#you actually should be able to see the Golden Gate Bridge here

[wellntruly]

Boat horns in the fog just outside San Francisco Bay

[magicxc]

Hills and Valleys

Synopsis: Legend has it that Halloween is strictly for the scares. With ghouls and goblins, vampires and werewolves, witches and broomsticks, who could disagree?

However, all this friend group wanted was a little trick or treat. Sprinkle in a few party favors, loud music and a cabin in the woods, the myth was bound to come true.

Lurking around the corner is danger like never before, eager to bring this night to a bloody finish.

So join these friends as they fight to make it through a Hallween they’ll never forget.

Word Count: 3506

Warnings: murdaaaa, tha big reveal

Chapter 6 - Jasons POV

A/N: this is legit like my 5th attempt at uploading this damn fic. From the warnings to the word count to the moodboard to the story all the way down to the fucking tagsssss 😩 I am TIRED. Almost turned my phone into jello over Dumblr. So please, enjoy; cause tears def went into this.

Series Masterlist

“What’s with the scrutiny all of a sudden?” Emery challenged. “You know I could say the same for you Jason, the same for all of us really; cause where was anyone when our friends were fighting for their lives?” she sniffled. “All we have to do is sit here til sunrise and we can’t even do that.”

As annoying as I find Emery, she made a decent point. Where was I? Where was anyone and how did this manage to happen unheard? Do I actually believe Lorenzo did it? Not really. He’s lost arguably the two closest people in his friend group, cradling Stephanie in his arms for God knows how long. For a second I almost believed he’d break through the window if it meant he could reach out and hold Julianna much the same; his behaviour eerily composed, reminding me of the calm before the storm - and what a shit storm it’s turned out to be.

Serving in the military, I was taught to survive in extreme atmospheric conditions; training to fight in places as scorching as the desert and as icy as the snow. Our exercises also saw us in unsturdy places such as the choppy currents of the water, arms linked together as we floated on the surface for hours. The sky was no exception either, learning to parachute from altitudes so high the air was all but limited. It wasn’t my dream to fight for this country but, life happens. And while it did come with its perks, I wouldn’t recommend any sane person to join. I’ve scraped so many bodies off the battlefield and sent so many others to meet their maker, I’ve become somewhat desensitized to death - learning to keep calm during the most chaotic and life threatening moments because it’s only then that I was able to live to tell the tale. And that’s what I’ve been attempting since we all found ourselves locked in this place - surviving, lending out my experience to the team who quite frankly doesn't deserve it at this point. All I can do is stay calm long enough to see this night through.

“I think we should waterboard the fucker.”

And here the fuck we go. I’ve never pegged Lynn for such a firecracker but I get it. After all, this night is drawing all sorts of emotions from people: showing our true colors when the universe dangles something so priceless before us.

It's been said that about 1800 people have jumped from the golden gate bridge, yet only 35 have survived the fall. And each person that’s survived has explicitly stated that they regretted jumping halfway through the fall, realising, in the face of imminent danger, just how solvable all their problems seemed. Much like tonight, in what happened to be a party gone horribly wrong, recovering bodies littered around the house like candies during an easter egg hunt, only then do you realise how desperately you want to live. Many people are familiar with the term fight or flight, but what goes most overlooked is a secret third thing - fear. Fear so intense it freezes you to one spot like a deer in headlights, too afraid to move from the oncoming beams of tragedy. But another emotion fear pulls from us is survival, an emotion so fierce that you’d find yourself doing just about anything to have it; even going as far as to commit interrogation tactics of torture.

“Exactly which fucker are you referring to?” Emery questioned.

“Whoever the fucker is responsible for this mess.”

“Go ahead and point them out for us since you know every damn thing.”

They’re on their own with this one. I can't deal with the bickering. I'm used to organized and thought provoking responses in such situations; my irritation rising the more it sinks in just how wet they are behind the ears.

“Lorenzo, you’re one more insult away from me socking you in the face.”

“Whatever Lynn, what you should hit is the books you dumbass,” he retorts.

Throwing her shoe at him, it just barely misses his face; Emery stepping in to call them both childish.

“So help me God if you don’t get your shit together, I’m gonna whoop you like your parents should have.”

“Fuck you Lenny, at least my parents were active enough in my life not to let me get raised by the help.”

“Parent,” Lorenzo enunciated. “Had your dad been able to afford the help, maybe your mom would’ve stuck around you motherless bitch.”

Well shit.

“Jason, do something!”

“Right, uhhh all shoes in the middle of the floor,” I instructed.

“Asshole.”

I don’t know why Emery insists on calling me out. Everyone, despite tonight’s circumstances, in this room is responsible for their own actions. Yet she expects me to jump in the middle of their bullshit every time. I don't know what kind of savior complex they have going on, but I won’t be a part of it. I barely want to be with sugar at this point.

“Lenny you motherfucker, two parents plus the help and yet no one taught you what it means to have common decency; no wonder women can’t wait to get rid of you.”

“Well if it isn’t the whore of Babylon here to teach us a lesson about keeping partners. Tell you what, you teach me how to keep a woman and I’ll teach you how to get rid of the clap.”

“Sex shaming is not cool,” Emery criticized.

“And neither is half the things that's been flapping past Lynn's lying ass lips,” Lorenzo retorted. “If you’re gonna be biased, do so from the corner of the room, cause you’re at about arms length right now and that’s not good for you.

“Would you seriously hit me?” she ridiculed.

I would.

“Are you surprised Em, this is the same piece of shit who yanked Julez arm so hard, it left bruises.”

“You dramatic whore, no the fuck I did not.”

“And that was in front of an entire crowd, who knows what you’re capable of behind closed doors huh? Drowning? Slicing?”

“Sounds like you’re in the mood to find out.”

“Tell me their last words to you as you watched them fight for their lives you piece of shit.”

“YOU GUYS PLEASE.”

Oh my God.

“Shut your mouth Lynn.”

“Tell me every horrifying detail about what fucked you up so bad that you’d turn on your own friends in such a way.”

“I won't ask you again.”

“Steph probably begged you to finish her off didn’t she? Eager to get the hell away from you and your perverted advances.”

For a big guy, Lorenzo’s pretty damn swift. Maybe it’s because all those drinks are still sloshing around in my bloodstream but my cat like senses wasn’t quick enough to catch him.

Angrily lunging toward Lynn his hands are tightly wrapped around her throat, arms trembling from the forceful hold. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead, while spittled foam gathers at the corners of his mouth. Blinking away tears, thick veins line the surface of his neck, incoherent mumbling tumbling past his lips.

