He wanted to kick himself for being so caught up on Jonah when he met TJ that he had forgotten to overanalyze such an obvious candidate.

TJ was sitting on the floor with the shoe still in hand, frozen in place. He was always cute but the doe eyed look of shock was really, really cute.

Every coherent thought Cyrus had suddenly chose to vacate his head. “Uhhh,” he started and then paused, trying to think of something clever to say. TJ was his soulmate. They would remember this moment forever. “You're welcome,” is what his mouth settled on without consulting his brain.

That was enough to shake TJ out of his stupor, his eyes lighting up as Cyrus could feel his face heating. He slowly put the shoe down next to him and leaned forward with delight. “I’m sorry, did you just say ‘You’re welcome?’”

“Um, no?” Cyrus said, but it was too late. The damage had been done. Cyrus couldn’t believe himself. All that practice and for what?

TJ was way too amused by the whole thing. He had a big, stupid grin on his face as he said, “I mean you’re great and all but that’s pretty confident to assume I would thank you for the honour of being your soulmate.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Cyrus tried to salvage his dignity even though it was long gone and he could tell TJ was just messing with him. “I just meant-- because I lost some pretty good--”

TJ shrugged, cutting him off. “I mean, I would though. I think I got pretty lucky.”

Cyrus warmed at that a little and let the reality of the situation sink in for the first time since he opened his stupid mouth. Soulmates. Soulmates. “TJ, thats… I did too. Hold on, I want to say something really sappy but I need a minute to think before I speak, apparently.”

“Just come here,” TJ said with a laugh and wrapped his arms around Cyrus after he sulked over. Cyrus rested a hand on TJ’s chest and looked up at him, suddenly shy.

“Hi,” TJ said softly.

“Hi,” he said back.

Cyrus forgot to indulge in all of his cliche love story fantasies like counting TJ’s freckles and looking for the flecks in TJ’s eyes as TJ leaned in. Instead, he let his eyes slip shut as TJ pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

At school the next morning Cyrus was excitedly telling Andi and Buffy about how magical it all was when TJ himself came over and threw an arm around Cyrus, handing him a muffin. Cyrus looked up at him happily. Forever. The universe decided he gets to have this forever. Cyrus leaned into his side a little. “Thank you.”

TJ couldn't hold back his grin and Cyrus figured that he was having a similar moment. That is, until he looked Cyrus in the eyes with a wink and very deliberately said, “You're welcome.” Cyrus groaned and buried his head into TJ’s chest. Yup, he did this to himself. He did this to himself and now he was stuck with it forever.

He was looking forward to it.

[iamalivenow]

[i can’t tag it right but its horny]      

He lets them take.

It's long since become a pattern, slipping into their room and watching them whisper and sign at the air and once they are still he becomes corporeal before them. The first time he had elicited a yelp, which he had laughed at, called undignified, and had not received anything since. It had been daunting at first, just his usual business of sewing doubt, it's so rare that his seeds do not bloom, but of course the Ascian killer doesn't bite.

No, he thinks now, as he lets himself solidify in the cold room, he would have been disappointed if they did.

“Who are you talking to, before I grace you with my presence?” They shrug, and reach out for him from their spot on the bed. “I'll start to feel jealous, mind you.”

“You'll move on.”

“Ha.” But he goes anyway, straddling their lap, the heavy warm fabric of his gown spilling between the two of them. “You wound me, Hero.”

“Are your feelings so fragile?”

“More shocked that our fair Hero is so rude behind locked doors.” The wind picks up from the balcony, the night sky alight with stars so bright he can see them from the corner of his eyes even here.

“So I'm yours now?”

“Hm.” He looks back at them in truth now, before leaning forward and stealing a kiss. “Who else dares lay claim?” They smile and it's soft and just the same as it's always been. This body is so different, but still, the smile stays the same.

It hurts just as much every time.

“A great many people.” They kiss him back, hands slipping under his coat to grip at his shoulders gently. They're still very delicate with him, even when it's become evident he doesn't need to coddling. This body isn't even real for Zodiark's sake, if he wanted to be coddled he- he doesn't even know what he would do because the thought never crossed his mind- him- their enemy in every feasible way. And them, being gentle.

It's laughable.

“Public commodity.” He says like an insult and they nod, pressing their lips against his neck. “Even here.”

“Can't seem to stay out of the spotlight.”

Their mouth is warm, their breath more so, as if the cold night can't leech the heat from them. Whatever ghost they spend time with can't steal it either.

“How many of them wish they could take my place?” Here, he means, in their lap. An enemy to the universe and an immortal is their first choice in intimate relations, for whatever reason. Or maybe not even their first. Maybe in those few moments when he diverts his attention else where they shack up with everything that moves.

Still, then, he alone gets the luxury of their bed.

It's the least he deserves.

He wants to be more selfish, to ask, to demand exclusivity he knows they couldn't grant him even they wanted to. He should be able to have it.

He doesn't though, so busy derailing his plans, so busy trying to save the world, they barely even acknowledge him.

“A few, mayhap.”

“Come now hero.” Their hands are on his sides, rubbing up and down, sharing their warmth wether he wants it or not. “Humble doesn't suit you.” He cups their face, forces their attention on him, just him.

“Funny.” They mutter. Their eyes search his, for what he doesn't begin to assume. He prays for recognition but he knows he won't receive it. “That's always the highest selling point.”

They don't deserve you, he wants to say.

He settles for another kiss instead, longer, deeper, with tongue so that they have no choice but to dig their fingers into his sides. Not hard enough to bruise, perish the thought of them just doing what he wants, but hard enough to at least give him the suggestion of power.

“Find better buyers.”

He can feel them smile against his mouth before another kiss, and this one finally leaves him as close to breathless as he can be, considering he doesn't have to breath.

The aether travels between them, two willing conduits, until any individuality is erased and the two of them are just an extension of one connection. Punch drunk off of it, he stares at their hands where they slip below the gown and rub against his bare skin, fingers fanning out on his hips. Their eyes are bright, practically glowing, wet with tears from the sensation and he can barely stop his own hands, where they yearn to cup their face and wipe those tears away.

He shouldn't. It's too soft, to full of longing for a quick tryst that even someone as dense as they would have too notice. It's one thing to do it after the affair, but before they've even stripped down their plate? No. No, his hands instead go rigid on their shoulders, digging into the quilted fabric of their armor.

“Like you?” They whisper, their mouth on his, teeth on his lips.

Their aether dances between the two of them, bouncing back and forth. He tastes salt, their tears dripping into their mouth. Maybe even his own. Does he cry- can this body cry? It's not as if he's had much reason to experiment with it.

Where better to start.

“Yes.”

They hum against his neck, sucking a nasty bruise that would be a much larger problem if he was worried about trivial things like scandal or reputation.

They get his robe off the fastest way they've found to which is dragging it from the bottom over his head. It's an oddly childish solution, and their excitement to see him bare is more like teenage desperation than anything actually alluring. This body is nice, sure, but it's not the nicest he's ever worn. From what little he bothers to learn from their usual partners, he's the outlier.

Thin, old, bent over the way he is, he can't begin to imagine what they actually want, what they get out of these little trysts. Or maybe they're just into sickly. Mind, he doesn't actually have to look like this. He's sure if they ever actually asked for a different form, he could accommodate them. All they had to do was ask.

They lay him down onto their bed, the blanket scratches against his back as they settle between his legs. They seem to like his legs, if the licking is anything to go by. It does feel rather endless, their tongue dragging along his thighs, pausing only to kiss or bite in turn. Their fingers rest on his knees, massaging the muscle there.

vHe's loathe to tell them that he doesn't actually bother walking all that much, but then he would give them an excuse to not drown him in this bottomless sea of kindness. We're they this kind before, did they spend centuries waiting to see him just so that they could rub his joints warm? It seems that way, some how. Battle worn palms rub along his knees, his thighs, the juncture of his hips before he finally gets impatient enough to grab their hand and move it between his legs with a sound of frustration.

Now it's their turn to smirk at him, to settle. They're never so cruel as to actually lord his desire over his head, but they're not so kind that they can keep the satisfaction off of their face.

He lets them take.

They don't ask for much, maybe that's why he's so generous, so eager to grant them access to all of him.

Or maybe it's because he gets as high off of the memories as he does off of their aether. The phantom touches he's been chasing for eons finally real, finally warm, finally solid, that he can glut himself on the quiet moments that transports him so very very far back.

Hythlodaeus is practically whispering in his ear.

“Ghost.” They say and snap him out of his reverie. “I was talking to a ghost.”

He makes eye contact for just long enough for them to be satisfied before they take him in their mouth.

“A ghost.” He echos, one hand tangling in their hair.

“Mmhm.” The humming feels nice, all the way up his spine. Their mouth is warm and their tongue is talented. There's little more he could ask for. A comfortable bed with a person who trusts him much too much. A nice view of the stars.

“Ghost of who?” He asks, gripping their hair a little tighter and letting his hips jolt up to meet their lips, to feel the roof of their mouth, the back of their throat.

“Hm.” They resettle, pulling one of his legs over their shoulder, as if he could be bothered to be flexible enough. “A very judgmental person.” They sign, to lazy to actually stop sucking on his cock. He blinks- that's an odd thing to complain about. “He thinks I should sooner die then let you into my bed.”

Their fingers are fast, almost a blur when it's getting harder to concentrate. And when their teeth just barely graze him,

“And you let me into your bed anyway.”

They shrug.

“They always hound me.” They sign slower now, incapable of multitasking when they're bobbing their head up and down.

It's odd.

Not really what you expect a hero to say. But then, this is no ordinary hero. He should learn to stop being surprised by them. I He tries to search their eyes again, but they're squeezed shut, tears pricking at the corners. They're so dramatic sometimes. But they're still gorgeous, and the sight of them like that makes him hot- hotter.

The aether between them is bouncing insanely, he feels it clump in his arm before it breaks through itself and settles into their calf before moving again, to just in his lower back. They suck harder and when he comes the aether might as well erupt out of him too.

His chest is raising quickly, and he can feel the distant rush of blood in his ears.

They keep his slowly softening cock in their mouth, content to just lay there for a while, head resting on his hip. They kick their boots off somehow, more impressive then anything they've done so far, in his opinion and kick of their leggings after. They remove clothes while barely moving, an occasional hum of satisfaction when Emet-Selch pats or rubs their head.

“Where do you go to pick up ghosts?”

“A cemetery.” They're finally bare and pulling a blanket over their lower half. He wonders how much time he has before their jaw starts cramping.

“Spend a lot of time in cemeteries?” They're still for a long time, long enough that he closes his eyes and allows himself to start drifting off, wondering when he had become so comfortable with them, when they tap his hip.

“Not enough.”

So dramatic.

[shadowsof-thenight]

Flashlight: Chapter eleven

Story summary: This is an AU Two years ago, the love of your life walked out the door, breaking your heart into a million pieces. He had been unable to deal with his ptsd and you hadn’t been able to help him.Now that your best friend is marrying his friend, he’s coming back to town and you try to brace yourself for the reunion. Will you finally get closure?

Ship: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Warnings: mentions of ptsd, descriptions of ptsd, angst, heartbreak, reader wants to help but doesn’t understand ptsd.

Words: 2357

***

A/N: Again, sorry for the delay. Hopefully it won’t be this long again, but my health is very inpredictable these days.

Another huge thank you to the wonderful @beanstalk007 for helping me with this story!

And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! And if you want to get tagged, let me know.

***

Masterlist                                              Story Masterlist

***

“Why did you come back?” The question slipped from your mouth before you could stop yourself. Though the question had been burning on your tongue for quite some time now, asking it so bluntly had not been the plan. Shocked by your own actions, you inhaled sharply and looked expectantly up at Bucky.

You had wanted to ask him why he had left, that had been the original plan. Instead you screwed up and you were unable to squash down the grimace that made its way onto your face. Would he be angry? Would he walk away from the conversation all together? Could you blame him if he did? Honestly, no. Then again, he wasn’t you. He had always been better adapt to withstand confrontation. Still, you feared that you had put a stop to his willingness to answer your questions and that you had shut him down just when he was finally ready to open up.

The fear grew rapidly in your stomach, making you nauseous. Heat rose to your face and you wondered if it had suddenly gotten hotter in the room. Pulling at the collar of your shirt, you hoped that the colour on your cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt and wondered if the ground would perhaps be willing to swallow you whole. Especially when his eyes grew wide as saucers while he stared at you.

Too busy trying to brace yourself for his reaction, you didn’t notice the change in Bucky’s demeanour. His shoulders began to shake slightly, quietly for a moment, and suddenly a loud barking laughter left his mouth. Surprise took over your features and Bucky stilled again, raising an eyebrow to accompany his grin.

He took a deep breath to calm himself again while he seemed to ponder your question. It made you wonder if he was willing to answer. His laughter had shaken you and you wondered just what you could expect, especially when the following silence dragged on. What was minutes felt like hours and it took a lot of willpower to keep sitting still. You were just about to talk again, to fill the uncomfortable silence, when he finally decided to open his mouth.

Bucky cleared his throat and took a deep breath before words finally flowed out.

“I would've come back sooner,” another deep breath, “I wanted too.”

“Why didn’t you?” You asked, silently cursing yourself for interrupting him.

“Thought you all hated me,” he muttered softly, looking down at the hand that lay still on his lap. He fell silent for a moment, seemingly struggling with what he wanted to say. Or perhaps what he didn’t want to say, you thought to yourself.

“I didn’t think you’d want me back here,” he confessed with a shrug, his flesh hand scratched at his neck sheepishly and a flush appeared on his cheeks.

Your shoulders slumped as he talked. You wanted answers from him so badly, but you didn’t seem to be able to squash that feeling of needing to reassure him. A part of you hated yourself for this constant need to make others happy, to always put others before yourself. Because right now, you were angry. You had been angry at Bucky. And you had a right to be. You’d have to choose yourself over him at some point, but it was hard not to consider his feelings.

In the back of your mind, your mothers voice rang clear; you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Giving your head a slight shake to clear it, you decided to adhere to her words. There was no need for hostility. He was ready to answer you and perhaps you could still soothe some of his fears in the process. In some way, you could hopefully both get what you needed.

“I was hurt Buck, heartbroken even. But I didn’t hate you. I don’t think anyone did. We just didn’t understand,” you finally offered him in a soft tone and he smiled grateful in response. He took another deep breath and again you wondered just what went through that mind of his.

“When I got the announcement through my mom, I figured I should at least contact Clint,” Bucky began talking again.

You wondered if there had been no contact with Clint and for how long that had been. When Bucky had first left, you knew the boys had kept in touch. You had simply assumed that this continued throughout the months and years. Perhaps this wasn’t true.

You had never asked any of them and none of them offered the information. Instead they had tiptoed around you, worried about your wellbeing. Steve had been especially protective after Bucky had left. He had taken it upon himself to make sure you’d make it out of the dark pit you had fallen into during that time. It occurred to you now that his behaviour had been as much about you as it had been about himself. Steve and Bucky had grown up together, gone to war together, they had done everything together. Until Bucky had left suddenly and in the dead of night. You wondered how much anger and pain Steve had felt over it and more importantly why you had not asked him about it at the time.

Bucky pulled you from your train of thought when he continued to speak and you stored your questions for Steve for a moment, though vowing to yourself to come back to them later.

“I called Clint and we met up.”

Your eyes widened in surprise at those words. When had that happened? Where? Bucky smiled at your reaction and paused his storytelling to explain that little tidbit of information for you.

“He was in Montana for a work a while back.”

“You were living in Montana?” The shock just kept on coming. There was so much new information being thrown your way and though you did not want to derail the conversation too much, it was impossible not to react to it.

“There really is so much I have to tell you,” Bucky sounded apologetic. You could only nod in agreement. There was no lie in his statement. He had uprooted his life and a lot must have changed, while you had remained the same. Your life had been still, motionless, during that same time period. It was a bitter pill to swallow, especially since your mind had wandered, created a whole life for him during these years. His life had been good, better than your, in your imagination.

“I will, I promise!” He offered and with a small nod you accepted his promise, ready to hear how he had reconnected with Clint. After all, that might offer up some information as well.

“I reached out when he came to town. I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous. Thought he’d throw the door in my face, but he didn’t. I didn’t even know what to say then, just so happy that he hadn’t knocked me out,”

You smiled, Clint was a good guy. A great friend. You didn’t think you would’ve reacted the same, after all you were notoriously bad at confrontation. The shock of seeing him would have either caused you to freeze up or slam that door in his face.