Sugar desperately beats at his arms, struggling for air he refuses to give her and my anger shoots through the roof, their foolishness pissing me off for the final time. It takes both me and Emery to tear Lorenzo away from sugar, his grip firm and unrelenting. For a second I feared that he actually intended to kill her. Once we finally manage to drag him away, it takes me putting my full weight on this man, using one of my hand to hand combat moves to lock him into place.

Pinned beneath me, I scream to Emery to grab anything strong enough to tie his arms together. She brings me back one of the kitchen towels and I roll us sideways so that she can wrap it around his hands.

“I - I can't do it, he won’t stop thrashing his arms.”

“For fucksake Emery TRY, there’s only so much I can do right now.

With lots of wiggling and flailing, Emery manages a decent enough knot for me to turn him over and reinforce it. Sugar finally catches her breath before storming into the kitchen.

We sit Lorenzo in a chair while Emery tries to coax him into comfort. Standing up, he head butts me in the face, my nose immediately leaking blood from the impact. My fist returns the favor, knocking him back into the chair. Emery harshly tugs on my elbow, begging me to stop, and it takes everything in me to do just that because this fight was about to turn real unfair, real quick.

Dragging my arm across my face, I look about the room for anything to tie down his legs to the chair, coming up with some loose cloth, which undoubtedly was a part of someone’s costume.

“Fuck all of you,” Lorenzo screams.

“No Lenny, fuck you,” sugar screeched, thumping back to the room; a pitcher full of water cradled between her hands.

“Woah, woah, woah LYNNLEY. Are you fucking serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“This is Lenny, the same Lenny we’ve known since middle school.”

“People change Em and I'm about to show you just how much.”

“Sugar, maybe we should-“

“Shut up, all of you.”

“I know there’s been a lot said tonight, some things in particular we can never take back,” Lorenzo sighed. “And I know tensions are high right now, but are they so high that you’d all sit there and watch me die.”

“Lorenzo, no one’s gonna kill anyone man.”

“It’s WATERBOARDING, you of all people should know that it can very well get fatal.”

“Enough of this.”

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she pulls his head back, pouring enough water on him to drench his clothes, before being snatched away by Emery.

It's not nearly enough to kill him, but it does make for some discomfort, much like accidentally snorting a noseful of water once you dive inside a swimming pool. It burns but that's about it.

Coughing through his discomfort, I listen as sugar and Emery go back and forth over the severity of it all; and I briefly contemplate killing myself if it means that I won't have to deal with their nonsense. I honestly don't know if I can make it to sunrise like this and by the looks of it, neither will they.

Their bickering finally subsides, them agreeing only to question the man and nothing more. Of course Lorenzo detests it, that for no other reason than a hunch he’s guilty and lowkey he’s right. But then again, I'm not inserting myself into their madness. They’ve made it this far in this fucked up friend circle, they can make it the rest of the night.

“So lemme get this straight, you went upstairs to find cell signal and somehow found yourself next to a knife stricken Steph?”

“Lynn, ask your damn question.”

“How did you end up there and why?”

“My phone fell out of the window and I was looking for someone elses to use. It just so happened that Steph was the first person I found.”

“I think we should stop asking who may have done it, but why?” Emery proposed. “I feel like if we can figure out who had motive, we can narrow it down.”

“Well this is a pretty fucked up way to narrow things down. I'm literally tied to a chair.”

“That's because you choked me.”

“And I’ll do it again, you’ve been out of pocket since this whole thing started. How do we know you’re not the killer huh?

“Because I’m holding back from killing you now,” she shrieks.

Spitting, the thick glob lands directly on her chest, sugar all but emptying the contents of the pitcher onto his face; angrily clomping back into the kitchen to no doubt fill it again, but not before slapping him across the cheek.

Wet and stinging, that's quite the combination. I fear this has gone on long enough and it's only escalating. As much as I wanted to stay out of it, I think I better intervene.

Following sugar into the kitchen, I try to talk her out of this crazed state, her dazed pupils letting me know that she’s too far gone for reason. Pushing past me, she heads back into the living room where we see Emery struggling to untie the knots off Lorenzo, his violent coughing trying to dislodge the water that seeped into his lungs.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“The hell does it look like I'm doing Lynn, this is mad and it needs to stop now.”

“Not until I get some answers.”

“People who talk, talk after their first contact with water,” I bargained. “And he’s not talking.”

“All that means is we have to get him talking then.”

“OR, it means he didn’t do it. You pour a bucket of water over someone’s nose and they’ll tell you whatever you want to hear if it means you’ll stop.”

“And yet you did it anyway,” she glared.

“There was a time where I would’ve died for all of you. I found a family in you guys and it filled a void I didn’t even know I had. And in one night, one measly fucking night I lose it all,” Lorenzo whimpered. “My best friend gets murdered without us ever properly mending things between us. I had to watch the love of my life die in my arms. And now, my other friend is actively trying to kill me, disregarding our decade long friendship all in the name of anger.

“Lorenzo, you did this to yourself!”

“LYNN, how fucking cruel can you be?”

“It’s alright Em, I’ve been known to be a bit of an asshole, though I’d like to think I meant well,” he bitterly chuckled, snot trickling down his nose. “Do me a favor and survive this fucked up night, cause God only knows who Lynn will turn on next. Not to mention that fucker over there,” he says, head nodding toward me. “Ain't it a little odd how all of this starts happening the moment he shows up? Yet I'm the one you helped him strap down to a chair. They ask what would you do for a klondike bar, but you better start asking what would Lynn do for a piece of dick, cause apparently it’s kill for it.”

“Lorenzo, I'm actually on your side. The only reason you’re even tied to that chair is because you attacked two people in this room,” I defended.

“And what's the reason I'm being waterboarded huh? Who weaseled that thought in her mind? You say you fight for your country? Motherfucker you can't even fight for the people in this room, but you like what’s happening huh?

“Not at all man.”

“We get it, I'm a dumb hoe, but you’re about to be a dead one if you don’t fess up.”

“And then what? You’ll let me go free?”

“Jason, please help me untie him,” Emery pleaded.

“Em don’t you fucking dare.”

Lunging toward her, hands get tangled into hair and nails get scratched into skin before I can get between them. It takes more strength than I care to give to hold Emery back, both she and sugar throwing around insults.

“Lynn I swear, you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Lorenzo taunted. “YOU ARE THE CUM SHOT YOUR MOTHER SHOULDVE SWALLOWED. It would’ve saved your dad a lifetime of headaches and your mother the embarassm-“

Lorenzo’s words get cut off by the splashing of water, his gurgling noises buried under the guzzling of the pitcher. Emery goes wild, hitting my chest repeatedly and I toss her to the ground, jetting over to the scene behind me. Slapping the pitcher from Lynn’s hands, it's on the verge of empty, nothing but a trickle left inside as it splatters to the floor.

Lorenzo’s body furiously thrashes around, his chest caved in and head hung over with water spluttering from his mouth in an attempt to rid it from his body.

“Shit, Lynnley what the fuck did you do,” I screamed.

Emery is struggling to undo the knots, but all she’s doing is pulling them tighter together. I race over and lean the chair forward, hoping for gravity to expel some of the water from his airway, his body jerking about minorly.

“Why are you just standing there, find something to cut him loose.”

Scrambling into the kitchen, I hear dishes clinking and slamming together before Lynn comes running out with a knife, slicing through the cloth as best she can. The kitchen towel, since it was the thickest, took the longest and by the time we got him out the chair and on the floor, his fits has ceased.

Getting into position, I lock my hands together and press down on his chest, 30 times just like we did in training.

“Emery, once I count to 30 I need you to tip his head back and blow two big breaths into his mouth okay.”

“And what do I do?”

“Stay the fuck over there, I doubt he’d want your help at this point,” Emery yelled.

We do five sets of 30 compressions. The CPR forces out some of the water but Lorenzo is still unconscious.

“Why isn’t it working?” Emery wails.

“Em-“

“Why are you stopping, keep going.”

“Stop.”

Pushing against my chest, Emery restarts CPR.

“The lungs are about 9 inches in height, that's a little under a foot.”

“Nobody cares, just fucking help me.”

“The pitcher that Lynn poured over his face looked to be about 64 ounces and she did it twice. That was enough water to fill his lungs three times over.”

“We can do it, I know we can,” she croaked.

“There's no amount of CPR that can expel that much water. And his lungs are so heavy they’re actively swelling as we speak.”

“We won’t know unless we try Jason, you get the mouth and I’ll get the chest.”

“Blowing air into his already expanding lungs won't help Emery.”

“Am I supposed to just watch him die then?” she chided. “Isn’t there a way to drain it?”

“I'm no doctor and neither do we have the tools or the sterile space to do that.”

“Fuck a sterile space!”

“Not only would you infect him but stabbing anything in his chest to ‘drain it’ will only make him bleed out. We would need a very specific and precise needle.”

“No, we can do it,” she answered, starting the compressions again.

The splattering of liquids on the floor lets me know that Lynn has just emptied the contents of her stomach, but I'm in no mood to comfort.

“The body works in 3’s. Three days without water, three weeks without food, and three minutes without air. It’s been about seven now.”

“Shut up.”

“Lorenzo’s lungs are so heavy they’ve probably detached from his windpipe. That, coupled with no oxygen to his brain…at least he was unconscious before it happened.

“Jason either you help me or you leave,” Emery threatened, fat teardrops rolling down her face in droves.

There’s five stages of grief and they’re at the first one. Back against the furniture, I hold my head in my hands, listening to sugars light whimpers and Emery's ragged breathing.

She tires herself out with compressions, fists flying to his chest, pleading for him to wake up. Hands clutched over her ears, sugar rocks back and forth, mumbling out apologies, expletives, and frustrations; guilt no doubt eating her alive.

Hands dropping to my pocket, I rummage around for anything I can chew on, ready to get out of here and never see these people again. Fingers slipping free with the peppermint goodness, I unwrap it and pop it in my mouth.

Some minutes pass by, how many I don't know and the night grows quiet. As tragic as it’s been for everyone, this minute's peace brings about a small sense of tranquility. There’s the occasional sniffle and I watch as the sky transitions from pitch black to a pale pink, the telltale sign of the sun about to rise.

“At least his parents will be home soon right?” sugar questions.

“Yep, right in time enough to see their only son sprawled out on the floor and his friends scattered across the property. So much for the new owners, their home just turned into a crime scene.”

“Do you have any more gum?” Emery asked, voice sore from crying.

Tossing it in her direction, she catches it, face upturned once she removes the wrapper.

“Eww, Jason what the fuck, who the hell buys brown gum? What kind of flavor even is this?”

“It's peppermint,” I answered, popping a bubble.

“Still weird, I haven’t seen this shit since-“

The words die on her tongue. She looks up to me, revelation fresh on her features, which slowly etches into panic, as a sinister grin makes its way onto mine.

[slashxrose]

Surprise, love -Duff Mckagan-

Title: Surprise, Love.

Warnings: explicit content. 

Summary: I don’t use to do summary of my stories, y’all is gonna love it anyway; enjoy. 

Dirty reading~

Duff Mckagan is the last person I expect to see on my doorstep, wet from the San Francisco mist, a faded green duffle bag at his feet.

Even years removed my heart still clutches at the sight of his hair, the boyish grin on his face. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes the way it used to, but I’m not able to catch much more of him before he’s pulling me into a bear hug and lifting me off the ground.

To put you all in context, Duff was my best friend ... and the best boyfriend someone could ever had, for most of my life, he was my neighbour when we were just born, little kids, getting to know each other from there and living a whole life together; I watched from when his first tooth fell out to when he had to take his first flight to go with the band to San Francisco, the place where I currently live now.

It surprises me, and it shocks me to see him, so changed after so many years, so many years without looking him in the eye, without knowing anything about him; today he is finally here, standing in front of me.

Trying not to break down in tears the emotions hit my being in a wave; remembering the day he left me at the airport and then never see him again; exactly in 1991, after his great "Use your illusion." I never heard from him again.

“Babe,” he breathes, I press my face into his neck, a laugh bubbling up out of my throat, “I missed you.”

“Yeah,” I manage.

I can feel my eyes pricking because I have missed him, too much. We’ve kept up as much as we could over the years, but with him overseas and my steadily making my way around the country, it had gotten difficult. I haven’t heard from him in a few months, and I haven’t seen him in a few years – probably eight, if I think about it. Instead of thinking about it, though, I wrap my arms tight around him and try not to let myself cry at the feeling of him engulfing me.

“I missed you too, Duff.”