Bucky went on to tell you all about their first encounter and how it has been spent arguing. You chuckled, not entirely surprised. Clint was never one to pull punches, much like his wife. And you would only imagine how confrontational he had been with Bucky. You also knew that once he had said his bit, that would be the end of the argument for Clint. He was good at forgiving, perhaps because he had no issue voicing his problems as well. For you, things festered. Which made forgiveness hard to come by. You really wanted to do things differently this time. You didn’t want to make Bucky think all was well, only to explode on him in a few months time. It was time to learn how to do this properly.

Bucky revealed that he and Clint had been in near constant contact since that day. Eventually Clint had even asked Bucky to be part of the bridal party, banking on their shared history instead of those last two years. Bucky still wondered if he had deserved it, but had been beyond honoured by the request.

He explained that Clint’s forgiveness had spurred him to be less evasive in his contact with Steve as well. Steve had been incredibly angry with Bucky, partly about his leaving, but even more so about the lack of real contact. He had not deemed the occasional superficial call or text to be good enough. You could not help but agree with the blond, gentle giant, despite your jealousy that he had at least gotten some contact.

Eventually Bucky even dared to call Natasha, to ask her how she felt about him showing up to their wedding. He confessed that this had not been too long before arriving in town. He had been too scared that she would rebuke his attempt of atonement and had therefore put the action off until the last possible moment. Instead of anger, she had welcomed him. Told him that it was time to come out of hiding. She only had one condition; he needed to deal with the demons that had made him run in the first place. You chuckled, of course Nat would word it like that.

“So are you?” You wondered out loud.

“Am I?” His face scrunched up as he thought back to his last words and you could almost see it click in his mind, “Oh, dealing. Working on it, got myself a therapist,” he said after you nodded. Shrugging a little self-conscious, he added, “Starting in two weeks.”

“Good, that’s good,” you said with a smile, happy that he was ready to finally address his issues. A few moments later it dawned on you that there was a second meaning behind those words, “Does this mean you’re staying?” You were scared to be hopeful and attempted to keep your feelings in check. It wasn’t working very well.

“If you’ll let me,” he said sheepishly, “I’m really tired of running,” his confession hung in the air.

You couldn’t suppress a smile, your chest warming with the thought of Bucky sticking around. No matter what happened now, there would be time to work through your problems. If he stayed, perhaps some normalcy could return to your life. To his as well, probably. And maybe you could finally move on, with or without him.

“I can’t promise it will be easy,” you decided to tell him in all honesty.

“I don’t really think it should be” he shrugged with a grin as he stared at his lap once more.

“Why? As some sort of punishment?” You scoffed, he really didn’t need to be some martyr. He shrugged, not agreeing or denying, but you knew the truth in your words.

“Look Bucky, let’s just get this straight. What you did was stupid. And incredibly complicated. But I don’t think punishment…how is that going to help anyone?” You said with your voice as stern you could manage. He really needed to hear this, understand it.

“I ran away” he whispered.

“And proceeded to be on your own for two long years” you added a little more harshly than intended.

“Right…” he took another deep breath.

“Weren’t you?” You tried to keep the tone neutral but it was impossible for Bucky to ignore the implication you were making. You knew you had betrayed your true question in the tone. Had he found someone else? You hoped his answer would be no, even if it also hurt you to think that he really had been completely alone.

“My mom didn’t even visit me,” his answer felt evasive to you, but you still didn’t press the subject any further. Did you even really want to know?

“Well, at least she knew where you were,” you countered accusingly. You hadn’t meant to use that tone, but it stung. Hearing all he had to say in this moment was good, but it also brought back all the pain and uncertainty that you had felt. You never knew where he was, if he was okay, if he had moved on. At first you had asked his mom, but after a while it felt wrong to put her in the middle. It was up to him to inform you.

“I”m so sorry! You didn’t deserve any of this” Bucky surged forwards and grabbed a hold of your hand. The touch sent a shock of electricity through you and you pulled your hand back.

“I really didn’t,” you sighed, checking the time and deciding that this was enough for one evening, “Look, why don’t we call it a night for now. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“I’m really sorry for hurting you, for still hurting you!” Bucky exclaimed as you got up from the couch and he moved in sync with you. He stood close to you and it rattled you a little. You were ready for this conversation to end, at least for now your nerves were frayed and you needed him understand that you were hurt, angry. Having him this close nearly broke that resolve.

“I know” you offered a weak smile, taking a step back from him.

“I’m not sure how to fix it” he offered, his voice softer now.

“Stay, fight and we might just get there” you offered with another weak smile and he nodded before bidding you goodbye.

When he was gone you turned and walked straight to the bedroom, dropping down on the bed and screaming into a pillow.

Sleep was hard to come by that night, your mind swirling with all the new information and the feelings that it had stirred in you. You were glad he planned to stick around, but it also made you realise just how many emotions you had pushed down over the years. You knew very well that all of those would come out eventually.

***

Chapter twelve

[slow-smiles]

The plan to tell Emma’s parents about her relationship with Killian gets derailed when she is kidnapped by the Dark One. Captain Duckling. Revelations, reunions, adventures, and smut ensues. ~8.7k

The grand finale to the My Princess, My Pirate series. This is part two of four. Also just… ya know, screw the canon timeline, use your imagination.

Read on AO3. Read on tumblr Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

The Swan of Misthaven. Part Two.

Emma awakens with a sharp gasp on the floor of a massive chamber with no windows. The stones are cool under her back, but her skin feels hot, her heart racing. She sits up slowly with a groan. She feels hungover, but multiplied by seventy. A sharp headache makes her feel like her skull is being split in two, oppressive fogginess makes focusing on anything nearly impossible, and a pressing, cloying nausea pushes insistently against her gag reflex. How did she—

The last thing she remembers is the clearing, making the deal with Rumplestiltskin to keep Killian alive, and now here she is. Wherever here is.

The empty chamber is massive, even bigger than the ballroom at the palace, with several support columns evenly dotting the floor in fifteen foot intervals. The air feels dank and heavy, and Emma wonders if this is an underground dungeon of some kind. The stone making up the walls and floor is dark, rough like limestone, and the space is dimly lit by sparse torches along the walls. She doesn’t notice any doors.

She rolls herself to her knees, and at that point the nausea wins the fight and Emma throws up. As she heaves against the floor, her mind is spinning, barely able to pick up a thread of thought aside from where am I and how did I get here.

“There’s no way to avoid the physical aftereffects of having a suppression hex removed, I’m afraid.”

She wishes she could say that when she heard Rumplestiltskin’s voice behind her, she leapt to her feet and demanded to know where she was being held. She does try, but as soon as she gets to her feet and turns, a wave of dizziness and nausea knocks her back to her knees, her hands bracing on the floor. She can’t help the miserable whine that escapes her at the feeling of illness and discomfort running through her.

“And unfortunately for you,” he continues, the click of his boots against the stone ominous in the quiet of the chamber, “the more powerful you are, the more severe the side effects.”

She wrangles enough clarity of mind to say, “What are you talking about?” before her body starts to heave again.

The ringing in her ears doesn’t drown out the sound of him saying, “I must admit, I was surprised to find one on you. The fairies have never dabbled in hexes before to my knowledge, and it was surprisingly well-crafted.”

“What?” Emma chokes out again. Gods, she feels awful. (Even worse than the last time she’d drunk whiskey and blacked out for the entire night. To this day, she doesn’t remember going to sleep or waking up; she had come to, still drunk and vomiting with her pants laying nearby, behind a blacksmith’s forge. Thankfully, Killian had awoken behind the shop next door, doing only mildly better than she, and found her in her sorry state, and they mutually assured their hungover partner got home. This had been relatively early in their courtship, and it was strangely freeing in a way, to see each other essentially at their worst and most stupid.)

“Ding-ding-ding, dearie,” he chirps, so close to her ear, she nearly falls sideways in surprise. How did she not hear him get closer? “You’re a lucky winner.”

“Of what?” she asks, hopelessly confused and desperate for someone to just explain what the hell is going on.

She turns her head to finally look at him directly. His smile is predatory. “Magic.”

Emma barely hears him, or registers his meaning exactly, because her body has quite suddenly decided it’s had enough. Her head drops, she sees white sparkling at the edges of her vision, then sparking across her hands, and before she can say anything in response, she passes out.

***

It’s just over a day’s-worth of hard riding from the palace in Misthaven to the village just across the border where the former Queen Regina lives, and given that they set out in late afternoon, the time comes to set up camp sooner rather than later.

The quiet cooperation between the three of them is not as awkward as Killian imagined it might be. The King and Queen move around each other like a well-choreographed ballet. He’s quietly amused by the two royals in travelling gear (that is far too nice to truly blend in) who are extremely well-versed in camp craft. He fills in where necessary, and by the time the darkness settles, when the light from the moon and stars are barely enough to see by, David volunteers to take first watch. Snow thanks him, collapses into her bedroll, and is asleep in minutes.

Killian finds himself staring at the orange flames next to Emma’s father in silence.

Emma is supposed to be with him for this part, he thinks. Emma is supposed to be here to guide him. And he--

He’s not supposed to be this person anymore. This person whose every waking moment is consumed with thoughts of how he wants to watch the life drain from a man’s eyes. With Emma, he likes to think he’s become someone worthwhile. Someone who is a part of something. Someone who he’s proud to say he will be for the rest of his life.

When they decided that it was finally time to tell her parents, come out of the shadows, he thought he’d be able to be that person. That honorable man worthy of care, worthy of note, worthy of their daughter’s hand in marriage, someday.

“You should get some sleep,” David says, startling Killian out of his reverie.

He looks over at the King, the details of his face made sharper in the shadows cast by the flame. He looks every inch a man of royalty--classically handsome, even in his age. A regal bearing, even when seated on a log in the woods. The crow’s feet around his eyes and the smile lines around his mouth only serve to make him look sage and wise, perhaps even kindly.

Killian answers him honestly, “I’m not certain I could if I tried.”

David looks away into the flames, and a heavy beat passes before he says, “You are the absolute last person I ever pictured Emma with.”

“Pardon?”

David chuckles lightly. “I know Snow doesn’t want to acknowledge anything is real until we have Emma back, but I don’t have the same restraint.” Another chuckle, this time deprecating. “Of all the people in the world, of all the potential romantic suitors she’s met, and it’s you.”

Killian doesn’t appreciate the direction this conversation is going. “What we became was up to her as much as me.”

“Sure,” David says, but it doesn’t sound precisely like agreement.

Despite knowing ( hoping ) that he’s a better man now than he was, he can’t change the fact that he can be a bit of a snarky asshole. “There’s clearly something you’d like to yell at me for,” he says, fully prepared to regret his words but unable to stop them from spilling out, “so why don’t you get it out of your system now.”

The King snorts softly. “Which part do I yell at you for? You’re a murdering thief who is apparently over a century old--yeah, I didn’t forget about that--and somehow you’ve managed to capture my only child’s affection.” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.

There’s a part of him that says I don’t know how I did it either (which is only true in spirit, as he still doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve her love, but knows that Emma’s heart was only won when he consistently proved that he was in this for the long haul.) The part of him that speaks isn’t so keen on sharing that vulnerability, so he replies, “Well, give me time, I might just grow on you.”

David grunts. “Like a wart. Or an infection.”

Killian grits his teeth before giving the King his most winning smile. “I suppose it’s a good thing Emma’s feelings for me aren’t up to you then, isn’t it?”

Emma’s father grimaces, and there’s that honest voice deep down, the one beneath the arrogant, brash exterior, telling him that Emma is going to be quite cross with him for trying to get under David’s skin like this.

“Were you ever in the military?” asks David then, the segue so unexpected Killian is momentarily disarmed.

“Yes,” he answers, surprised, but quickly buckles down again. “Can you instinctively sense when someone’s had a stick thrust firmly up their arse?”

David barks out a laugh and steals a glance over at his sleeping wife to ensure he didn’t wake her. “You sometimes stand like someone who was military. And you certainly commanded attention in the Council room.”

“Be careful, Majesty, that almost sounded like a compliment. Might give the wrong impression.”

“Just an observation,” David says. A beat passes before he asks, “So what made you turn pirate?”

Killian doesn’t miss a beat and answers, “The dismal pay of a Navy man can’t hold a candle to looting a ship for treasure.” He winces at the automatic defense mechanism. This is the father of the woman he loves, his future father-in-law if he has his way.

David doesn’t miss the wince, and a thoughtful expression crosses his face. “You’re a piss poor liar for a pirate.”

“On the contrary, I’m actually quite good,” Killian answers.

“Is it really such a bane for you to tell the truth?”

Killian sighs, trying to quell the urge to deflect with a lie or a glib jibe. “It’s not a time of my life I care to revisit often, even in memory.” He looks over at Emma’s father, whose silent, probing gaze prompts him to continue. “Fighting for king and country means nothing when your king is a corrupt, underhanded, immoral man who’d sooner throw his loyal men into a meat grinder than even sniff something honorable.” Killian looks down at his hook, idly dabbing the point with a finger. “My brother trusted him. It was the last mistake he ever made.”

“I’m sorry,” David offers.

Killian smiles tightly. “My brother was the best man I knew. A good captain, honorable to a fault, as stubborn as the day is long. The king didn’t care that he’d died. Probably didn’t even remember Liam at all. I refused to serve any monarchy from that day forward. They took everything from me,” he says, voice hazy with memory, “so I was going to take everything from them. At least among thieves, there was honor.” He turns to David again, “No offense, mate.”

“None taken,” David replies, then chuckles a bit. “Kind of ironic that you went and fell in love with a princess, then.”

“No one is more aware of that than me,” Killian says. “I suppose that gives us something in common--falling in love with women far above our stations.”

David huffs a laugh, but doesn’t respond for a long while; the only sound is the crackle of wood in their fire, and the distant song of crickets. Killian almost wonders if the King had fallen asleep when he speaks again. “Emma must mean a lot to you, if you’d go through the trouble to rescue her.”

“She means everything to me,” Killian gently corrects. “I’d go to the end of the world or time for her. Anything if it means she’s safe.”

“And she for you, I take it?”

Killian smiles. “Yes.” He looks back over at David. “I know that I’m not the ideal you envisioned—”

David waves a hand and interrupts, “No, you’re not. And I’m—” he sighs and tips his face skyward. “Given the lengths that you’re going through to save her—coming to us, getting arrested, potentially almost getting executed, throwing yourself back into this feud with the Dark One—” David looks back at Killian. “Looking at it from that perspective, it’s crazy for me to not approve. Snow and I married for love in spite of the circumstances, and I always hoped for the same for Emma.”

Killian feels like his chest is about to burst. Despite everything, could it be that Emma’s father really can forgive his past mistakes?

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” David quickly says, but it’s without heat.

Killian laughs.

David continues, “If you really want to earn my approval,” he points across the fire to the empty bedroll, “you’ll go to sleep.”

Killian rolls his eyes and replies, “If me having a lie down means that much to you—” Killian mock bows from his seat and then makes his way over to his bedroll. “Then I’m much obliged, Dave.”

“Do not call me Dave.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the sound of all the sleep I’m getting.”

David grumbles, but doesn’t say anything further.

Killian stares up at the stars, his thoughts a barely cohesive mess. He wishes Emma were next to him so he could tell her about them, try to make sense of everything that’s happened today. Gods, and it really has all been today. He started off this morning with Emma on his ship, not a care in the world and a tremendous weight removed from their shoulders.

Now, here he is, sharing a campsite with the King and Queen of Misthaven, trying to find his footing with his love’s royal parents, and hoping dearly that he doesn’t make a mess of things.

But that itself seems so trivial in the face of Emma being in the clutches of the realm’s greatest evil, and them having no idea why he’s taken her.

Killian’s never been much for spirituality or worshipping deities. He’s been on the sea long enough to know the superstitions, to know about Poseidon and Ursula and Calypso, and all the other gods and goddesses of the sea to whom many crewmen give offerings and pray in hopes for a safe voyage.

But Killian has seen too much, lived through too many years and too many crews to believe their feeble oils and branches, foodstuffs and whispered words make any difference. A strong wind may fall upon murderers or travelers, a storm may wreck a peacekeeping mission or slavers. The sea is nothing if not fair.

But in the darkness, he prays to any deity that might listen that the world might be unfair in Emma’s favor.

***

Killian awakens with a jolt, the taste of a bitten off shout in his throat and he sits up. The sky has lightened from pitch black and lit with stars to a deep purple, lightening slightly toward the eastern horizon. Early, and not late enough to say that it is yet dawn. He hadn’t been planning on falling asleep, didn’t think it would be possible with the unrest in his mind, but after a few hours of silence, it appears his body made the choice for him.

His heart is racing in his chest, the lingering images from the nightmare scattering but leaving the fear as a gaping maw in his chest. He runs a hand across his face, trying to gather his wits, but he still feels strung out and uncomfortable. Like all of his defenses have been stripped away.