I get him up to my apartment and let him settle onto my couch before I ask him any questions, mainly because I can’t quite find my voice and I can’t believe Duff is in my apartment, right now. He beats me to the punch, settling back into my couch and peeking over at me in the kitchen.

“This place is really nice.”

I nod, filling a glass up with water for him and then looking up at him, a smile on my lips.

“It’s alright,” I shrug, shutting off the tap and making my way over to the couch, handing it to him before I sit down, one leg tucked beneath me. “I got lucky.”

Duff sips the water and looks around, shaking his head. My apartment is nice – it’s got floor to ceiling windows and sleek, modern appliances and a killer view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Not luck,” he shrugs. “You deserve it, you worked your ass off for this place.”

I swallow, smiling over at him and feeling my cheeks flush – in part, because he’s right, and in part, because he’s wrong.

“Duff,” I laugh my voice soft. I tuck some hair behind my ear and looks up at him. “How’d you find me?”

Duff shrugs, setting the water glass down on my coffee table and turning to face me, leaning his arm over the back of my couch.

“I went home, first...talked to your mom, she gave me your address for if I ever wound up out west. Figured,” he shrugs, laughing, “It’d be more of a surprise if I didn’t tell her I already knew I was coming out this way.”

I shake my head, pressing my fingertips to my face.

“Oh god… I cannot believe my mum did that after all the things I told her, honestly.” I sigh, dropping my hand and raising my brow. “So, she didn’t know you were coming out here...but you did?”

Duff nods.

“Yes, I did… I’ve gotta come back to the hotel in a couple of hours… We’re flying to Europe, we’re gonna start a new tour I guess, we don’t really know, but I figured I could make a stop before I check into my hotel.” I swallow, watching his fingers flex against the couch cushion.

“Another tour?” I raise my brows. “You’ve been on tour the last eight years.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a famous rockstar babe, you never stop….” he laughs, his voice low. “I’m thinking I’ll be out here a bit, actually, trying to convince the boys to stop a little, I want to see you more often.” I try not to let my reaction show on my face, but this is Duff, so I know I’m not exactly subtle.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I think about it, about Duff, just half an hour away instead of across the world.

“Wow,” I breathe, smiling over at him. “I’d get to see you, then?”

“If you want to,” Duff shrugs, and I roll my eyes at him, reaching over and swatting at his arm.

We cover the basics with his hand on my knee: I moved to San Francisco alone, I work for a newspaper, and I’m a runner now. He’s been back on tour and he’s not going to go so far away again, and he’s thinking about stop touring a little bit.

Wow.

I slide my hand over his and look down at it, brushing my thumb against the back and humming softly as I look up at him, a smile on my lips.

“So you’re telling me,” I say, my voice soft, “you’re a big enough deal the boys to stop touring, what they’re supposed to be doing?”

Duff rolls his eyes, glancing down to our hands and then back up to mine, his gaze soft. I try to focus on anything other than the look in his eyes and settles on his mouth, chewing on the inside of my cheek, because I know it’s a mistake immediately. Bad things tend to happen when I look at Duff Mckagan’ mouth.

“I’m telling you I could do it,” he shrugs, and I watch intently as he runs his tongue over his lower lip, his fingers pressing lightly against my leg. “We’ll find out, I guess; Steven’ planning to go to rehab…” He probably saw my intrigued face, so he immediately keeps talking. “I’ll tell you in a bit about it.” He smiles at me and I nod. “Slash has two little annoying but cute kids… so he’s gonna be busy with that, and Izzy… Well Izzy fucking left the damn band, so there’s no problem with him.”

I nod, feeling my lips shift into a soft smile, Wow, it’s surprising how everything changed since the last time I saw him, every one of them were idk… almost 30 years old, playing and joking around, being drunk and high as fuck, I never… I mean, we never thought that the band was gonna become this famous.

“Well,” I say, “I’m happy for you, Duff. You’re all grown up.”

Duff laughs, pulling his hand from my leg and rubbing his hand over his jaw slowly, swallowing.

“We’re both grown up, honey,” he chuckles, and I let myself meet his gaze. I stuck in a slow breath, feeling how heavy his eyes are on mine, letting the feeling wash over me easily. “Easy to see that, right?”

I nod and sit up a bit, settling my hand on Duff’s forearm, brushing my thumb slowly against his skin.

“Easy,” I say my voice barely above a whisper. “Too easy.” I don’t know why sitting here with him like this makes me feel like I could cry.

I squeeze my eyes shut, sighing out a slow breath and tightening my grip on his arm.

“I really missed you. I know we,” I shake my head, “I know we covered that, kind of, but...god, Duff.” I swallow, heavy, keeping my eyes shut so I don’t have to look at him as the words tumble out of my mouth, “I really didn’t know if I would ever see you again, you know? No matter how safe you told me you were, you almost had a fucking overdose… too much alcohol, too much shit.”

Duff doesn’t say anything, but I feel him shifting on the sofa. I feel him scooting closer to me. His breath wisps over my skin, and I feel like I might be shaking. I should stop him – I knows I should, I knows it’s the right thing to do with all of us history, all of the feelings that stretch out between us – but there’s an ache in my chest that I don’t think will let me. I squeeze his forearm, holding onto it with my fingers and hear myself let out a soft noise as his nose touches mine.

“Babe,” he murmurs, and I nod, my eyes still squeezed shut. “I’m good; you don’t have to worry anymore.”

“I know,” I breathe out, and I slide my hand off his arm and slip my fingers into his hair. I pulling him towards me, kissing him in the way I had imagined doing for years, for a lifetime, even. I’d never kissed him like this, so tender and slow, so intentional, so full. I whine into it, feeling tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

It feels like my heart is whole, even for just a moment.

Duff’s always been the boy I turned to when I was hurting, always been the person who knew me the best, who could make me feel good. This, though, is different – this kiss isn’t sweet, childhood tenderness, its gut wrenching in the most wonderful way. My stomach twists into a knot and then settles as his arm wraps around my waist, my ears rush harshly as his tongue moves against mine, my heart pounds in my chest as I feel both of our cheeks, touch against each other.

This is Duff, the man, safe in his arms, telling me he’s here, telling me I’m his. He hasn’t said it, but I can tell...I can tell from the way he’s kissing me that this was him, standing on her doorstep, asking me to let him in and keep him.

For tonight, at least, I can do that.

I crawl into his lap and press my fingers into his hair, my thumbs dragging along his face, my breathing ragged against his skin.

“Duff,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his, “I have a bed.”