Perhaps he should take a walk. There was a small creek nearby, and perhaps splashing some water on his face will remind him that the nightmare was just that—a nightmare. A garish, twisted vision from his mind that has been stuck on a fear-anger cycle for far too long.

He wishes again for Emma, to speak to her, to have her set his mind at ease, but she’s—

A shudder goes through him as one of the nightmare’s scenes comes to the forefront of his mind again, Emma without a heart, Emma lying on the deck of his ship, Emma crying and begging for him to save her—

With a frustrated, flustered huff, he sits up to find Snow White staring at him. The former bandit princess turned conquering queen has a thoughtful expression on her face, as if he were a particularly interested puzzle.

His breath is still coming in pants, and his heart is still racing in his chest, but Killian is still able to manage a realization. “I missed my watch.”

“You didn’t miss it,” Snow says. “I didn’t wake you. I figured it was the least I could do after I had you thrown in prison and then threatened to have you executed.”

Trying vehemently to turn his manner to conversation rather than lingering on the dream, Killian shakes his head and says, “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Were I in your position, I’d’ve done the same thing.”

Snow smiles. “I appreciate that. You seemed like you needed the rest, at least—” she shifts a bit before she can meet his eye again. “For the last few minutes, it sounded like you were having a pretty bad nightmare.”

Killian stiffens. “I hope I didn’t disturb you,” he replies, and moves to stand, do something with his body that could help alleviate the intense feeling of vulnerability under scrutiny now skittering across his skin.

“You didn’t,” Snow says, a kind warmth in her voice and manner that seems like it should calm him rather than rile him.

“That hasn’t happened in a long time,” he says, as if that explanation should be some sort of comfort. To her, to him, he doesn’t know. His heart still races. He refocuses, remembers how to calm himself. Just because he hasn’t had one in a long time, doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how to get over a particularly intense nightmare.

He shifts on the bedroll so that he faces the flames of the fire. A bit burned down from what they were the night before, it’s mostly charcoal now, but it functions well enough. The slow, steady motion of the flames makes his breathing wind down, and he focuses on the beat of his heart. Draws a breath in deeply, and then lets it out slowly. He repeats this until his body doesn’t feel like it’s about to leap out of his skin.

“If I may ask,” Snow says after the long silence, “who is Milah?”

Killian immediately tenses, his jaw subconsciously clenching; this isn’t the same kind of stress he felt when he awoke. It’s the same kind that came along with David asking him questions about his past last night—and Killian’s about tapped out of defense mechanisms at the moment.

Snow says, “You said her name and Emma’s name a few times before you awoke.”

Perhaps it’s not so much that he’s exhausted his energy to defend his vulnerabilities after the nightmare, perhaps it’s just them. Snow and David, Emma’s parents. They’re the ones who made her, after all, so everything that Emma is came from them. He’s not good at refusing Emma, and her mother seems to hold the same sway over him.

“A long time ago, before Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One, he was just a man. A man with a wife named Milah.”

Gods, but centuries have passed, and it still feels like someone’s pulling his heart out every time he says her name.

Killian continues, “She and her husband had a son, who she loved very much, but couldn’t fix the deep sadness she carried with her. She used to tell me that sometimes it felt as though she were born during a long night, and that darkness lingered with her no matter how often she bathed in the sun.

“And she decided to leave her husband and her son and come away with me.” A knife of grief goes through his abdomen. “We loved each other, and she didn’t see another way out of her unhappiness. So when I left port, she came with me.”

“And her son?” Snow asks.

“We made plans to go back for him that never came to pass.” She’d often confided her insecurity about her motherhood, but had gone no further than that. Privately, he thinks that Milah had been afraid to see her son again, to admit to him that he hadn’t been enough to make her happy where she was.

But that is too intimate a memory to share.

“Later, when he was the Dark One, he found us; accused me of stealing her, as though she were some bauble to be passed around.” He shakes his head, and has to blink a few times to control the wetness at the corners of his eyes. “Milah was brilliant, but she had a bit of a temper. And she just… let the Dark One have it on the deck of my ship. Her words were sharp, and she knew exactly how to hurt him. He didn’t really care for that.”

He tries to be as clinical as possible with the next bit, “So he lashed me to the mast, pulled her heart out, and crushed it. He cut my hand off that day, too, but the pain of that was nothing compared to losing her.”

Snow silently stands and comes to sit next to him, and reaches out to take his hand. Killian doesn’t remember his mother much, but he imagines that being comforted by her might have felt like this.

He blinks harder against the moisture in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “I understand now, why you were so afraid.”

“Oh, I’m still afraid, believe me.”

“Not like that. We’re all afraid for her, but for you… You’ve already seen this story play out once, and it ended horribly for you.”

“Is this the part where you tell me to have hope that it will end well?”

Snow laughs a little at that. “Yes, because if we don’t have hope that something will work out well, then what’s our motivation to do it in the first place? But beyond the hope, you should hold onto that fear too. The most insane, amazing acts of courage happen when someone is the most afraid,” Snow looks into his eyes with a startling intensity, “and we’re probably going to need some really insane, amazing acts of courage to get Emma out of there.”

As soon as dawn breaks, the trio are on their way. They ride until early afternoon, when they slow their horses to a walk and enter the small village. It’s along a bustling trade route, located between the sea and the next nearest inland city, so it’s well on its way to becoming a full-fledged town.

Snow leads them to a small estate just at the edge of the village. A modest home sits to the left of the front gate, and beyond that is a truly impressive equine complex consisting of several pastures that are clearly well-kept, a large A-Frame barn that could likely house dozens of horses based on the size, and a few dirt and grass arenas for competitive riding purposes. It is a spread that is certainly only rivaled by the royal stables, and those might be found wanting compared to this place.

A youth of possibly fifteen or sixteen years is leading a stocky gray mare out of one of the pastures when he spots them. “Greetings!” he calls out. The mare he is leading seems to protest the quickened pace as the boy strides toward them, but he does not slow. “My name is Henry Locksley. Welcome to Riverside Farm.” The lad seems to have a practiced gaze for horses as he takes stock of their three mounts. “If you’re looking for nightly board, we are happy to accommodate.”

Snow dismounts and turns to the young man. “No, we’re actually looking for your stablemaster.”

Henry looks a little surprised. “Oh, okay. She was in the stable with Roland last I saw her. If you’ll follow me, I’m heading there now.”

“Thank you,” Snow says. Killian and David dismount as well and the trio begins following the young Henry towards the stable.

David asks, “So, Henry, does your family live in the village?”

“My family owns the farm, so we live right there,” Henry answers, pointing towards the home at the front of the property.

Snow’s small “oh” of surprise is almost unnoticeable, but Killian glances over to find her face the picture of shock. She quickly schools her features to neutrality once more. “So your family—they work the whole farm by themselves?” she asks, the epitome of polite interest.

Henry nods, an eager tour guide. “My mother is the stablemaster, my father mostly does maintenance and sales and then whatever else my mother tells him to,” he says with a laugh. “My older brother Roland is a whiz with numbers, so he does our bookkeeping. My little sister Eliza is a hand just like me, but she’s also studying to become a blacksmith, so she’s at the forge in town right now.”

“It’s nice that your family is so tightly-knit,” Snow says, her tone changing to barely-constrained curiosity.

Nodding and smiling, Henry doesn’t seem to sense any odd mood from the group before him. “My mom says that love creates happiness, so keeping those you love close to you is the best way to make yourself happy.”

Killian can’t read the expression that crosses Snow’s face then. “Wise advice,” she replies.

They reach the stable doors, and Henry swings them open. Inside, it looks as tidy and clean as the rest of the farm. The center aisle is made of brick, an exorbitant expense that gives the barn a high class sensibility. The brick is flanked by wood-planked stalls, and the low ceiling plays host to a few small swallows in the support beams. A pair of mangy barn cats roam around, but the central focal point at the moment is the woman with her back turned to them.

She stands bent over next to a mid-sized black gelding, his front left hoof propped up between her legs. She’s softly muttering to herself when Henry calls out, “Hey, Mom, there are some people who want to see you.” Killian, Snow, and David all halt by the entrance, but Henry keeps walking, placing the gray mare into an open stall on the right hand side.

She doesn’t turn yet, still bent over the hoof. “Henry, you’re going to have to ride into town and get Eliza home, because Lady Gerhardt’s horse is going to need a new set of shoes.”

Henry groans. “But I was going to take Blizzard on a training run!”

The woman drops the hoof and straightens, and begins to turn. “You can still do that later this aftern—” Her words abruptly drop off when she sees just who her visitors are. The former Evil Queen quickly composes herself and finishes, “This afternoon. Before you go, can you run and get your father? Tell him to meet me at the house.” And with a quick nod of her head, “And make sure their horses get properly hitched and watered.”

The sorceress who once terrorized thousands of people over a dozen kingdoms is dressed in riding breeches and lace-up paddock boots, with a thin, brown leather vest over a red button-up shirt. Her long hair is pulled back in a simple braid. The raven-black locks that once held crowns, and had been so famously, elaborately styled, is shot through with gray streaks. She looks like any other stablemaster across any of the dozen kingdoms where she’d left heartless bodies strewn across the lands.

Henry glances between Regina and their visitors with poorly-disguised confusion, but Regina gives him a look that quickly has him agreeing and scurrying off to do what she asked.

As the stable door closes behind Henry, Snow steps forward. “Regina.”

“Snow. You’ve aged.”

Not rising to the bait, Snow observes with a noticeable amount of strain in her voice, “You have children.”

“I do.”

Killian meets David’s gaze behind Snow’s back, trying to convey confusion. What should we do?

David just shakes his head imperceptibly.

Snow continues, “And a husband.”

“Yes. I noticed you brought yours along. Hello, David.”

“Hello, Regina,” he replies, managing a polite tone the just verges on chilly. A shepherd David may have been once, but Killian knows that’s a politician’s voice right there.

Regina’s dark eyes then flit over to Killian, taking him in with a detached air. “This would be a lovely family reunion if you hadn’t decided to bring the Handless Wonder along.”

“Good to see you again, Majesty,” Killian replies, acidic.

Both Snow and David look over at him. “How do you know her?” David asks.

“Former villains support group,” he answers without missing a beat, not wanting to delve into the thorny history he has with the old queen.

“Not important right now,” Snow mutters, and strides forward so that she’s only a few paces from Regina’s side. “We need your help.”

Regina’s mouth purses. “I could hardly be your first choice, unless we're already scraping the bottom of the barrel for help,” she says with a pointed look at Killian before she reaches for a bristled brush in a box next to her. “Why come to me?” She begins to brush the black gelding.

A heavy beat passes before Snow answers, “Rumplestiltskin took our daughter.”

The brush pauses on the horse’s flank.

“How long ago?” Regina asks quietly, then resumes brushing the horse.

“Yesterday,” Killian answers. “We won’t be able to get near him without you.”

Regina snickers, “All those years hunting the Dark One and still can’t perform under pressure?”

“Oh darling, I perform under pressure just fine.”

Regina turns an acerbic eye on him. “Not when I asked you to kill my mother.”

“What?” David exclaims, looking between the two of them, but Killian rolls his eyes.

“Still on about that, are we?”

“This isn’t helpful,” Snow snaps. “He knows what can kill Rumplestiltsken,” she points a finger in Killian’s direction. “and you can get us into the vault where he keeps all of it.”

Regina looks mildly surprised at Snow’s outburst, but ultimately settles on impressed. “Why did he take her?”

“We don’t know,” David says.

“He said that he had use for her,” Killian says. “But that was all.”

Regina looks contemplative for a moment. “Product of true love could be useful,” she murmurs. She turns fully to Snow, seeming to warm to her topic, “When did Emma start manifesting magic?”

“Manifest—Emma doesn’t have magic.”

Regina snorts. “Believe me, she does. I could literally feel her magical signature exploding across the land when she was born.” She begins brushing the horse again, but it looks more like a reflexive movement than with any real purpose. “Either she’s a very late bloomer or there’s—” Regina freezes a moment, her lips parted. A furrow appears between her brows.

“There’s what?” Killian prompts.

Regina gives up on the futility of brushing the horse and drops the brush back in the box and steps fully into their conversation with her arms crossed over her chest. “A suppression hex.” Regina laughs, acidic. “Oh, classic Blue. Didn’t want to get her hands dirty herself.”

“Regina, what are you talking about?” Snow asks.

“After I gave up on casting the Dark Curse, but before I was banished,” Regina explains, “Blue came to me while I was imprisoned. I was—” she clears her throat before she continues, “—I was under the impression that I’d used up the last of your mercy, even if you believed me about stopping Rumplestiltskin’s plans. She asked me for a favor, and if I did it, she would counsel you to grant me clemency.”

“But Regina, you—” Snow tries, but Regina holds up a hand.

“It doesn’t matter. She asked me to create a suppression hex. Easy enough, so I did it. I just had no idea who she wanted it for. I’d always thought it was for an unruly fairy she wanted out of her ranks.”

“But she used it on Emma,” David concludes.

“So it would seem,” Regina says. “Maybe to hide her potential from Rumplestiltskin, or even from me. I doubt she ever really bought my change of heart,” she finishes with a scoff.

“Is he going to ask Emma to finish what you started, then?” Snow asks quietly.

Regina purses her lips. “Hard to say. Maybe he’s found a different avenue.”

“How do we get her back?” Killian asks impatiently. His mind has been conjuring worst case scenarios since Rumplestiltskin appeared in the clearing, and as salacious and shallowly entertaining as it might be to watch Regina snipe at the King and Queen, he’d much rather get on with finding Emma.

Regina examines him a little more closely this time, head tilting in a way that, unsettlingly, reminds him of the Crocodile. “You love her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answers plainly.

Regina seems to take it in as information, categorizing it in some list in her head before nodding. “We should take this to the house.”

***

When Emma awakens again, the hangover-like symptoms have mostly faded and left behind a strange feeling of sensitivity. Everything is too bright, too loud, too sharp. Like scratching a sunburn, it’s raw and a bit painful. She’d been in and out of consciousness since that first time she’d awoken, but she has no concept of how much time has passed.

At least she feels a little less scattered, the fog she’d felt hanging over her completely gone.

She’s still in the same chamber, but she’s alone this time. Her ability to stand has returned, but she takes it slow. Thankfully, no strange symptoms make a reappearance.

She looks down at her hands, and turns over Rumplestiltskin’s words in her head. He said that she has magic.

There’s not—there’s no way.

There’s absolutely no way he can be right, and yet—

“Deep down, you know I’m right.”

She whirls around, hand flying to where her sword would normally rest before cursing.

“No weapons for you, dearie. Not after last time.”

Now that she can properly focus on his face, Emma can’t find any evidence that she’d put out his left eye with her knife. “What, you looking for an apology?”

Rumplestiltskin’s answering smile is chilling. “Of course not. Apologies are fool’s sentiment. No, no, I usually prefer something more concrete.”

Emma grits her teeth. “Like what?”

He tuts lightly. “Not just yet. We need to wake you up first.”

Before she can ask what he means by that, he makes a few quick gestures with his hands, and she notices the red, filmy mist that she knows is his magic rising around him. With another quick gesture outwards, the magic explodes from him, whooshing around Emma like a sharp gust of wind off the sea, but ripping through every support column in the chamber.

Several of the ones closest to them immediately collapse, the sound like a dozen cannons going off at once. The rest are evenly cracked through at the base and begin to shake perilously, the entire structure around them trembling. Emma braces her knees through the shaking, and looks furiously at Rumplestiltskin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Fix the columns, Emma,” he says.

“Are you fucking crazy?” she exclaims, eyes darting upwards. The shaking has increased, and visible fissures are appearing on the ceiling where the columns are starting to crumble away. “You’ll kill us both!”

He giggles. “Oh, it won’t kill me. Just you.”

“I don’t have magic! I can’t do this.” Rubble is starting to fall from the ceiling, massive chunks of stone plating crashing to the floor. Emma yelps and jumps to the side when a sizeable piece crashes to the floor not three feet from her.

“Oh, but you can!” he says. “This should be child’s play for how much power you have.”

“This is insane,” Emma says, quieter this time, frantically trying to find an exit. True to her first observation, there are no doors to this chamber. She’s stuck.

Fear burns in her throat, I can’t die, not now, I can’t die, Killian is waiting for me, I can’t die now, we have plans, not now, not when everything is starting to fall into place—

It happens between one heartbeat and the next—another column collapses, this time falling straight in her direction. She dives away from it, tucking and rolling to stand again. The column hits the floor right behind her, the concussion rattling her teeth and throwing her forward.

She falls.

She rolls, tries to get up as quickly as she can, but then there’s a stone from the ceiling falling straight at her.

No time to dodge. No time to run.

Either Rumplestiltskin is right, or she dies.