Duff’s breathing is possibly more laboured than my own as he slips his hand beneath the back of my t-shirt, his fingertips pressing lightly into my skin.

“I assumed,” he mumbles, his mouth praying for mine, “This is a big apartment.”

I nod in a smile, grinning against his lips;

“Want to,” I tip my face down, my forehead pressed to his as I move slowly in his lap, my lips just out of his reach, “take a look at it?”

Duff lets out a low laugh, nodding and mumbling,

“Smooth,” against my mouth as he keeps his arm locked around my waist. He stands up, lifting me with him, I wrap my legs around him as he settles me in his grip.

I direct him to the bedroom, settling my feet down on the ground and swallowing as my eyes fall on a picture frame settled on my nightstand.

“Shirt,” I breathe, looking at Duff, who’s sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at me with a dazed smile on his lips, “shirt off, rockstar.” He lets out a low laugh, and I takes a moment to flip the picture frame face down while his shirt is obstructing his view, then tugs at the hem of my own shirt before taking a step forward, pulling it off as I stations myself between his legs.

I settle my hands on his bare shoulders, dragging my hands down along his skin slowly, then moving it back up and cupping his face in my hands. I slide my thumb over his lower lip and hiccups, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“God,” I whisper, letting my eyes move over his face, taking him in. I’d never felt so full before. My vision blurs as I watch him, feels his hands settle over my waist.

He had changed, years without seeing him… without feeling him, I missed his touch, his kisses, I missed him so bad.

“Honey,” he says, and his voice has that lilt to it – the what are you crying for lilt, and I don’t have an answer. I bit down on my lower lip, shaking my head and trying to stop myself. His hand reaches up to my cheek and I lean into his touch, feeling my tears seep onto his skin.

I want to tell him...about the photo, about the man in the photo, about the way their timing is truly, continually, terrible. Instead, I lean my face down and kiss his palm, swallowing hard as I hear his own breath going wet.

“Come here,” he says, his voice thick, low.

I don’t need him to say it twice. I crawl into his lap and he shifts them back onto the bed, his hands moving shakily along my skin.

He flips them and undresses me carefully, his eyes moving over every new part of me as it becomes exposed. He unhooks my bra and pulls it slowly down my arms, unbuttons and unzips my jeans and tugs them over my hips, hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and tugs at them, slowly, his lips pressing to my stomach as he does, the gasp tearing from my throat involuntary, I swear.

Something in my brain tugs, that I should be embarrassed, being so naked in front of this man who’s known me for my entire life, but no. I can’t be, with the way he’s looking at me, with the adoration and want in his eyes. I let my hands slide along his arms, breathing slowly as he looks at me, takes me in, and then I settle my fingers against his belt buckle.

“I can’t be the only one naked here, baby,” I say, my voice soft, and the smile on his lips is so soft that I feel my cheeks flush.

I unbuckle his belt shakily, watching as he gets himself out of his pants, pushes off his boxers. I bites on my lower lip at the sight of him, half-hard for me, then drags my eyes up to his face, smiling at the way his cheeks are flushed. I sit up a little, wrapping my hand around him gently, dragging my fingertips lightly along his length and shutting my eyes, leaning my forehead against his chest because I don’t think I can take the look on his face, the pure emotion rippling through him.

“Fuck,” he bites out, and his hand slides to the back of her neck, his thumb dragging along the base of it slowly. His voice is shaky when he says my name, and I twist my wrist slowly, smiling as I feel him growing harder in my hand.

Yes, honey, I know you like this.

He shifts my back on the bed, pressing my legs apart so he can settle between them and leaning down to kiss me, drawing his tongue slowly over my lower lip as his thumb drags over my inner thigh. The mixture of sensations has me shaking, already, and he hasn’t even touched me where I want him to yet.

He’s gentle with me, at first. His fingers press lightly against my wet folds, testing the waters, working slowly as I breathe out heavy sighs to keep myself calm.

He’s driving me crazy.

His lips press over my collarbone lightly, dragging against my skin slowly as he dips a finger into me, then another. He hums against the hollow of my neck as his thumb circles my clit lightly, and I feel my hips lifting off the bed to find more of him, knowing he isn’t giving it to me yet.

“Oh god-” I groaned.

I come apart on his fingers, shakily, one of my hands gripped tightly into his hair. His mouth is on my neck and I whine, searching for his face.

“I need you.” I breathe, and he lifts his head slowly, grazing his lips over mine.

“You keep driving me crazy as the first day we met.” he murmurs.

I stop him, slipping my tongue into his mouth. I can’t hear him, like this, not right now. I need him to fuck me, need him, before I get too rational and stop him entirely.

This is too much, I can feel it – I’m going to break the both of us, but I can’t possibly end it before I feel him, before I know what it’s like to have him inside me, again.

“Duff,” I moaned against his mouth, lifting my hips and hooking a leg around his waist, trying to pull him closer. “I need you.”

He nods, slow, just once, and I love him for it. I love that he isn’t trying to tease this out, that he’s listening to me, that we both want this so badly that dragging it along isn’t appealing at all. I slide my hands up to his face, holding it and keeping my eyes on him, my heart still hammering. He locks eyes with me as I feel his tip pressing at my entrance, and I suck in a hard breath, watching his face.

He cracks the softest smile, and I feel my resolve breaking.

“Duff,” I breathe, my voice full, my eyes stinging, “please.”

I want him in a way I can’t understand – it’s something about the way he knows me, I think, absently, as his eyes trail over my face, down my body.

It’s about the way he held my hand when I fell off the jungle gym and broke my arm when we were six, it’s about the way he shoved an old friend of mine for calling me a bitch when we were eleven, it’s about the desperate way he kissed me back in her car when we were sixteen, it’s about the way he made me and makes me feel right now. It’s about the fact that he’s the same Duff he’s always been, but something else altogether, too. The boy I’ve always known, and the man I’ve always wanted, hovering above me, about to make me his, even when I belong to someone else.

But I didn’t care.

One of his hands brushes my cheek, and I slide my own to press over his, to keep him there. I hold his gaze as he pushes into me, slow, filling me. I let out a soft laugh, turning my face into his hand and rolling my hips.

“Please,” I murmur against his skin, “I want to feel you, Duff.”

He’s slow, but not in a torturous way. His eyes stick on mine as he rocks his hips into mine, as the fingers of his free hand trail along my leg, over my hip, tracing little shapes. I feel him, all of him, and my legs tighten around his hips to keep him as close as I can. His strokes are long, deep, and I know neither of us is going to last long, regardless of the speed.