She thrusts her hands out in front of her, hoping for magic but all she can think of is how badly she wants to get out of here, of how badly she wants to see her parents again, see Killian again, by any and every god, she does not want to die today—

She closes her eyes.

She takes a breath, thinking that this could quite likely be her last.

And then she takes another.

And another.

She opens her eyes.

The stone hangs above her, suspended by a white mist that flows like liquid from her hands. She spares a look around her. Everything is frozen by the white mist, the columns held up, the falling debris stuck midair.

It’s unlike anything Emma has ever seen before, and it’s all coming from her. She can feel it, a strange pull against her heart, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s more like the excitement she felt as a child on the morning of Yule, the anticipation she feels when she hasn’t seen Killian in a month, the physical reaction of joy and love made manifest.

Emma laughs, and with a snap of her fingers, everything is fixed. Like time flowing backwards, the damage is swiftly undone. The stone effortlessly knits back together, leaving no trace of the damage that was done to it. The plating from the ceiling that fell and shattered against the floor pushes back together and floats easily upwards, slotting back into the architecture.

When the last column is standing once more, Emma finally drops her hands.

“What did I tell you, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin says. “Child’s play.”

***

Snow isn’t sure what to expect when Regina says they’ll meet her husband at the house. She only has vague recollections of what Daniel looked like, and even less of an idea of what he’d been like as a person, so to say she doesn’t know what Regina’s romantic tastes are like is a severe understatement. She imagines that Regina’s partner would be a high-born person like herself, a bit prim and classist, maybe abrasively rude in that way rich, egotistical men can sometimes be.

To say that she is shocked to find that Regina’s husband is the one and only Robin Hood of Locksley would be an even more severe understatement than the first.

He is surprisingly warm and welcoming, the friendly dog to Regina’s aloof cat, and something in Snow feels settled, satisfied, happy even. She’d always hoped Regina would find happiness, would find forgiveness and redemption in her own way, and it would seem that she’s found it; more than that, she’s also found someone to share it with who seems to be her perfect complement.

Robin invites them to sit, and offers to put a kettle on so that they can have some tea. While it warms, they all take a seat in the dining room.

It’s hardly the expensive setting Regina grew up with, but it’s certainly nicer than most homes in the village. Solid construction, a fine, tile floor covered in warm rugs, and furniture that runs more along the function line than the style.

They fill Regina in on the particulars of their plan--in as much as their plan has particulars--and Snow takes it as a positive sign that she doesn’t dismiss it outright. “As long as Hook knows what we need to grab, I should be able to get us in,” she says. “But there’s the possibility he’ll see us coming.”

“His visions have never been precise,” Hook points out, but Regina shakes her head.

“When it comes to his own death, I’ve found he has uncanny accuracy.”

“So we split up,” Hook suggests. “He knows I’m coming. If we can manipulate his visions so that he doesn’t know you three are coming with me, we’ll have the element of surprise.”

“Not to barge in,” Robin says, “but as someone with experience breaking into the Dark One’s palace, I may have a solution for you.”

“Experience breaking into his palace,” David repeats.

Robin nods. “I still have the glamour.” He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small green clover. “When Regina told me what was going on, I figured this might come in handy.”

“Oh good, a plant. Emma is good as rescued,” Hook says.

Robin doesn’t seem annoyed by the sarcasm. “It’s a six leaf clover, mate. Not only capable of casting a powerful glamour spell, but hides one from magical sight, including--”

“From seers,” Hook realizes.

“It was how I managed to sneak in last time,” Robin explains. “Would’ve worked like a charm had I not been captured. But,” he pauses to wave a hand, “that’s neither here nor there. The magic is still good. It could hide all of us.”

“Us?” This comes from Regina, who is looking at her husband like he has two heads.

Robin just smiles at her. “For better or worse, my dear.”

“How did you escape?” asks Hook, who is leaning forward, gaze intense on Robin. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Admittedly, it was luck. I would have died painfully had it not been for Belle.”

“The heir to the Southern Reach, correct?” Hook asks.

“Yes,” Robin answers. “Both fortunately and unfortunately, she left him many years ago. I helped her get to DunBroch, and last I’d heard, she happily married the queen there.”

Hook sighs deeply. “So she is no exit strategy.”

“No, she isn’t. She’s been out of his grasp for decades now, and I’m not eager to ask her to throw herself back in.”

“Not suggesting she does,” Hook replies. “We’ll just need to be careful with how we plan to get out.”

The kettle whistles from the kitchen, and Robin excuses himself to go fetch it.

“What about Emma?” Regina asks, standing; by some wordless agreement with her husband, she goes to the cabinet near the wall and removes several teacups, saucers, and collections of tea leaves. As she places them in front of her guests, she says, “If Rumple wants her for her magic, then she’s probably strong enough to hurt him.”

“She already did,” Hook says, and that draws their attention.

“How?” David asks.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says. Robin renters with the kettle and pours each of them a serving as Hook explains, “We were in a meadow, where you used to teach her to shoot,” he says to Snow, and she feels her breath catch.

Despite accepting Hook’s story as truth, the fact that her daughter loves him doesn’t feel real. It seems more like a story, a fiction recorded in pages for entertainment’s sake. But small things like that—that Emma showed him that field, an intensely personal and special place for their family—say that this is an undeniable reality. Something real that Emma kept perfectly secret all these years.

“Neither of us were armed. Why would we be, it was just—” Hook stares down at his tea, tipping the cup and watching the liquid move. “It was just supposed to be a nice day out. He appeared in the clearing and froze me as soon as I tried to charge at him, but Emma had a knife in her boot.”

“That’s my girl,” Snow says softly.

He looks up at her words, and his answering smile is wistful. “She’s a marvel.” It’s said with such softness, such tenderness, that Snow feels an ache rattle in her chest. It might not feel real in a lot of ways, but with each passing time she hears him speak, she starts to understand a bit more how Hook feels about Emma. She knows David doesn’t quite approve, and she wouldn’t say that she does, yet, but she can’t say in moments like this that she disapproves either.

Hook continues, “Now, this is just a regular knife, right? But Emma threw it and put out his eye. He bled. I’ve hunted the Dark One for nearly three hundred years and never have I seen him bleed. No legend or story or recounting has ever said anything about him bleeding either.”

“He’s vulnerable to her,” Regina concludes.

“He won’t tolerate having a weakness,” Killian says.

“No,” Regina agrees, “but he isn’t so short-sighted that he won’t try to make use of her before he kills her or traps her or permanently imprisons her or takes her heart or—”

“Enough, Regina,” David says. “We get it.”

“And she’s shown no signs of magic at all?”

“Not that I can remember,” Snow says.

“They might not be obvious,” Regina replies. “Maybe when she was a child, she leapt out of a tree and landed poorly, but came away unscathed. Perhaps she was exceptionally good at getting her way, past the point of reason. She likely wasn’t doing it on purpose, or with any sort of finesse.”

“She always had an affinity for injured animals,” Snow says, remembering. “There were no miraculous recoveries or regrown limbs or anything, but even the wild animals seemed calm around her and were willing to let her handle them while injured.”

Regina nods. “Could be a sign of strong light magic. Was there possibly a time when she accidentally set fire to anything? Not like that,” she says at the alarmed look that crosses Snow’s face, “but just a candle lit while she was particularly emotional? Happy or excited or perhaps angry?”

Hook shifts in his seat, a contemplative look crossing his face at that. “I think--” he starts, but he cuts himself off.

“What is it?” Regina prods.

“Nothing,” he says, and Snow can’t help but notice the tips of his ears going red.

Regina doesn’t look amused. “Save me the trouble of deducing and just tell me what you think you saw.”

Hook clears his throat, looking pointedly anywhere but at the current company at the table. “I might have—uh—noticed a lamp lit that I thought I’d put out. After an—” he reaches up to scratch behind his ear, the blush spreading from his ears down his neck and to his cheeks, “intimate moment.”

David makes a choked noise beside her, and Snow elbows him. “Not now, Charming,” she whispers.

Regina blessedly doesn’t press or make any quips. “Strong light magic,” she repeats.

“What does that mean for Emma?” Snow asks, happy to move on from dwelling on her daughter’s sex life.

“It’s the safest kind of magic--drawn from positive emotions, has never caused any recorded emotional spirals, with no known physical detriments. Acts of True Love are made from it. Not much is known about it because of its rarity, but from what I do know,” Regina looks directly at Snow, assurance in her posture and tone, “Emma isn’t like me.”

Snow lets out a breath. It’s a startling statement of personal clarity from Regina—something that Snow never knew her former step-mother would be able to have. To know the damage her own actions caused, to be able to tacitly admit that those actions weren’t something to aspire to, were something to be feared, even… it’s more than Snow ever expected or hoped for.

“So what can Rumplestiltskin do with her power?”

Here, Regina’s expression sours. “If she’s as strong as I think she is? Anything.”

***

“Focus, dearie. Make the mirror show you what you want it to.”

The image wobbles for a moment, and Emma feels like she might snap her jaw with how hard she’d clenching her teeth to just get the goddamn mirror to cooperate. A second later, the image solidifies, showing the Emerald City of Oz. Once she finds it, she lets out a breath and relaxes a bit, the magic holding.

“Impressive,” Rumplestiltskin says. “You are a quick study. Quicker than any I’ve ever taught.”

“Still doesn’t tell me what you brought me here for.”

His answer is acidic, “I promised I wouldn’t kill the pirate; that was the extent of our deal. I am perfectly happy to remedy that if you’re keen to continue prying.”

Emma suppresses a growl. “Fine, but you’re going to have to tell me eventually.”

“And why is that?”

“A lot of this magic is about visualizing, right?” she waves a hand at the magic mirror, still displaying the Emerald City. “I wouldn’t have been able to conjure that if I didn’t know what I was trying to conjure. So whatever it is you clearly want me to do, I’m not going to be able to do it unless you tell me.”

He stares at her silently for a beat, and Emma knows she’s right, but she really, really hopes she hasn’t offended him. She’s heard horrific stories of what the Dark One has done to his enemies, and she doesn’t care to find out if those were true.

Instead of replying to her, he turns, grabs a book off the table behind him, and slaps it down next to her.

This book looks strange--the binding foreign, the printing unlike anything she’s seen in the Enchanted Forest, the paper perfectly white and evenly toned. There’s an illustration in the book, unbelievably detailed and inked across a whole page. “This is--” she says, running her fingers across it, “This is incredible.”

“It’s from another realm,” Rumple says dismissively. He nods at the mirror across from her. “Conjure an image of it.”

The illustration is of a structure unlike anything she’s seen before. It’s like a massive spire, flared at the base and climbing impossible heights into the sky. It’s not stone or brick, but crafted of what looks like crossing iron bars.

Underneath the image is a caption. Tour Eiffel, 1890.

“What realm is this from?” she can’t help but ask.

“The Land Without Magic.”

Emma raises a brow. They built this thing without magic? Interesting. “If there’s no magic there, how can I use magic to see into it?”

“Child’s play,” he says again, like a reminder.

Emma rolls her eyes. Right, because she’s apparently so powerful. Emma was never the greatest at her studies, but at least her tutors were more specific than this.

She focuses her attention on the mirror again. Despite the lackluster instruction, it seems easier this time than it had the first few. Reaching for images from other realms is still a bit dicey, the one from Oz being the hardest so far, and she feels a similar stretch in trying to see this spire, this Tour Eiffel. In her mind, she focuses on the illustration, wonders what would be around it, imagines the people that might walk past it.

This image doesn’t even flicker. It just springs to life on the mirror after a few moments of concentration.

It looks taller than it did in the illustration, she notes, but then she catches a look of Rumple out of the corner of her eye. He looks absolutely astonished, and she realizes he wasn’t expecting her to get it.

She feels a bit of savage satisfaction at that. Serves him right for underestimating her.

His astonished look doesn’t last long, as he stands at attention like an army commander and gestures for her to follow him.

“Come now, Emma,” he says. “I have a task for you.”

[darks-ink]

What A Nice Surprise CH.9

Since Tumblr still hates line breaks I’m gonna try something new with them today. If you see this post with (---) breaks it broke spectacularly and I edited them away without changing the author note. As you do.

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Jazz stepped off of the stairs and into the lab, and Danny floated in right behind her. Their parents didn’t look up, laser-focused on… the Ghost Catcher? The invention laid on the table in front of them, partially dismantled. The netting, he noticed, had been removed entirely.

“Mom, dad?” Jazz asked, carefully.

They looked up simultaneously, startled, eyes opening wider when they saw him floating beside Jazz.

“Oh! We hadn’t heard you, either of you.” Maddie turned off her blowtorch and put it down. “I’m sorry, we were so busy we must’ve been zoning out.”

“It’s alright,” Danny assured them, ignoring Jazz’s annoyed nudge. Clearly she didn’t agree, and in most cases he would, too; his parent’s obsession with their work could be aggravating at times. But considering what they were working on, their new stance on ghosts, it made him think that they were trying to be nice. To change themselves, and change their inventions along the way.

Jack put down his tools as well, pulling off his goggled hood. “Jazzy-pants, did you want to talk to us as well, or were you just dropping Phantom off?”

“Oh, well, actually.” She shifted, uncertain, and now Danny was the one to nudge her, encouragingly. “I was thinking… could I invite some ghosts here?”

Their parents exchanged glances. A frown creased Maddie’s brow when she turned back to them. “Like Sidney, or Queen Dora? I suppose that that’s alright. I guess the inter-dimensional phones work, then, Phantom?”

“Yep.” He nodded. “With your Fenton Phones and some of the technology from the Far Frozen Technus managed it. He promised to stop causing trouble in Amity as well, and that he would let me know if he wanted to come visit normally, but I’m not entirely sure I trust him on that.”

“Best not,” his dad agreed with a grimace. “That ghost can cause such havoc, and with his control over technology he can be hard to stop.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Danny shook his head. Then he realized that they had derailed the conversation and bumped Jazz a little forward again. “But, to get back to the original topic, I don’t think that Jazz was talking about Sid and Dora. Not exclusively, at least, right Jazz?”

“Uh, yeah, no.” She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, a show of anxiety Danny rarely saw from her, similar to his own neck rubbing. “I was actually thinking… hoping… to invite other ghosts here as well? I know from Sidney and Dora that there are a lot of traumatized ghosts out there, and they can’t just go to any psychiatrist.”

She shrugged, gathering her confidence again now that she was in her element. “So I thought, why not me? I’m already helping Sidney, and I’m helping Dora, and I’ve got a phone that can connect with them while they’re in the Ghost Zone. Most wouldn’t even come by, I don’t think.”

“And if they do?” Maddie asked, frowning. “What if they’re dangerous?”

“I can stay close by, just in case,” Danny suggested. “Obviously it won’t be perfect, because I can’t be close enough for them to tell, but still. If something goes wrong, she just has to call and I’ll come. But I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”

Maddie clicked her tongue. “And why not?”

“Because most ghosts really could use someone like Jazz.” Danny’s shoulders sagged. “And even those who don’t will respect that. No one wants to see their fellow ghosts miserable. Even the most aggressive, the ones that hunker for a fight, prefer an opponent with a fresh mind and a healthy lust for life. Or, well, unlife. Ghost life? Uh, anyway. You get what I mean, right?”

She looked between him and Jazz, her stern expression softening. “Yes, I understand. Jazz, if you make sure you’re carrying equipment and let us know beforehand, I’m alright with it. Jack?”

“I agree. Let us check the gear beforehand, though, to make sure it all works.” He nodded, once, then smiled. “I’m happy to see you interested in ghosts as well, Jazzy-Pants, even if it’s in your own way!”

Smiling back, Jazz nudged Danny and said, “Yes, well, thank Phantom for making me think of it in the first place. And Sidney, I suppose, for mentioning that most ghosts are traumatized by their life and/or death.”

“Well, you’re welcome, I guess.” He laughed, floating closer to his parents. “Never knew that just acting like myself could’ve done such good, but I’ll gladly take it.”

She tsk’d and shook her head. “You’re an enigma, Phantom.” Then, turning to their parents, she said, “Well, I’ll let you three get working on ghost science then.”

“Good luck with Sidney and Dora,” Danny shouted back as she turned around. She waved a hand as she walked through the doorway, and he grinned.

“So, Phantom, any plans for today?” Jack asked when she was gone.

Shrugging, Danny turned to face them properly. “I was thinking of continuing the testing of my powers? I realized that we never got around to doing the last few, the less basic ones.”

Maddie frowned, thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. That leaves mostly your offensive abilities, right? Ecto-rays, shields, telekinesis?”