“As my queen commands.” Duff softly replied, smirking before kissing my lips deeply as he thrust deep inside me.

The sudden feeling of being filled with a cock as big as him made me cry out in pleasure breaking the kiss as my back arched, I felt his fingers holding my hips lightly, making the movements to go harder. His own groans of pleasure mixed with mine as they filled the room, he started to move slowly, taking his time as our lips re-joined together with our tongues dancing and warping round each other, as our hands roamed each other’s bodies just feeling blindly in a that need to be close.

I feel my walls constricted around him, he started to move faster and found that bundle of nerves that made me touch the sky with my hands, his moans made an echo in my ear, they were loud, he was really enjoying this, making me instantly lose all the control, all sense of who and where I was, right now it was just the two of us; the world outside didn't matter, the day ahead didn't matter everything I can focus on was in him and nothing was going to stop that.

“Oh shit babe, yes.- ” I moaned. “Keep doing that oh god-” I wrapped his curlers in my fingers holding him, his thrusts collided with my body causing a lack of control in all my senses, damn I had missed this.

His movements were wild and erratic but so perfect precise, he knew all the right buttons to press. I open my eyes again to see him above me, his face the clear picture of pleasure and need, I never had seen anyone become so desperate and undone for me. A man like him with such talent showing a side of himself only to me that so few ever got to see, but in truth he would only ever truly become this undone and this vulnerable for me.

My hands slid down from his hair, trailing down his back across his slightly sweating skin as they found that perfect ass of his. His lips moving to my neck again as tears of happiness, love and pleasure fell.

“Oh my sweet babe.” Duff moaned shakily as he continued thrust deep into me, all I could do was cry out with pleasure and need.

“Oh Duff I love you.” I gasp thrusting up to meet his own movement's.

He’s nothing like I’ve ever felt, before – there’s something about the presence of him, of his body over mine, of his eyes watching me, his breath mixing with my own.

“Babe,” he breathes, his face tipping down, his lips finding mine. I sat up a bit, my hips shifting to meet his, to hit at a new angle. I weave my fingers into his curly hair and grips onto it as I kiss him, our tongues pressed together as I feel the heat pooling in my stomach, knows I’m closer than I’d even like to admit.

His hand moves from my leg to dip between them, pressing against my clit slowly, tracing over my nerves delicately before finding a pattern. I can tell he’s close, too, his breathing getting heavier, his thrusts more erratic.

“C’mon babe” I murmur against his mouth, “I want to feel you, Duff, I want to know what you feel about me.” my words fade into a whine as I feel him pressing more firmly to my clit, rolling it between his fingers.

I come hard, around him, feeling him spill into me moments later, our moans mixing together as he presses me down into the mattress.

“Oh damn.” He moans loudly in my ear.

We lay still, for a long while. I scratch sleepily at the back of his neck, Duff start kissing my neck softly as we cling to each other, trying to calm down. He pulls out of me slowly, smiling to himself as I groan at the loss, and I hum as he lays back down, still pressing his weight down against me.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere,” I whisper, my lips pressed against the side of his head, “until I say so.”

Duff nods. “Got it, you’re in charge,” he murmurs, “so nothing’s really changed, huh?”

I laugh, but I feel the pang in my chest, knowing the truth – because yes, almost everything really has changed, and he doesn’t even know the half of it.

I must fall asleep, because when I woke up it’s dark outside and I hear him moving around...somehow, I just knew in that moment that he knows, now. I sit up slowly, pulling the sheets to my chest and pressing my hand over her face.

“Duff?”

He pokes his head out of the bathroom and smiles at me softly. When he steps through the door, he’s got his boxers on, and I feel my heart clench in my chest.

“What’s his name, babe?” He sits on the edge of the bed and pull my hand from my face, lacing his fingers with mines. “He’s got some nice pomades, in there...expensive.”

“Duff,” my voice is hollow, I look up at him with pleading eyes. “I can explain all of this, okay?”

He nods, brushing his thumb over mine.

“I know,” he swallows, his voice thick. “What’s his name?”

I sigh out a breath and casts my eyes upwards, trying not to cry.

“Daniel…” I answer, quietly. “We’ve been...I moved in a few months ago, but it’s been a little over a year.”

I don’t let myself close my eyes, making myself look at him as he swallows, processing my words and looking around the room.

“You love him?”

“Duff,” I don’t know how to answer that question, not right now.

He’s been away for a while, and came here making me feel lost and complete at the same time, now I don’t even know where or who I am.

“Does he make you happy, hun? That’s,” he lets out a soft, wet laugh, “that’s really...what I’m asking you.” I nod, looking down at our hands. “Good.”

“I didn’t,” I croak, and I hate myself for it. “I didn’t know when you...if you,” I shake my head. “I didn’t know, Duff. I didn’t know if I...if–,”

“I didn’t want you waiting for me,” he supplies, shaking his head and looking at me, straight on. “I’m glad you didn’t, I... I slept with a lots of girls too… I can’t blame you for this.”

I feel desperate, scoots myself closer to him and settles a hand on his cheek.

“I’m not,” I breathe, wanting to press my face to his and hesitating. “You’re here, now, Duff.”

Duff nods, and bridges the gap. He presses his forehead against mine, finding my eyes.

“I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low. “I told you,” he swallows, “I’m not gonna go away without you next time. If I convince the boys…damn.”

I nod.

“And I’ll be here,” I murmur. “But someone else is gonna be here with me…”

He shuts his eyes, squeezing my hand.

“For now,” he shrugs, “and maybe for good, but,” he opens his eyes and looks at me, fully.

My feels tear pooling in my eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere. I...I believe in this, babe. I wouldn't be here if I didn’t.”

I take a long breath, nodding slowly. I realize he doesn’t mean here, my apartment – he means here, in San Francisco...that he wouldn’t be considering this job if it wasn’t for me. I understand his meaning, here: I’m in charge.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and he shakes his head, but I stop him. “No, I should’ve told you.”

“His shoes were by the door, babe, I saw them.” he says, his voice soft. “I’m not an idiot.”

I feel something break in me, and I find Duff’s mouth, kissing him softly.

“God,” I laugh, my voice low, my lips pressed to his, “we really can’t get it right, huh?”

Duff kisses me, soft and slow, his tongue tracing my lip before he pulls away. He stands up from the bed and I watch, my eyes wide and soft as he moves around, grabbing his clothes and pulling them on.

“To be determined,” he decides, as he’s buckling his belt.

I chew on my cheek, getting out of bed and finding my robe. I wrap it around me and follows him out into the living room, watching as he grabs his duffel bag.

“You can stay,” I say, my voice hoarse, and he looks over his shoulder at me, shaking his head.

“I won’t leave,” he swallows, and I shut my eyes for a moment at his words. I nod.

“Okay,” I whisper. “So when will I see you?”

Duff sighs out a breath as he pulls the bag over his shoulder, then wraps his arm around my waist. He walks me over to the door before he pulls me against him, leaning his face down, kissing me softly.

“I’ll be here another week,” he says, his voice low, “and then...depending on things, I’ll be here for good. So,” he finds my eyes, “up to you, okay? You call me.”

I nod, my head spinning.

“Don’t disappear on me, okay?” I beg.

He shakes his head, softly, kissing me lightly.

“Promise, I won’t.” He replies.

I feel him pull his arms away, and I wrap my own around myself so I don’t do something stupid, like pull him back into my bedroom. I watch as he grabs the doorknob, opening the door and taking a step through it.

“Call me when you get to your hotel?”

He nods, leaning down and kissing me gently.

“I will,” he breathes against my mouth.

By the time I open my eyes, he’s gone. My phone buzzes on the kitchen island and my heart drops, but when I flip it over, it’s Duff.

‘Miss you already, you know that?’

I press it to my chest and shut my eyes, taking deep breaths – in part, to calm down, and in part, because I did.

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 6

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 6 - This Venerable One's Shizun

Xue Meng had lived on Life-Death Peak since he was a child. He was familiar with shortcuts and terrain so he had no problem catching up with Mo Ran

He escorted him all the way to the back of the mountain. The back mountain of Life-Death Peak was the closest place to the ghost realm in the whole world, separated by an enchantment, behind it is the netherworld.

Looking at the miserable situation in the back mountain, Mo Ran immediately understood why that person was clearly at home, but still needed Madam Wang to treat guests in the front hall.

It wasn't that the man didn’t want to help, but he couldn’t step away--

The barrier of the ghost world was broken.

At this moment, the entire back mountain was filled with a heavy spiritual resentment. The ghosts that hadn't taken on a body howled and hovered bitterly in the air. At the entrance of the mountain gate, there was a giant breach ripping through the sky. Behind the breach was the ghost realm, and a tall, bluestone staircase stretching thousand of steps escaped from the barrier cracks. Seeing out from the staircase, the fierce spirits that had regained a flesh body were climbing down this step disorderly and chaotically, rushing from the underworld to the human world.

Any ordinary person would be terrified at the scene unfolding. The first time Mo Ran saw it, he was shocked to the bone, but he was used to it now.

The barrier between the human and ghost realms was set by Emperor Fuxi in ancient times. Today, it was very weak. It would grow weak spots every now and again, which need to be repaired by immortal cultivators. However, this kind of thing not only does little to improve one's cultivation but is thankless with how much spiritual energy it consumes. It was a real drudgery, so few immortals in the upper cultivation world were willing to take this job.

When a fierce spirit was born, the people of the Lower Cultivation Realm were the first to come under attack. As the protectors of the Lower Cultivation Realm, Life-Death Peak was forced to undertake the task of repairing the barrier. The back mountains of the sect faced the weakest point in the barrier all to ensure they could be repaired swiftly.

There would be breaks in the barrier about four or five times a year. It was just like an old, chipped pot; useless.

Now, at the entrance of the ghost world, on the long bluestone stairs, a man stood there with snow-coloured clothes and wide sleeves flowing in the wind. He was surrounded by the aura of his sword, the golden light shimmering. Using his own power to clear out the evil spirits and ghosts, he repaired the small holes appearing in the barrier.

The man had a slender waist and an elegant appearance, with a holy aura and a handsome face. From a distance, it was easy to imagine he was a scholar reading an ancient scroll under a flowering tree. However, looking closely, he had sharp eyebrows, phoenix eyes slanted upwards, and the bridge of his nose was straight and narrow. While he seemed to be gentle and elegant, his eyes were mean and seemingly unkind.

Mo Ran glanced at him from a distance. Although he thought he had prepared himself, when he saw this man appear in front of him alive and healthy again, it made him tremble down to his smallest bones.

Half fear, half. . . excitement.

His Shizun.

Chu Wanning.

This was the person that Xue Meng had cried and begged to see when he arrived at Wushan Hall in the previous life.

It was this man that ruined Mo Ran's ambition, ruined his plans, and was finally imprisoned and tortured to death by Mo Ran because of it.

Logically speaking, if Mo Ran had the chance to avenge himself and defeat the enemy that had blocked his progress.

The sea is wide and free for fish to swim in, the sky is high and the birds could fly endlessly, no one could reign him back anymore. At least, that's what Mo Ran thought.

However, that doesn't seem to be the case.

After his Shizun died, something else seemed to have been buried along with his hatred.

Mo Ran was not a man of culture and didn't recognize any other feeling than being evenly matched with a worthy opponent.

He only knows that here on out, he had no archenemies.

When Shizun was alive, he had been afraid, paranoid, and anxious. When he saw the willow vine in Shizun's hand, the hair on the back of his neck stood on up. He became just like a beaten mutt, just the sound of a wooden club slap caused his teeth to ache and legs to give out. Even his calf muscles would spasm from fear.

Later, when Shizun died, the person Mo Ran had feared the most was finally gone. Mo Ran felt that he had grown and matured, being able to finally commit this act of murdering his teacher.

Afterwards, when looking at the mortal realm, no one dared force him to kneel down, and no longer slapped himself in the face.

To celebrate, he opened the pear blossom white wine, sat on the roof, and drank wine all night.

That night, under the influence of alcohol, the scars that Shizun had inflicted on his back when he was a teenager seemed to feel hot and painful again.

At this moment, when he saw Shizun reappear in front of him, Mo Ran started, filled with hate and anger, but there was also a slight twinge of ecstasy.

Such an opponent, lost and now regained, how can he not please?

Chu Wanning ignored the two apprentices who broke into the back mountains and continued concentrating on fighting the scattered undead.

His facial features were elegant, his eyebrows are evenly long. His phoenix eyes were cast downwards, his cool demeanour powerful. Amidst the demonic air and blood rain, his expression had not changed. His face remained calm, as though he might sit down and burn incense or play the guqin at the moment.