“Those, and my ice powers, electric powers, and my Ghostly Wail. Not that I’ll show that last one, but still.” He scratched his cheek, mentally checking over his list. Ecto-ray, ecto shield, ghost stinger, ghostly wail, cryokinesis… and duplication, but he didn’t plan on showing that one. He mostly used it to protect his identity anyway. Splitting his strength across multiple bodies was rarely useful in a fight. “Yeah, that should be all of them.”

“Where do you want to start, kiddo?” Jack had bounced over to grab a notepad, which Danny guessed was the same one as earlier. Or maybe it wasn’t. Honestly, who knew with his parents. “Ecto-rays, maybe? We have equipment to measure the strength, and a shooting range for accuracy.”

“Sounds good.” Danny nodded, lifting a little higher in the air. “Where is this shooting range hidden, then?”

A beep and a grinding noise behind him, and Danny whirled around to see one of the walls opening up. His mom stood beside it, hand on a lever. “Right here.”

“Well, damn.” Danny whistled, impressed despite himself. He supposed it made sense that his parents had a shooting range in the lab, but he kind of wished he had known about it sooner. Could’ve helped a lot, back when he first started. “Is the strength-measuring-thing separately, or…?”

“No swearing,” his mom corrected with a tired but parental tone. “And no, as long as you hit the targets they can measure the strength of the blast as well. Their original purpose was to test our guns, after all.”

“Makes sense.” He floated over to the line on the ground, landing soundlessly. “Is this the place you’re supposed to stand, then?”

Jack wandered closer, flipping the notebook to a new page. “Yes, exactly. Can you hit the target with a couple of ‘normal’ strength blasts, first? And then after that we’ll test the range of your strength, the weakest and the strongest.”

“Sounds good to me.” He created a whirling ball of green ectoplasm around his hand, the light reflected on the dented steel walls around them. “Should I hit separate ones, or the same one multiple times?”

“Go for a wider range,” Maddie recommended from where she stood to the side. “It’ll give us a better idea of your aim, too. We’ve seen it in the field, but aim in the middle of battle and aim while standing still isn’t the same.”

Huffing out a laugh, Danny replied, “Yeah, no kidding. I thought I did a good job of teaching myself good aim until I had to fight other ghosts. No wonder people complained about the property damage.”

Lighting up his other hand as well, he stretched out the right in front of him. “I can start already, right?”

“Go for it,” both of his parents chorused, and Danny grinned. It felt good to release his energy without the threat of other ghosts for once.

After his years of practice hitting moving ghosts, the static targets were, well, easy targets. He made sure to modulate his strength, firing blasts and rays of moderate strength. The amount of power he would use against most of his enemies. The humans, he hit only with the weakest rays, and only ever to disarm, rather than direct hits.

“Good show,” his mom commented when he stopped. “Pretty powerful hits, though the exact strength varied a little. Stronger than most of our weaponry, though. And this wasn’t the top of your range, right?”

“Uh, no.” He watched as his dad copied over the notes from the computer. “This is what I usually use against enemy ghosts. I can go a bunch stronger, but usually that’s not really necessary, or it might be too dangerous if the ghost is harder to hit. If there’s a high risk of missing, I don’t want it to be at full power.”

“Good thinking,” his dad complimented, sticking up a thumb in his direction. “Now, have you ever tried out how little power you can put behind your rays?”

“Yeah, actually.” Danny shook out his hands demonstratively, a smirk crawling onto his face. “I only use the weakest of my blasts if I ever aim at human hunters. I never aim to hit them directly, either, only to disarm. And even then, as little power as possible.”

“Well, what d’you know.” Jack scratched his cheek, then shrugged. “Still, I would be interested in seeing the exact strength for that. Go ahead, Phantom.”

“Sure, alright.” He coiled up his power, then made a finger gun and released the tiniest amount of power as he could. The beam, thin and faltering, hit the target dead-on.

“Is the finger gun necessary?” his mom asked, tone somewhere between exasperated and curious. “Or is it just more fun, or more taunting?”

“A little of both,” Danny admitted with a shrug, shooting off another beam with his other hand. “At the weakest, my beams are only small, so its easier to expel them if I fire from a finger instead of the center of my hand. Plus it helps keep apart the different levels in strength – this way it’s easier to not accidentally fire off a full-power shot.”

“You’ve put so much thought into all of these things.” Maddie shook her head with a soft sigh. “But why?”

Danny snorted, turning to face her – and his dad – instead of the targets. “With my reputation I have to think of everything. Ghost hunters already vilify me for firing at them in the first place. Now imagine if I accidentally hit them strong enough to hurt? That would ruin me.”

Then he weaved his fingers together, cracking them loudly. “So, full power next?”

Both of his parents narrowed their eyes at the less-than-subtle topic change, but they let it slide. His dad quickly took note of the data, while his mom nodded at him. “Yes. The targets should be able to survive even your strongest, and the wall definitely will. So give it your all, Phantom.”

“Will do.” He grinned, widely, and grasped for as much power as he could. There was a hard limit to how much energy he could expel at once via his rays, of course. If he wanted to cross that, he had to dip into his Ghostly Wail – and risk transforming back because he expelled too much energy. That didn’t happen with his ecto-rays.

Not anymore, at least. Early on, everything cost way more power, and he had had way less stamina.

His aura brightened in response to the gathering energy, green ectoplasm wreathing his hands. Pushing them together and out in front of him, he fired a ray at his full strength.

The target groaned but, surprisingly, held on. It was, however, severely blackened.

Jack whistled lowly, impressed. “That was pretty impressive, Phantom.”

“Um, thanks.” Danny’s shoulders shot up, a green blush crawling onto his face. “I can, uh, fire a few more?”

“That would be nice.” Maddie looked over the targets with a grimace. “But maybe aim for a different one, just to be safe.”

“Will do.” He focused back onto his core, calling onto his internal ectoplasmic energy. Another shot was fired, and then a third. Finally he launched off a fourth.

“That’s all I can do for now, if we still want to test all my other powers,” he said, panting a little from the exertion. “In a regular battle I would try more, of course, but–”

“–But there’s no need for that now, no.” Maddie patted him on the shoulder. “It was pretty impressive, Phantom, especially those three in short succession. You did great, sweetie.”

The blush returned, and Danny stammered out a “Thanks.”

Jack finished writing, turning back to him and Maddie. “So what’s next? Another offensive power, or the ghost shield?”

“We can do my cryokinesis next.” Danny formed a snowball in his hand, throwing it up and down experimentally. “None of my other powers require the targets. Cryokinesis has a variety of forms, but I normally use it as a ray, similar to my ecto-ray.”

“Good, good.” She gestured over to the targets. “Go when you’re ready, then.”

He threw the snowball first, hitting the closest target dead-center, then followed it up with an ice ray. Ice crawled around the impact site, quickly covering the entire target. Danny let up his power, diverting the energy to form an ice spike instead. This, too, he threw, but at a different target. Another spike, and another hit as a metal target was pierced.

“How was that?” he asked when he turned back to his parents, grinning. But the smile fell when he noticed their frowns. “What? What’s wrong?”

The two of them exchanged glances. Then Maddie cleared her throat and said, carefully, “Are you aware that your… eyes change? When you do that?”

He blinked. Blinked again. Then pinched his nose. “Yeah,” he groaned, “Frostbite mentioned it, way back when I first got them. I kinda forgot. They turn blue, right?” Not the same blue as his human form, Frostbite had said, and the glow helped set them apart. But he really wished he had remembered before now. He could only hope that his parents would grow suspicious, wouldn’t link his human and ghost forms with this new information.

“So it’s normal?” his dad asked, sounding mildly relieved. “Strange though, isn’t it, for your eyes to change when you’re using this specific power?”

“Eh, not really.” Danny shrugged, hoping to play it off, so that everyone would forget it happened. “It’s pretty normal for really intrinsic powers, like my ice and Plasmius’ fire. His eyes get more pink and glowy when he uses that, to match his pink fire.”

Danny held out a hand, slowly building an ice sculpture in the open palm to demonstrate the change of eyes – and another application of his power. “It’s why some people think ghosts have elemental cores. All powers come from the same point in our bodies, the core, but the way it affects the rest of the body differs. It depends on the circumstances – the ghost, the power, and how it’s acquired. Cryokinesis for the Far Frozen yetis is normal, so it doesn’t change them when they use it, but I gained it later. Vice versa, if any of them developed, for example, ecto-electricity, I bet it would change something about their appearance, too.”

“That… makes sense.” His dad’s hand moved quickly as he scribbled all the new information down. “The implication that your powers aren’t set is very interesting, though. I wonder how they’re determined?”

“I dunno, to be honest.” His power petered off again, and he raised the statue to check its clarity. Crystal-clear – Frostbite would’ve been proud. “Some powers definitely seem to be pre-set. And to be honest, I seem to gain powers much more easily than many others. It’s adaptability, maybe? Because I fight so many diverse enemies, I develop a lot of diverse abilities?”

“That does sound logical,” his mom admitted. “It would certainly be interesting to research it further, perhaps speak with other ghosts about it. But for now, which power do you want to try next?”

He shrugged, the ice sculpture melting away again. “Ghost Stinger, I suppose. I assume you have a way to measure the charge, since that’s probably the part you’ll find most interesting?”

“Your… ‘Ghost Stinger’?” Maddie frowned, looking over at Jack and then back to Danny. “I don’t think we’ve heard that name yet.”

“Not?” Then he realized and groaned. “Right, of course, duh. My ecto-electicity, I meant. I call it my Ghost Stinger sometimes, since it’s shorter.”

“Not much shorter,” his dad muttered as he started digging through a box. “Ecto-electro sounds catchier, doesn’t it?”

Danny snorted. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I tend to shorten it to Stinger. Easier to remember. But not very scientific, I’ll admit. It’s an older power, and an older name.”

“Jack, I’ve found it already, honey.” Maddie stepped closer, a machine with two cords running from it in her hands. The ends of the cables, she handed to Danny. “Take one in each hand and send the power through those. It was made to handle our inventions, so it’ll survive you too, I’m sure.”

“Are you sure?” Danny asked with a smirk, taking the ends in each hand. “Maybe put down the thing, just to be sure.”

She did, placing the machine on a table. “Well, do your worst, Phantom.”

Smirk widening into a grin, he did. Crackling green electricity sparked from his core, visibly running down his arms and into the cables. As the charge ran over the cables, his dad whistled once more.

“What a light show!” he called, joyfully. “You can see the power running from his core, look at that, Maddie! It’s incredible!”

Danny released the power, the air loud with static. “Thanks,” he huffed between breaths. “Glad you enjoyed the show.”

Both of them stepped forward, Maddie checking the data while Jack clapped a hand on Danny’s shoulder, ignoring the sparks that still bounced over his jumpsuit. “It was very impressive, Phantom. A scientific wonder, for sure, but also a beautiful show of your power.”

“It was nothing compared to the Ghostly Wail, power-wise. There’s a reason why I never use that power – and why I refuse to show it to you.” Danny grinned tiredly. “But thanks. It’s… nice, to have someone impressed over my abilities outside of, y’know, combat.”

“And what power,” Maddie commented, showing Jack the readings. “It was quite amazing, Phantom.”

Cold flushed down his cheeks, glowing green blush finding its way back. “Thanks. Both of you, really, thanks. But, um. Next power?”

“Shield or telekinesis?” Jack asked, accepting the topic change. “Both would be pretty similar to test, I think.”

“Let’s start with the shield first.” Danny prodded his core, checking his energy levels, but he had plenty to spare. No need to worry about running out and shifting back. “Since it’s a much older power than telekinesis.”

“The shield stops physical objects and ectoplasmic attacks, right?” Maddie reached into the box she had just put the electric machine in, pulling out a tube with tennis balls. “So we can test it with these, first?”

“Uh, yeah.” Danny floated towards the shooting range, hovering in the air. “Those’ll do just fine. I’ll go over here so the bouncing balls won’t wreck your entire lab.”

“Good plan.” She pulled out several balls, handing a few over to Jack as well. “We’ll circle around, try to get you from any direction. Start with a circular shield, and we’ll pause before trying a flat one.”

A green bubble made out of ectoplasmic glass formed around him, and he stuck up a thumb. “Hit me with your worst!”

The first tennis ball hit right in front of his face, and Danny reflexively flinched back a step. “Good throw,” he complimented his mom.

Many more followed it, thudding off of his shield from several directions. Like Maddie had said, his parents were circling around the bubble from the ground, hitting him from various angles.

Then, suddenly, a sound closer to a shink than a thud came, and Danny whirled around inside the bubble. Protruding from the outside was a card, it’s corner buried into the ecto-glass shield.

“What was that?” he asked, turning himself back to his parents, rotating the bubble simultaneously. “I thought we were using tennis balls!”

“We were!” his dad called back, a sheepish expression on his face. “But I was gonna hand you that card, and then I went to throw a ball and I threw the card instead!”

Danny started at the man, incredulous. Then he sighed, collapsing the bubble. The card, now freed, fell to the floor of the lab. “Really.”

“Sorry.” His dad ducked down, grabbing the card from the floor. Then he presented it to Danny again. “Here you go, kiddo.”

He took the card from Jack’s hand, flipping it over the read the other side. It was… a birthday invitation?

“What’s…?”

“It’s an invitation!” Jack boomed, grinning wide but a little uncertain. “For my birthday! It’s a week or two out yet, but I was sending out the invitations and realized I had no way of getting one to you.”

“Thanks, but, um.” Danny paused, looking at the card in his hands instead of his dad. “It’s… I’m just a ghost, you know? Why would you…?”

His dad swung an arm around his shoulders, pulling Danny in close to his side. “Well, Phantom, you’re like a son to me! So of course you’re invited to come, too! Ghost or not!”

Flushing bright green, Danny hid his face in his hands. “But-”

“No buts,” the man insisted, reaching to ruffle Danny’s hair with his other hand. “If you really don’t want to come I won’t make you, Phantom, but you really are invited. I’m serious, kiddo.”

Danny peeked between his fingers, locking eyes with the bright blue of his dad. “…thanks. I’ll, uh. I’ll be there.”

Maneuvering through the crowded living room, Jack glanced at the clock. The party had been going on for a bit, but not everyone had shown up. Not yet. He hadn’t seen Vlad yet, but that man had said that he wasn’t sure he could make it.

More importantly, Jack hadn’t seen Phantom yet. The ghost had said he would come. Had something happened? Had he simply gotten cold feet? Had he realized that more of Jack’s ghost-hunting family members would be present?

Spotting a messy mob of black hair pass him by, he grabbed Danny’s shoulders and pulled him towards himself.

“Danny-boy! Have you seen Phantom?”

His son blinked large surprised eyes at him, then shook his head in the negative. “Nope, sorry. But there’s still time, right? It’s not that late yet.”

Jack sighed, releasing his son again. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry for bothering you, kiddo.”

“It’s fine.” Danny patted his hand. “I’m sure he’ll show up-”

The doorbell rang, and lamely, Danny finished, “-before you know it.”

Laughing, Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like you were right. It’s either him or Vladdie, I think. Come, let’s greet him.”

“Um.” Before Danny could protest, however, Jack started dragging him along to the front door. How exciting! Danny hadn’t interacted with Phantom much yet, and Jack was eager to change that. The two were of similar age, he was sure, and they both looked like they could use more friends of their own age. Danny, especially, could use more close friends.

Sam and Tucker were nice, but they rarely came over anymore. And he didn’t know if his son had any friends besides those two. Didn’t think so, at least.

The door swung open, and Phantom flickered into visibility almost immediately. The ghost smiled up at Jack, and then glanced past him with a frown.

“Hey Phantom,” he greeted, ignoring this last bit and instead stepping aside to let him in. “Happy to see you made it.”

“Wouldn’t dare miss it,” the ghost replied, still staring at Danny instead of Jack. “After you went out of your way to invite me, of course I came.” Then finally he ripped his eyes off of Jack’s son to look at him. “I brought you a little present too. Do you want to unwrap it here, or later?”

“Oh, you didn’t have to.” But Jack grinned, wondering what the ghost could’ve gotten him. Were there ghostly birthday traditions? Did ghosts even celebrate birthdays at all, or did they celebrate something similar? A formation day? A death day? “Come, I’ll unwrap it in the living room. Can’t hide in the hallway the whole time.”

Phantom laughed, floating after him. “Yeah, right you are.”

Danny had fallen silent, trailing after them. Jack glanced over his shoulder to look at his son, but the boy was staring at the floor. Something strange was going on between him and Phantom, and suddenly Jack started to wonder if Danny’s excuse way before, that he “already saw Phantom so often”, had been true at all. Was something else going on between those two?

They entered the living room, and immediately everything quieted. It was as if everyone’s eye had been drawn to them. Not that this was entirely surprising; Phantom drew a lot of attention with his appearance.

The ghost, apparently made nervous by all the attention, drifted lower and further behind Jack. His son, rather than assist, strode forward and disappeared into the crowd. Jack would’ve tried stopping him, but for the moment Phantom was more important. He could figure out why Danny was upset with the ghost later.

Jack was about to ask Phantom for the present when he noticed his sister pushing her way closer. The woman burst through the crowd, face twisted in a scowl.

“Jack, what’s that doing here?” she yelled.

“He’s my guest.” He crossed his arms, staring her down. “Now, if you don’t mind, he brought me a present and I’d like to unwrap it.”

“Oh yeah?” She sniffed haughtily. “What happened to ‘all ghosts are dangerous’? To ‘never trust a ghost’? But hey, whatever. Your funeral.”

He rolled his eyes, making a shooing motion towards his sister. “Thank you, I must’ve forgotten all about our parents’ rants. If you can’t be nice, dear sister, please just leave my family alone.”

“Your family?” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at the ghost. But she stepped back, further into the mass of people, a sneer on her face. “Whatever.”

Phantom still hovered over Jack’s shoulder, nervously eyeing the crowd. Most weren’t as anti-ghost as his sister – gotta love that Fenton family ghost hatred – but several were out-of-towners who weren’t familiar with ghosts. Who hadn’t realized that they were real, apparently.

“It’s fine, Phantom,” he said, soft and soothing. “You’re my guest, kiddo. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

“If you say so,” the ghost muttered back, landing on the floor next to Jack. He reached into a pocket on his belt, revealing a small but well-wrapped present. Curiously, it glowed much like the ghost himself, the packing paper ecto-green.

“It’s, uh, from the Ghost Zone.” Phantom gestured at it with his empty hand. “As you can probably see.”

Jack took the present from Phantom’s hand, carefully. The wrapping paper was cold, with that barely-there hum of ectoplasm-infused material. “Is it some kind of traditional ghostly present? Or do ghosts not celebrate something similar to a birthday?”

“Eh.” Phantom shrugged. “Kind of depends on the ghost. Some remember their original birthdays and continue to celebrate those. Some celebrate their death days instead, the day they formed as a ghost. Some pick an arbitrary day, wanting the celebration but not knowing their birthday and not willing to celebrate their death. Most don’t celebrate anything similar, though.”

“Huh.” With this new information, Jack looked the present over once more. Then he carefully loosened the bow, opening the lid. And inside…

“Is that… fudge?”

“You like that, right?” Phantom sounded uncertain, a hesitant smile on his face. “It’s, um. From the Ghost Zone, but safe for human consumption. Wasn’t sure what else to get you.”

Jack carefully re-lidded the box, then wrapped his free arm around Phantom. “It’s very nice, Phantom. Thank you, kiddo.”

The ghost blushed, crumpling in on himself a little. “I’m glad,” he muttered.

“I’ll go put this somewhere safe.” He ruffled Phantom’s hair, then, side-eyeing the crowd, said, “You can go hang out with the other guests, if you want. If anyone gives you trouble, come to me or Maddie, okay?”

“I can take care of myself,” Phantom grumbled, but he nodded his understanding anyway.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to.” Jack stepped further into the room, Phantom walking after him. Keeping to the ground to seem more human, maybe? In the hopes of not alienating himself as much? It would be exactly the kind of thoughtfulness he would expect from the ghost. “You’re my guest, Phantom, and I want you to have a good time too.”

Phantom huffed out a laugh, nodded again. “I get it, I get it. If there’s trouble I’ll come, okay? Speaking of trouble, though, I think I’ll start with Jazz, if you don’t mind. See how the ghost-psychiatrist thing is going for her.”

“Ah, yes, that sounds good.” Jack glanced over to the people who were now very much pretending not to watch Phantom anymore. “And it might ease some people into your presence, seeing you talk with more people first.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Phantom nodded, then flapped his hands at Jack. “Now go put that fudge away. I can handle it, alright?”

Danny watched his dad finally leave, resisting the temptation to sigh. He had only just gotten here, and he already wanted to leave. Or, at least, dispel the duplicate that was still wandering around. He couldn’t risk having Danny Fenton disappear right before Phantom appeared, but being forced to interact with himself was… uncomfortable.

Keeping a careful eye on some of the other guests, he wandered over to where his duplicate had been trapped in a conversation by Jazz. He hadn’t really been all that interested in Jazz’s success as a ghost psychiatrist – he heard enough about it during dinner and such to know it was a success. That, and the other ghosts were quite enthusiastic about it.

But his duplicate wasn’t as capable at keeping up with conversations as the real him. So to free Danny Fenton, Phantom had to come over and give him an excuse to leave.

He approached the two siblings, pausing next to Jazz and watching as she chatted up a storm against the blanked-out duplicate. She didn’t seem to notice him, so he cleared his throat.

Jazz started, head whirling around in a flash of bright hair. “Oh, Phantom! Sorry, I hadn’t heard you coming.”

The duplicate shot Danny a grateful look, diving back into the uncaring crowd. He didn’t respond, smiling at Jazz instead.

“It’s alright. How have you been, Jazz? Things been going alright?”

“Yeah, actually!” She brightened, animatedly moving her hands along with her story. “There’s been a lot of interest, even though most seem to prefer to stay anonymous. But a couple have come over, besides Dora and Sidney, of course.”

“Oh yeah? I had heard of Ember, that she was willing to stop attacking Amity in return for being allowed to come receive help, but I didn’t know there were others.”

She nodded energetically. “Oh yeah! A couple have come by to try, but the only repeated guests – besides Ember, of course – have been Johnny and Kitty. Their relationship is, uh.” She made a face, wiggling her hand a little. “Well, it could use some help sometimes.”

“Oh, definitely,” Danny agreed with a laugh. “You wouldn’t believe how often Johnny came to me for relationship advice. Like, come on, I’m a teenager with virtually no relationship experience. What was he expecting?”

Also laughing, Jazz shook her head. “And the thing is, Johnny looks so human! He could’ve gone to a regular human relationship expert and that could’ve solved most of their problems already! No knowledge about ghosts necessary.”

“You’re… You’re right.” Danny groaned into his hand. “I can’t believe how much trouble that guy caused me when he could’ve just gone to literally anyone else.”

“At least he meant well?” Jazz suggested, feebly. “And at least he won’t do it anymore. Speaking of disarmed enemies, however, I might be working on getting another off of your back.”

Danny dropped his hand again, looking at her. “Really? Who?”

“Desiree, the, uh, wishing ghost?” She twirled a lock of her hair. “I’m still working on it, obviously, but I think she does what she does because of her trauma. She already reached out to talk via the phone, but I invited her to come if she won’t mess with anyone.”

“Huh.” He thought that over for a moment, frowning in thought. “I’m not sure if that would work, though. I don’t think she can control which wishes she fulfills and which she doesn’t. Not currently, at least.”

“We’ll give it a shot anyway.” Jazz shrugged, glancing past him and into the crowd. “On an unrelated note, while Dad meant well when he invited you, I think he might’ve forgotten how many people are uncomfortable around ghosts. Never mind his ghost-hating relatives.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Danny huffed out. “And I mean, I understand, especially for the ones who haven’t seen ghosts before but…”

“But it’s not very comfortable.” She nodded understandingly. “Actually, I have an idea. Come on, I think you’ve been around long enough to be able to excuse yourself.”

“Have I?” Danny asked, but she had already grabbed his wrist and dragged him off.

“They’ll understand, anyway.” The crowd parted around them, Danny floating after Jazz. He had, previously, stuck to the ground in the hopes of calming the other people down. If he was leaving anyway, he might as well float and make it easier for Jazz to drag him away.

What? It wasn’t like he could stop her anyway. Even if he did use his superhuman strength to hold himself back, why would he?

“Jazz, Phantom,” Maddie said, apparently surprised to see them both approaching. “What’s going on?”

“I suggested that Phantom could leave,” Jazz started explaining, cutting Danny off before he could even open his mouth. “Since the other guests don’t seem that thrilled to have him around, and it’s uncomfortable for everyone involved.”

Their dad looked a little sad, but nodded understandingly. “Of course, kiddo. Like I said, I want you to feel welcome. And if you can’t be comfortable around the others, not yet, then of course you can leave.”

“I’m… Thanks. I’ll just…” Danny gestured with his hands, vaguely. “I’ll just… go, then. Um. See you guys another time? And have fun with the party.”

Jack smiled, and Maddie shook her head with a fond smile on her face. “Yeah, of course! See you soon, Phantom, and thank you for the fudge!”

His lip quirked up into a small smile, and he shot them a quick salute. Then he faded out of visibility, ducking back into the room he had previously left. Now all he had to do was merge back with his duplicate and survive the rest of the party.

Easy.

[setaripendragon]

Not All Who Wander - Chapter 6

[Chapter 1] - [Chapter 2] - [Chapter 3] - [Chapter 4] - [Chapter 5] - [Chapter 6] “Fingers crossed the next chapter won’t take quite so long“ I said. Well, obviously, every last one of you crossed your fingers, because LESS THAN A WEEK LATER, here’s the next chapter. ...I had so much fun writing this one you have no idea =D Have some hijinks and fluff to make up for the dark tone of the last chapter.

Bilbo had absolutely no idea what he was doing. It was stupid, foolish, ridiculous. He was behaving like a tale-addled fauntling, and the worst part of it all was that he couldn’t even bring himself to regret it, even though he knew he should.

It was just that Thorin’s letters over the autumn and winter had been so sad. Well, actually, they’d been clipped and formal. Still just as informative as ever, and still full of just as much gratitude and curiosity as ever, so Bilbo was relatively assured that Thorin wasn’t mad at him, at least, but… Bilbo was concerned. And usually, when he was concerned about a friend, he would pop over for a visit.

Of course, Thorin wasn’t a hobbit, and he didn’t exactly live just down the lane. He was a dwarf, and  he lived in a mountain. It was an insane notion, and Bilbo had spent all winter trying to shake it out of his head. But he couldn’t shake the memory of how Thorin had smiled to see him, and his nephew’s words about his more usual demeanour, and… If Bilbo could help make the dwarf a little happier, then- Well, then he wanted to, and that was reason enough, surely.

Thorin had ever so helpfully provided him with a map that had his home marked on it – marked, but not named as more than ‘dwarven settlement’, which Bilbo thought was rather sad – and his own maps helped him plan out a route, and there wasn’t really anything stopping him, was there?

It had been like taking a walking holiday, and just… not turning back. The first night he stayed with his Took relatives, which was normal enough, and the second night he spent at the inn in Michel-Delving, and that wasn’t too odd, but the next night he was forced to camp out on the Far Downs, and at that point he was rather forced to admit that this was very much akin to an adventure.

On his own.

In the wilderness.

Gallivanting off to meet dwarves, for heaven’s sake!

What was he thinking?!

Only, of course, he knew what he’d been thinking. He’d been thinking of Thorin, of how the homesickness had been so very plain in every word he spoke about Erebor, of how he cared so deeply for his nephews, of how he looked at Bilbo like he was something remarkable. He was thinking of Thorin’s letters, how Bilbo could match the tone and cadence of the latest ones with the way he spoke to the other hobbits, but never Bilbo. He was thinking of that last letter, that had mentioned his plans to travel yet again being derailed by… Well, by something. He’d been annoyingly vague about that part.

He’d been thinking that he really, really just wanted to see Thorin again soon. Far sooner than his vague promises of ‘perhaps in the summer’. Why, by then it would be almost a full year gone by without seeing the stupid dwarf, and Bilbo couldn’t bear the thought of it.

One more night was spent camping in the foothills of the Blue Mountains, and then he was there.

His first clue was the huts. There were several little clusters of them, scattered across the slopes in a way that reminded Bilbo of nothing so much as stubborn goats perched halfway up garden walls out of sheer tenacity. They were not the best-built houses he’d ever seen, nor were they particularly elegant, but they looked sturdy enough, despite Bilbo’s fear that they might just go sliding off down the side of the mountain at the first nudge.

He got more than a few stares as he passed through the make-shift little village, and it made Bilbo feel very out of place indeed. Goodness, but if this was how Thorin felt in the Shire, no wonder he’d been scowling so fiercely. There was another slightly larger cluster of huts further along the path, but by that point, Bilbo was feeling a little uncertain. Thorin had said that they lived in the mountain, but was that another cultural difference? Had Bilbo walked right past Thorin’s house and not known?

He pulled out his map, wondering if it might hold any insights for him, but no, the little dot that symbolised this particular settlement spanned half a mountain, and offered him no details. There could be dozens of these little hamlets, and Bilbo could be wandering them for days looking for ‘a dwarf named Thorin’. He hadn’t thought this through at all.

“‘Scuse me, Mr Hobbit?” Bilbo’s head snapped up, startled. There was a dwarf standing nearby, head ducked forward as though he was trying to peer around Bilbo’s map to look at his face. He had the most ridiculous moustache, but there was a friendly, inviting smile underneath it, and his eyes were surrounded by laugh-lines. “Bit lost?” The dwarf suggested, tone light like they were sharing a joke.

“Ah, somewhat.” Bilbo admitted, going a little pink with chagrin.

The dwarf perked up and stepped closer now that conversation had been engaged. “Maybe I can be of service?” He offered, and then leaned in to look at Bilbo’s map. “Why, that’s a dwarven map, or I’ll eat my hat!” He exclaimed with some surprise.

“Well, yes, I should hope so, as it was a dwarf who gave it to me.” Bilbo agreed. “It’s no help, though. I know I’m in the right place-” He jabbed his finger at the little dot. “-I just don’t know where Thorin lives. I should have asked, really, but I never thought- Well, never mind. I don’t suppose you happen to know where I might find him?” He asked, hopefully, giving up on scowling at the map to look over at the helpful dwarf, only to find him looking startled.

“Thorin?” He echoed. “You’re looking for a dwarf named Thorin?” He checked, sounding a little incredulous, although Bilbo couldn’t imagine why. Unless that was like asking after a ‘Daisy’ in the Shire? Bilbo would be a bit incredulous if anyone asked where to find Daisy, without adding in a last name, or anything else to separate that Daisy from the dozens of others living in Hobbiton alone.

“Yes. Ah, he’s a blacksmith. He said dwarves don’t really do last names, but he did have one of those epithets you lot bestow for acts of valour or whatever.” It took Bilbo a moment to root it out of his memory, but he’d remembered weirder names for many a distant cousin, and, well, he liked Thorin a great deal more than he liked any of them, so he had ascribed the name a good deal more importance. “Oakenshield? Do you know him, by any chance?”

The dwarf was gaping at him now, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. “You-” He began, but didn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence. He mouthed helplessly for a moment. “Oakenshield.” He repeated. “You’re- you’re quite sure that’s the name?”

“Yes.” Bilbo insisted, getting a little impatient now. “He’s about so tall-” He gestured well above his own head and a little above the dwarf’s, even with the extra inches his hat gave him. “Long dark hair, short beard, impressive scowl.”

The dwarf started nodding about half-way through, one fist pressed to his mouth as if in thought. Bilbo stared at him, entirely befuddled and unsure whether the dwarf did or didn’t know Thorin. “Oh, Mahal’s balls.” He breathed suddenly, and Bilbo’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the profanity. “Blacksmith.” He squeaked. Snorted. And then he started laughing so hard he doubled over, wheezing. “‘Acts of valour or whatever’! Don’t know where he lives! Oh, by Mahal’s forge!”

Bilbo was feeling more and more embarrassed, and more and more annoyed about that fact. “Yes, alright!” He snapped eventually. “It’s very funny, I’m sure. But in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a dwarf! I’m sure you’re all well versed in where you all live and what you’ve all done, but this is the first time I’ve even left the Shire, for goodness sake! I just wanted to visit a friend, because that’s what we do in the Shire when someone you care about is having a rough time, but I’m really starting to feel like maybe I just should have stayed home and not bothered!”

“Ach, sorry, sorry.” The dwarf said, but he was still smiling, so that took some of the sincerity out of it, in Bilbo’s opinion. He seemed to notice that, because he went so far as to sweep his hat off his head as he sank into a bow. “My most humble apologies, Master Hobbit.”

“Well, now you’re just mocking me.” Bilbo grumbled.

“I promise I’m not.” The dwarf assured him, straightening up but not replacing his hat. “Well, not much. It’s just, uh, that Thorin, you see, he’s… Well, he’s a little bit famous, round these parts.” He admitted with a sheepishly amused grin.

“Oh.” Bilbo muttered, still feeling a touch irritable.

“He lives inside the mountain, too, and you might have a little bit of trouble getting in. We don’t usually have non-dwarves wandering around up here. I can show you the way, though, and maybe, uh, vouch for you, or something.” The dwarf offered.

The last of Bilbo’s irritation melted away, and he sighed. “Thank you.” He agreed, and then. “Oh, where are my manners? Bilbo Baggins.” He went to hold out his hand, and then remembered that Thorin tended to bow, so he did that instead, even though it made him feel very silly. “Um… at your service?” He offered, hoping that was the right thing to say.

The dwarf beamed at him. “Bofur, son of Bomfur, at yours and your family’s!” He replied, bowing again. Bilbo blew out a quiet, relieved sigh, glad he’d at least got something right. “This way, then.” Bofur encouraged, tipping his head back the way Bilbo had come. Bilbo sighed again, this time at himself, and then fell into step with the dwarf.

They walked for a minute or two in silence, weaving between the little stone huts, Bofur waving or nodding cheerfully to anyone and everyone who paused to stare. He didn’t get much in the way of response. Maybe a cautious nod if he was lucky, or a frown if he wasn’t. “You dwarves aren’t a very sociable lot, are you?” Bilbo asked, before he could think better of it.

Bofur snorted. “Nah, we’re plenty sociable among ourselves. It’s just… well, we’ve been through a lot, and it makes a people a bit wary and suspicious-like. No offence to you specifically. If, uh, if Thorin thinks you’re a decent sort, then you probably are, at that.” Bilbo felt oddly flattered by that, both for himself, and at the implication of trust in Thorin’s judgement. “D’you mind if I ask how you met him?” Bofur questioned, not exactly tentatively, but in a tone that suggested he was half expecting to be shut down.

For a moment, Bilbo was confused. Then he remembered the way that ‘blacksmith’ had been one of the reasons why Bofur had been laughing at him, and frowned. Was Thorin not a blacksmith? That hardly made any sense; Bilbo had seen him hard at work at the forge on more than one occasion. Had stopped to watch for long enough that he was pretty sure it couldn’t have just been for show. “He stopped to ask for directions to Bree.” He said casually, watching Bofur closely out of the corner of his eye. “He had business there, and his nephews had gone on ahead to advertise. I suggested he might want to try selling his wares in the Shire on his next trip, since we’ve a lot of need for good quality farming tools and such.”

Bofur looked surprised, but not as startled as Bilbo might have expected. “And did he?” Bofur wanted to know.

“Well, yes. Several times now.” Bilbo confirmed. The conversation faltered when Bofur didn’t seem to have anything to say to that, but before Bilbo could think of trying to find a new topic, the dwarf pulled up short and rapped his fist against the cliff-side they’d been ambling along. Bilbo froze, blinking in bewilderment.

Only, to his very great shock, a slab of the rock-face swung inwards in two parts. Like doors, Bilbo realised, staring open-mouthed in wonder. They were more than tall enough to accommodate four or five hobbits standing on each other’s shoulders, and wide enough to allow half a dozen or more to walk abreast, and the tunnel beyond was lit with glittering crystals that revealed a smooth hall lined with intricate geometric carvings.

“Oh…!” Bilbo breathed in awe, taking a step forward without thinking.

He pulled up short when a very long-handled axe was lowered across his path. Although, it was nothing like any axe Bilbo had ever seen before, with pointy bits on top and on the back and across the top of the handle as well. It looked like it would be next to useless chopping firewood, and Bilbo was fairly sure that meant that it was meant for a far more gruesome purpose. He stepped back again sharply. “Who’s that, and what’s he doing here?” The dwarf holding the axe – if it was even called an axe when it was meant for people and not trees! – demanded of Bofur.

“He is right here.” Bilbo huffed, irritated by the rudeness. “And he can hear you perfectly well and speak for himself just fine, thank you.” The dwarf gave him a long, incredulous look. “My name is Bilbo Baggins – at your service – and I’m here to visit a friend.” He offered a short bow, because that was apparently the polite thing to do, and it would be just the thing to make the dwarf ashamed of his own behaviour, really, to be better at dwarven manners than a dwarf.

“A friend.” The guard echoed incredulously. “What friend?”

Bofur cleared his throat. A glance told Bilbo that he looked like he was about to burst out laughing again, but was valiantly restraining himself. “Ah, I know we’ve got rules and whatnot about outsiders not being let into the mountain without King Thorin’s say-so, so I was just going to run on in and let His Majesty know he’s got a visitor?”

The guard nearly dropped his axe in shock. Bilbo couldn’t honestly say he would have done any better. Indeed, his fingers felt rather numb all of a sudden where they were wrapped around his walking stick. It felt a little like Bofur’s words were drifting over to him from a very, very long way away, but slowly, they filtered through into his mind in a shape that made… well, it didn’t make any sense at all, actually, but he understood what the words were supposed to mean, anyway.

It seemed like a small age that the guard just stood there uncertainly, before, eventually, he nodded, and gestured Bofur through with his axe. Bofur slipped past him and flashed a reassuring grin at Bilbo that Bilbo barely registered. “You just sit tight, Master Baggins.” He called, the words echoing in between the confused repetitions of ‘King Thorin’ and ‘His Majesty’ still swirling through Bilbo’s mind. And then Bofur was gone down the hall, and it and the guard vanished from view as the invisible rock-doors swung soundlessly shut again, leaving Bilbo gaping like a fish at a blank stone wall.

“King?!”

Bofur wasn’t really expecting anyone to stop him on his way to deliver a message to the King. Oh, there was a gamut of guards to get past, but ‘message for the King’ opened a lot of doors, even if Bofur didn’t have the braids of a courier. He was from the surface dwellings, which meant that if he made himself look a little bit harried, everyone expected him to be reporting on some new disaster, and they ushered him on quickly. He was glad that he’d get to deliver good news, instead.

He assumed it would be good news. Thinking back to the awkward little hobbit he’d left on the doorstep, Bofur had to stifle a grin. He knew very little about hobbits, all told, but that alone was enough to know that they didn’t exactly get out much. To have one come all the way here was remarkable, and the fact that it had all been for the sole reason of lifting the King’s spirits? That was sweet, and something Bofur most definitely approved of.

The guards pointed him towards the King’s office, an area of the halls he’d never ever had cause to visit before. It was a little intimidating, even if they didn’t look all that different from the rest of the halls. The carvings were more artistic, and the rooms and walkways better maintained, maybe, but only barely. And that was why Bofur liked King Thorin. Unlike the puffed up old sods on the Broadbeam council, who insisted on their station being venerated despite the fact that no one bloody well had time for that rot anymore.

Before he could reach his destination, though, he was halted by a pair of stony-faced suspicious-looking guards. “I’ve a message for the King.” He told him.

“What message?” The guard demanded.

Bofur blinked, but, well, it wasn’t like it was a secret. “There’s a visitor for him at the Gate.”

One of the guards nodded to the other, and the other one left, heading down the hall, while the other remained in place and kept a gimlet stare pinned on Bofur. There wasn’t anything for him to do except wait, so he leaned against the wall, and started humming an old mining song to keep himself entertained. The guard didn’t relax, even when Bofur pulled out a jauntier tavern song, and then started singing a song that was perhaps not appropriate for the royal quarter.

He was on the fourth verse when the King came into view. The guard grimaced, and gave Bofur a ‘shut up right now!’ sort of look. Bofur stopped singing, but he didn’t stop grinning. Especially since the two Princes, who were a step behind their uncle, both looked to be struggling not to laugh. He offered them a wink, and the youngest snorted into his muffling palms.

King Thorin shot the Princes a reproving glower, and then swept the same look over Bofur. It was very intimidating, and Bofur bowed to get away from it. “Bofur, son of Bomfur, at your service, m’lord.” He offered politely.

“At yours and your family’s.” The King replied, entirely serious, bowing back. It left Bofur a little stunned, if he was being honest. He knew, of course, that King Thorin was good to even the poorest of his people, but that was a level of respect Bofur just about never saw these days. “You said there was a visitor at the gate?” King Thorin pressed on, already setting off past Bofur down the hall and gesturing for the poor surface-dwelling ex-miner toy-maker to walk beside him. “What sort of visitor?”

“A hobbit.” Bofur informed him, and had the distinct honour of being one of the few dwarves ever to see their good King stumble like a wee pebble still taking their first steps.

“Mister Baggins?!” The younger Prince asked in what Bofur could only describe as glee.

Bofur looked over his shoulder at him, grinning again. “Yes, as it happens. He did say he was looking for a friend. You do know him, then?” He asked, feigning innocence as he looked to the King. “Only, I wasn’t entirely sure, seeing as Mr Baggins was very clear he was looking for a simple travelling blacksmith and all. But I don’t think there’s another ‘Thorin’ in these halls, so…”

The younger Prince was howling with laughter, and if Bofur wasn’t much mistaken, their great and noble King was blushing. He had to press a fist to his mouth to keep from joining Prince Kíli in his mirth. “That must have been an awful shock for Mr Baggins.” The elder Prince interjected, his moustache quivering with the laughter he was biting back.

“He did seem a little stunned.” Bofur acknowledged.

“That’s enough.” King Thorin snapped. Bofur did put some effort into repressing his grin, but that was kind of ruined when Prince Fíli sniggered into the ensuing silence. “Fíli.” King Thorin growled.

“Sorry, Uncle.” Fíli offered, not sounding very sorry at all. “But really, he had to be told some time before you present him with your first gift.” Bofur’s eyes maybe bugged out of his head a little bit at that, because that sounded an awful lot like the King was intending to court the fussy little surface-dweller Bofur had left standing outside the gate.

“Yes, I know.” King Thorin huffed, sounding resigned. “I had only hoped to be able to inform him in my own time.”

And there was no denial. Which meant the King was planning to court a hobbit. That was… Oh, that was going to put a raven in the tinker’s shop, and no mistake. Still, Bofur wasn’t an old tradition-bound councillor and, in his opinion, a dwarf could do a lot worse than someone who would go out of their way just to keep your spirits up.

It didn’t take them much longer to reach the gate, because the pace King Thorin had set had been only just this side of eager. The guards standing sentry in the watchtower carved into the mountain either side of the main tunnel opened the gate without needing to be ordered to on seeing the King approach. It took Bofur’s eyes a moment to adjust to the sunlight, and then another moment to find Mister Baggins, because he wasn’t standing on the path anymore. Instead, he’d taken a seat on a boulder not too far off, travelling pack and walking stick leaning against the mountainside beside him.

“Bilbo.” King Thorin greeted, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun, but not hesitating to step out to greet the little hobbit.

Mister Baggins got to his feet as Thorin approached, and Bofur only then noticed that the poor thing’s feet were entirely bare, because he was digging his toes into the shale and gravel like some kind of living tree attempting to root itself even in stone. Then he cleared his throat, lifted his chin defiantly, and said “Thorin.”

And King Thorin laughed.

Bofur was pretty sure his own jaw wasn’t the only one to have dropped. The two guards shared looks like they were wondering if their ale had been spiked. Everyone in the mountain knew that King Thorin didn’t laugh. By Mahal, he barely smiled. Not that anyone considered it a flaw, as far as anyone Bofur had talked to was concerned, the King had precious little to smile about, so fair enough, really.

“What are you doing here?” King Thorin demanded. “You must have been walking for days…!”

Mister Baggins frowned at him. “Well, yes, a few. But it wasn’t so very different from a walking holiday, really, and I’ve been on plenty enough of those that I knew what I was doing. And I had that lovely map of yours to show me where to go.” He paused, and then peered up at the King’s face intently. “You sounded upset, in your letters, and I rather thought- Well, if you’d lived in the Shire, I wouldn’t have thought twice about popping over to check in on you, and really, it’s not so far to walk. Less than a week, and it’s that far to Bree. Which I haven’t actually visited, mind, but a fair few hobbits do, so it’s not as though I’ve done anything scandalous-”

Bofur couldn’t see the King’s face, because he was facing away from the rest of them, but he didn’t need to, to know that he was staring at the little hobbit in wonder. It was all right there in his voice, when he said; “Thank you, Bilbo.”

“Oh, I- Well, yes.” Mister Baggins stammered, clearing his throat again, before smiling warmly in response. “You’re quite welcome.” He offered, and then promptly shook the moment off with a brisk little sniff. “Now, are you going to make me stand on your doorstep all day?”

“Of course not.” King Thorin said quickly, and turned to usher Mister Baggins into the mountain. The guards stepped smartly into flanking positions either side of the gate and raised their weapons in salute. Putting on a proper show for the first surface-dweller to step inside dwarven halls in- Well, since Erebor fell, probably. Mister Baggins squeaked, though whether in surprise or fright, Bofur couldn’t tell, and though King Thorin nodded respectfully to the guards, his momentary solemnity doing nothing to dim his smile.

“Oh, Fíli! Kíli! Hello! I’m afraid I didn’t see you there.” Mister Baggins greeted as he approached the cluster of dwarves. Bofur edged away, not wanting to intrude, but still a little caught up in enjoying watching someone else’s happiness. The Princes, while clearly not besotted the way the King was, were still clearly delighted to greet Mister Baggins, and were doing so with all the rambunctious enthusiasm of dwarves half their age.

Before he could actually retreat back through the closing gates, though, the King turned to him. “Thank you for taking care of him, Master Bofur.” King Thorin said, still with that fond half-smile on his face. He actually looked a little dazed by his own happiness, which made Bofur grin in sympathy, and maybe a little amusement.

“Oh, it was no trouble, Your Majesty.” He assured him cheerfully.

“If it would not be too much of an imposition, would you be willing to see Mister Baggins home when he wishes to leave? You’ll be paid for your time and trouble, of course.” King Thorin requested.

Bofur maybe gaped at him a little. He was doing a lot of that today, but he dared anyone else to keep their composure better after the day Bofur’s had. “I’d- O’course I’ll do it,  but- I’m just a toymaker. Not even a miner, anymore. Wouldn’t you rather send an actual guard for- for someone so important?” He asked, bewildered.

For a moment, the King looked pained, but then he cleared his face, even though his smile looked a little less happy. “The guards are currently stretched rather thin, and I don’t expect there to be any real trouble on the road to the Shire, but Mister Baggins is of a gentle, peaceful folk, and I would feel better if he had someone with a strong enough arm to swing a pickaxe with him.” He paused, and then fixed a steady, intent stare on Bofur that startled him, just a little. “I have no doubt in your skill, nor your honour, Bofur, son of Bomfur.”

“A’right then.” Bofur managed, feeling a little ridiculous for being so flattered at the trust being put in him, but it was King Thorin. He figured that earned him a little leeway. “Yeah. I’ll- Whenever he’s ready to go, just- ah-” Bofur gestured uselessly, in a vague attempt to communicate that he wasn’t going to be busy doing anything that couldn’t be dropped with a few minutes notice.

“We’ll find you.” King Thorin replied, and Bofur felt a laugh bubbling up at the thought of King Thorin dropping by the tiny clumsy surface shack he shared with his cousin.

“What’s this?” Mister Baggins asked, finally released from the Princes, it seemed. “Why will we need to find Mister Bofur?”

“He’ll be escorting you home, once you wish to return.” King Thorin informed him.

Rather than being grateful, Mister Baggins’s face scrunched up in what looked like annoyance. And sure enough, his next words were damn near to a scolding, hands on hips and everything. “I’m not a helpless fauntling, Thorin, I hardly need babysitting-”

“It’s not that I believe you to be helpless, Bilbo.” King Thorin retorted in frustration. Bofur’s shoulders shook with laughter at the long-suffering look on his face. “I’ve no doubt that with a little training, you would wield a blade well enough-”

“A blade?!” Mister Baggins squawked.

King Thorin jabbed a finger at Mister Baggin’s horrified expression. “But that – that right there – is why I’d rather you have someone with you while you go cavorting about in the wilderness! The world is a dangerous place-”

Bofur finally exited the mountain to the sound of the hobbit’s flustered, indignant blustering, and the King’s fondly frustrated retorts. He whistled a jaunty little ditty to himself as he ambled home, marvelling at everything he’d seen and learned today, and the strange little turn his life had taken, just because he’d stopped to give a hobbit directions. Bifur was sure to get a laugh out of this story, sure enough.

[abadoodlesss]

Sometimes the Job’s Worth It - Chapter Eleven

Tag List: @jadepc @mypage-myfandoms @bellero @colie87 @jokerslittlemunster (just ask to be added!)

Read Previous Chapters Here.

Next: Chapter Twelve

Summary: Jane gets in a bit of trouble with the boys and of course Dean’s a softie, but not for the reasons you think.

(Meant to have this out way sooner! It’s been done for three days now I’ve just had no time to edit but thank you for the patience!!)

“Well that was pointless.” Dean said as he climbed down the steps of the Whittaker household, Sam by his side.

“Tell me about it.” Sam said as he scrolled through his phone, searching for Jane’s number. He pressed call as he slid into the passenger seat. It rang and rang but there was no response. He called again but got the same results.

“She’s not picking up.”

Instead of responding, Dean pulled out his phone and started dialing.

“Cas?” Dean growled into his phone.

“You don’t need to worry, Dean. I’m with Jane.” He replied in his usual monotone voice, anticipating Dean’s anger.

“Do you want to explain why?”

“She called me.” Cas stated.

“You didn’t think to question that. Cas you can’t just- We have no idea where she is right now, great that she’s safe with you, but you can’t just let her disappear on us like that.”

“She’s perfectly safe here with me in the Bunker, there’s no need to worry.”

“Cas- just don’t pull that shit again, alright? Jane doesn’t go anywhere unless we know and approve. She doesn’t know what she’s doing; you can’t just listen to her.”

“She said I could trust her, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, buddy. We’re on our way home now.”

Dean hung up, tossing his phone into a cup holder as he sped off towards the Bunker.

The boys made it home in record time.

They slammed their car doors in unison and stormed down the halls until they came to the war room. They burst through the doors to find Jane with her back turned to them, leaning over the table.

Dean opened his mouth, ready to scold Jane for the stunt she just pulled but she cut him off, spinning around to face the boys.

“Woman in white.” Jane said as she presented them with a book, opened to a page with a ghostly woman standing beside a tree.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked.

“A woman in white, that’s what’s causing all the disappearances.” Jane said proudly as she handed over the book, returning to the table which the boys now noticed was covered in different books and papers.

Dean took the book from Sam’s hands and read for himself. He didn’t even remember that women in white existed. They hadn’t faced one since- it was the very first case the brothers went on together, back when Sam went to college, back when his life was normal, back when-

Dean’s train of thought derailed when Jane spoke, “I’ve been doing a little research of my own-”

“A little?” Dean said with a chuckle that Sam didn’t appreciate.

“You’ve done a lot of research, behind our backs.” Sam added in his stern voice. The Winchesters agreed Jane would have no part in hunting, yet here Dean was, joking with Jane when he should be helping Sam discipline.

“Don’t scold me, I might have cracked this case for you.” Jane said to Sam, grabbing some of her materials off the table. “At the Whittaker’s house, I overheard a conversation those women were having in the kitchen. Howard Whittaker,” Jane said, taking out the little profile the boys made on him, “was cheating on his wife. A woman in white ‘targets those that are unfaithful to their wives as the women in white were rejected or deceived by men in their life’.” Jane finished, quoting the book in Dean’s hands from memory.

“That might just be a coincidence, besides, not all the men were cheating. One was single.” Dean said, joining Jane’s side as he looked over the work she’d done.

“Dean.” Sam scolded. “Shouldn’t we deal with the whole sneaking-out-and-disrupting-an-investigation-and-then-disappearing-thing and the getting-involved-with-the-paranormal-even-though-we-said-not-to-thing first?”

Dean looked at his brother them Jane. Jane looked at Dean with her pleading green eyes. She wasn’t doing this to be rebellious, she was doing this because she genuinely wanted to help and Dean could understand and respect that.

“She might have something here, Sam.” Dean defended.

Jane’s pleading eyes softened as her face beamed with the most grateful smile Dean had ever seen. He couldn’t help but copy it.

“I’m sure that I do. I thought about all the factors too. Women in white ‘will also prey upon those she influences and seduces into committing adultery’. And the single guy could have cheated in the past.” She explained. “Also, the last known location of three victims was this pub.” Jane said pointing to a map. “Coincidence? I think not.”

“We’ll go check it out.” Dean said, taking the map.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this more? I mean this is just a theory right now.” Sam interjected, taking the map away.

“Do you have anything better?” Jane asked.

They didn’t. Sam couldn’t deny it.

“I guess we’ll go check it out.” He said, feeling his anger subside when he saw the proud smile on Jane’s face. “You’re not coming with us, though.” He added.

“On one condition.” She wagered. “You let me help with research.”

“Jane-”

“I get you want to protect me, but there’s no harm in this. Besides, what else am I going to do in here? Maybe I’ll stop trying to leave if I’m not so bored out of my mind.” She said. “Also, not to mention that I’m pretty damn good at this.”

“Don’t get cocky.” Dean said. “But I think you make a good point.”

“Dean-” Sam let out a sigh “Can I talk to you alone for a second?” 

The brothers wandered over out of earshot of Jane. “It may sound harmless now, Dean, but we can’t keep giving in. First, we let her start researching, then she starts helping on investigations, then she’s begging to come hunting.”

“You’re overthinking again, Sammy.”

“I’m not. It might get to that point, Dean, and I don’t think you have the willpower to keep saying no to her.”

“Look, we took Jane with us to protect her. If we say no, she’s gonna keep trying to get the hell out of here to have something to do. This will tide her over for a while.”

“A while? And then when she gets bored again?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Dean-”

“Sammy look, just trust me right now, okay?” Dean said in a whisper before looking away. Sam knew something was going on but he stayed quiet. He knew Dean wasn’t ready to explain himself just yet, so Sam would just have to trust him.

“Alright, I do.” Sam said with a nod.

“Good.” Dean then whirled around, instantly putting on a bright face. “We’ve reached a verdict.” He announced.

“Don’t keep a girl in suspense.” Jane said, leaning against the table.

“Welcome to Team Free Will.”

Jane launched herself at the boys, throwing her arms around their necks as she pulled them in for a family hug. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” She exclaimed. “I won’t let you down.” She promised, as she pulled away.  

“Alright, team. What’s the plan?” Dean asked as they all took a seat around the table.

“Next left.” Sam said.

The boys took off in the Impala in search of the pub where the latest victims were last seen. Jane promised to stay home this time, though that didn’t stop the boys from checking the backseat before they left.

They were driving down a long quiet road with sparse streetlights, the radio playing softly as the brothers drove, neither speaking unless it was about directions.

There was a weird energy in the car, it was uncomfortable. Dean shifted in his seat, turning up the raido a little louder to drown out the silence. Why wasn’t Sam talking to him? Was he mad about letting Jane help still? Dean told Sam to trust him, was that not enough?

“It’s coming up on your right,’ Sam said before tossing the directions Jane gave him to the side.

Dean pulled into the parking lot, finding a spot right up front. He threw the car in park before turning to his brother.

“Alright, what’s up with you?” He asked.

“Nothing, lets go.” Sam said, moving to get out of the car but Dean quickly pressed the button that locked all the doors. “Dean, c’mon just-” Sam said, fiddling with the door handle.

“Something’s going on.” Dean pressed.

“It’s nothing,” Sam said with a sigh.

“What, are you still mad about letting Jane help?”

“It’s not that.” Sam said. ‘I’ve just been thinking about the last time we had a woman in white case.”

“Yeah, it was our first hunt together.” Dean recalled.

“A lot changed that day. I gave up on college, I started hunting again, Jess-” Sam stopped for a moment. “I just don’t want that to happen to Jane.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to sigh. “It’s not going to.”

“How do you know? I mean she’s going to get wrapped up in this world and she’s gonna turn out just like us. Is that really what you want? I know you told me to just trust you and I’m trying to but I don’t think you’re really thinking about this.”

“You’re the one not thinking about this shit, Sam.” Dean growled, looking down at his hands. 

“No, I really think you believe this is all gonna be fine, you’re ignoring the danger this is gonna put her in, why? Because you want her to be happy? I know you love that kid, I do too, but we don’t always get what we want, she’ll get over it.”

“Damn it, Sam.” Dean said, slamming his fist into his door. The car was silent except for Dean’s deep breaths. “Don’t you get it?” He sounded broken.

“Dean-”

“We both know she’s not gonna make it very long.” He said. “I mean Lucifer and Michael are after her. Look how that turned out for us, you think Jane’s gonna be able to make it through all that?” Sam stayed quiet, unable to look at his brother. “I just- I don’t want whatever’s left of her life to be miserable. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“Alright, I get it.” Sam said.

They sat in silence for another minute.

“Let’s go.” Dean said, finally unlocking the doors. He got out and slammed his shut, walking towards the pub before Sam was even out of the car.

[sxpphicsunshine]

One: Almonds

Goodbye…

I don’t want to say goodbye, goodbye means ending.

Camellia was sat cross-legged at the riverbank. Jia resting her head in her lap, fiddling with the hem of Camellia’s Blouse. Jia stared up at her girlfriend’s face while she looked that the stars, trembling in the night sky. The occasional breeze caught Camellia’s hair, sending her curls bouncing side wards; annoyed she’d shake her head pushing it back out of her face. Jia laughed, Camellia’s exasperation was funny. She was beautiful and it filled her with so much joy.

I don’t want this to end.

“Stop laughing at me… my hair won’t cooperate okay” Camellia complained, maybe she needed to cut it, her curls only ever seemed to grow outward and not down. Her complaint was lighthearted followed by a smile.

“You look adorable when you’re flustered like that” Jia laughed, full and heartily. Camellia responded by poking Jia’s cheek, repeatedly with just enough force to make it irritating but not painful. Jia continued to laugh trying to bat Camellia’s prodding fingers away.

But when do I ever get what I want.

The two continued to laugh, grabbing each other’s hands and pushing against each other. The tension in Jia’s arms lessened for the brief second, causing Camellia to be sent flying forward by her own force. The two clutching hands rolled down the bank together, closer to the river’s edge. Jia landed on top of Camellia, head on her chest… she laid there still. She could hear Camellia’s heartbeat, her breath’s slowing after the laughter they shared, rolling down the hill. Jia closed her eyes and basked in her warmth -- she was so warm. Camellia placed a hand on Jia’s back, in-between where her wings usually where. Jia was too tired and weak to maintain their integrity.

Maybe it’s because you were one of the first to ever see me.

Jia couldn’t help but cry, she didn’t want to cry. Camellia gasped at Jia’s emotional response.

The first to ever offer me a hand and ask if I was okay,

“Hey… are you crying? Are you okay? Well… obviously you’re not okay if you’re crying.” Camellia stumbled over her words, biting her lip. She was terrible at comforting people and she knew it. Camellia stroked Jia’s head, until Jia looked up, eyes wide, full of tears. “Did you hurt yourself? Was I too rough? I’m sorry.”

The first to ever tell me that I was important.

“I don’t want to leave again… I hate I have to leave you like this, a year together then another apart.” Jia sobbed, she gripped Camellia’s shoulders, her face above hers. Camellia knew how much she hated leaving, not only because she had to leave Camellia but because of why she had to leave. Jia hated being a Leannan Sidhe, she hated having to be some egotistical idiot’s muse, pandering to him… only to drink his blood dry when the monstrosity of his greed finally took over.

“I love you, you’ll be fine.” Camellia responded, she gave a small smile and wiped a tear from Jia’s cheek. Camellia wanted to cry too. Seeing Jia cry, so full of dread and not being able to fix it was the most excruciating thing she’d ever experience. Camellia usually offered emotional support by offering solutions, for this there were no solutions.

“It’s not about me!”

Can that be called love at first sight? Because that’s what I’m going to call it.

Camellia lowered her hand at Jia’s yell, she bit her lip harder this time. At a loss of what to say. Jia let out a shaky sigh and stopped looking Camellia in the eye for a moment.

You were beautiful.

“Camellia one day I’m going to leave and when I come back… you’ll have forgotten me.” Jia sniffled, her voice was low, if the two hadn’t been so close Camellia wouldn’t have heard her. Camellia gently grabbed Jia’s chin and turned her to face her again.

“That is the most absurd and impossible thing I’ve ever heard in my life… I’d sooner forget my left arm than you.” Camellia was concerned, out of all the anxieties she’d listened to from Jia… this had never been one of them. “Did something happen? Why an earth would you ever think that?” Jia noticed Camellia’s eyes becoming glossy, Jia sniffed and tried to force her tears back.

You are beautiful.

I don’t want it to end like this.

Jia let go of Camellia’s shoulders, got up from on top of her and sat on the bank, she stared at the small tremors of water caused by the agitated fish. “Jia, please talk to me… we always talk, we never leave anything unsaid.” Camellia sat up, next to her, placing her hand on top of Jia’s. Her expression was firm and determined, partly because she was trying to figure out what could have caused Jia’s outburst but also because she was trying to hold back her own sadness.

“I was being silly, the night air and hunger has me all dizzy. But I want to say I’m sorry but also thank you, thank you for always being there for me but sorry for all the trouble that’s caused you.” Jia explained, Camellia did the only thing she could think to do in that moment. She kissed her, so deeply and so urgently, although Jia kissed back Camellia could tell she was hesitant. There was something she wasn’t telling her.

Camellia opened her eyes, her hands were holding Jia’s cheeks, their noses were still pressed against each other. Jia’s eyes were closed.

“You don’t have to thank me for being in love with you, you never have to thank someone for loving you. I’ve never expected you to be thankful, guilty or sorry for anything ever because if I didn’t want to do any of this I wouldn’t have done it. Things have been complicated between us but we always fix things, there’s nothing we can’t fix together. Of course, it hurts me when you leave but because I worry about you, because I want to protect you and help you solve all the problems you can’t solve on your own. I feel so powerless that I can’t fix this.”

But the prerequisite of a beginning is an eventual ending.

“Do you remember when I first met you, that day was almost one of the worst days of my life but then, you made it the best.” Camellia explained, Jia opened her eyes and saw now that it was Camellia who was crying. “You always make everyday the best…” Camellia gave an awkward, laugh in-between tears and pulled away, so their faces weren’t touching anymore.

She rolled up the sleeve of her blouse to reveal her forearm and the matching tattoo they had, a tulip, which was glowing a vibrant pink. Jia revealed her forearm and held it next to hers, also pink. Love, trust, safety… one of the most positive and beautiful of the spectrum.

Camellia had infused the ink of these tattoos with magic, so the tattoo would glow or change colour depending on the other’s emotions. Camellia’s signified how Jia was feeling and vice versa. Camellia beamed at Jia, Jia let out a sigh of content and she clasped Camellia’s hand. “So lets make a promise like we always do!” Camellia mused.

Jia felt the shudders of Camellia’s magic in her hand, an almond branch formed where the two had been joined. Jia holding one end and Camellia holding the other. Camellia had told Jia that almond meant promises. Whenever they needed to make an important promise Camellia would make an almond branch, they would hold it together, recite the promise and then they would put it in a vase. The vase contained branches full of all the promises they made, if the promise was broken the leaves on the branch would die, if the promise was kept they would remain green. The result was an odd bundle of leafy sticks in Camellia’s kitchen, not even one had died yet.

Even though I hate endings, it must be as beautiful as the beginning.

“Jia?”

“Camellia?”

But an ending as beautiful as you when we first met?

“I promise to not forget you while you’re gone.”

Now that’s going to be difficult.

Jia could see the pink on her arm fading.

“And I promise to kiss you for the longest I ever have when I get back” Jia let go of the branch and Camellia put it in her bag to put it in the vase when she got back.

“Longer than this?” Camellia kissed Jia again, gentler this time, all Jia’s previous hesitations dropped. The river, the ground, the night sky all faded into nothingness with this one kiss. Jia wanted to focus all her attention and remaining energy into it, so she couldn’t forget it, not a single thought or sensation. So, she could vividly remember it whenever she needed to.

This kiss may be our last, but it was the best.

No one has ever seen me first, I always need to show or offer myself to them. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but you offered yourself to me instead. I didn’t have to make you aware of me, you acknowledged my existence immediately. Because of this I tried so desperately to force myself into your world, a world I have no business being in. You let me in and I’ll always be thankful for that.

You won’t accept it, but my nature is a danger to you. This is me being thankful, no longer derailing your life and keeping you safe.

This was never going to go our way.

Your world is almost as lovely as you are, you deserve to live in it, not teeter on the edge of my dark and pitiful one.

Camellia unlocked the door of her cottage, her feet ached, sometimes she hated living on the outskirts of the village. Too much walking. Come to think of it she couldn’t even remember why she went out in the first place.

She turned on the light, the house was silent and cold, as always. Camellia sighed, taking off her shoes. She hated coming back to nothing, no wonder she was always out, always travelling, working in some town or city far from here. Offering her services as a travelling witch, anything to not have to come back to emptiness and to be reminded of how horribly lonely she really was. How wretched, dark and pitiful her world truly was.

Her familiar Dion in the form of a cat jumped up on the kitchen counter to greet her.

“You’ve been a long time where have you been?” He asked, grooming his paws. She paused untying her boot laces for a second. Where had she been?

“Walking I guess.” She shrugged since she could think of no other explanation. She kicked her boot off and picked up Dion, making her way to her bedroom. She stopped in her tracks for a second, when she caught something odd in the corner of her eye.

A vase, full of dead almond branches. What an earth was that there for?

So, I’m erasing myself entirely from your world and staying in my own.