However, such a gentle and beautiful man, at that moment, was holding an icy exorcism long sword dripping with red blood droplets. With a flick of his wide sleeve, the sword's energy sliced through the bluestone steps in an explosion. Crushed stones and bricks rolled down, cracking an immeasurable chasm from the gate all the way to the bottom of the mountain, splitting the staircase and its thousands of steps!

So ferocious.

How many years had it been since he had seen his Shizun's power?

This familiar and powerful dominance made Mo Ran lose all his strength. Shakily, he fell onto his knees with a thump.

It didn't take long for Chu Wanning to kill all the ghosts, and neatly fill in the holes in the barrier to the ghost world. After doing all this, he fell from mid-air and went over to Mo Ran and Xue Meng.

He first glanced at Mo Ran kneeling on the ground, and then raised his eyes to look at Xue Meng, his phoenix eyes holding a powerful chill.

"Causing trouble again?"

Mo Ran sucked in a breath.

Shizun had the ability to always correctly assume any situation.

Xue Meng: "Shizun, Mo Ran went down the mountain, committing the two crimes of stealing and prostitution. Please punish him accordingly, Shizun."

Chu Wanning was silent for a while, expressionless. He coldly remarked: "I know."

Mo Ran: ". . ."

Xue Meng: ". . ."

Both of them were a little confused. Then? Is that it?

However, just when Mo Ran thought tat he had gotten off lucky, he looked up at Chu Wanning and caught a a glimpse of a sharp golden light suddenly cutting through the air. There was a lightening-like crackling sound that slashed across Mo Ran's cheek!!

Drops of blood splashed everywhere!

The speed of that golden light was so fast, Mo Ran didn't even have a moment to close his eyes, let alone dodge it. The skin on his face was flayed open with a fierce pain.

Chu Wanning stood with his hands clasped behind his back, standing coldly in the chilling breeze of teh night air. The air was still filled with the foul aura of fierce spirits and ghosts mixed with the smell of human blood. It made the forbidden area of the back mountains appear even more eerie and terrifying.

In Chu Wanning's hand was a willow vine that had whipped Mo Ran. The vine was narrow and long, with green leaves sprouting from it, hanging down near the edge of his boots.

It was clearly sucha graceful object. Looking at it would have made people think of poems such as "Pliant is the the willow branch I gift to my beloved".

It's a pity that Chu Wanning was neither pliant or had a beloved.

The willow vine in his hand was actually a magic weapon named Tianwen. At this moment, Tianwen was glimmering with golden red light, piercing through the surrounding darkness, and also reflecting in the bottomless depths of Chu Wanning's eyes.

Chu Wanning pursed his lips, and said sensibly: "Mo Weiyu, you are so bold. Should I really not do something to discipline you?"

If this really was the fifteen-year old Mo Ran, he might not have taken this exclamation seriously, thinking that Shizun was just trying to scare him.

But after being reborn, Mo Weiyu had thoroughly experienced Shizun’s "control" with his blood in his previous life. He immediately felt the roots of his teeth ache and blood rushing to his head. His mouth was already moving, ready to deny everything and clear his name

"Shizun. . ." His cheek still bleeding, Mo Ran raised his eyes, staining them with a thin veil of tears. He knew that his current appearance must look extremely pitiful. "This disciple has never stolen. . . has never laid with a prostitute. . . why did Shizun listen to Xue Meng's words and strike me without even listening to my side of the story?"

". . ."

Mo Ran had two tricks to get out of trouble with his uncle. First, act cute. Second, pretend to be pitiful. Now he tried these out on Chu Wanning, trying to look so pitiful that tears almost fell from his eyes: "Is the disciple really so worthless in your eyes? Why doesn't Shizun even give me a chance to defend myself?"

Xue Meng stomped angrily next to him: "Mo Ran! You, you piece of shit! You truly are shameless! Sizun, don't listen to him, don't be fooled by this bastard! He really did steal! All the stolen goods are still on him!"

Chu Wanning looked through his eyelashes, his expression cold: "Mo Ran, you truly never stole?"

"Never."

". . . You should know the consequences of lying to me."

Mo Ran's arms were covered in goosebumps. How could he not know? But he still foolishly persisted: "Shizun, please!"

Chu Wanning raised his hand, and the shiny golden vine waved again, but this time he did not draw it on the face of Mo Ran. Instead, he used it to tightly bind Mo Ran.

This feeling was all too familiar. In addition to whipping people on the regular, the willow vine "Tianwen" has another function——

Chu Wanning stared at Mo Ran, who was held tightly in Tianwen's grasp, and asked again: "Have you never stolen?"

Suddenly, there was a familiar stabbing pain straight in Mo Ran's heart, as if a sharp fanged small snake had slid its way into his chest and was playing with his organs.

Accompanied by the severe pain was an irresistible temptation. Mo Ran couldn't help but open his mouth, his voice hoarse: "I. . . never. . . ah. . . !!!"

Tianwen's golden light seemed to pick up on his lies, glowing harder. The pain caused Mo Ran to break out in a cold sweat, but he still desperately resisted such torture.

This was Tianwen's second function: interrogation.

Once tied up by Tianwen, no one could lie. Whether it was a person or a ghost, dead or alive, Tianwen had a way of forcing them to speak and reveal the answer that Chu Wanning wanted to know.

In his last life, by relying on a strong cultivation base, there was only one person who had finally managed to keep a secret under Tianwen's influence.

That person was the person who had become the emperor of the mortal realm, Mo Weiyu.

After being reborn, Mo Ran had hoped he'd have a bit of luck, thinking that he would still be able to resist the forced interrogation of Tianwen. But after biting his lip for what felt like forever, with big beads of sweat dripping down over his dark eyebrows and full-body trembles, he finally bowed before Chu Wanning's boots in pain, gasping for breath.

"I. . . I. . . stole. . ."

The pain abruptly disappeared.

Mo Ran hadn't even caught his breath before Chu Wanning asked another question, his voice even colder than before.

"Did you commit debauchery?"

Smart people don't do stupid things. Since he hadn't been able to resist before, it was even more impossible now. This time, Mo Ran didn't even resist, and when the pain struck, he went so far to even shout: "Yes yes I did!!!! Shizun please! No more!"

Xue Meng's face turned blue at his side. He exclaimed with shock: "You, how can you. . . That Rong Jiu is a man, you actually. . ."

No one paid attention to him. As the golden light of Tianwen slowly dimmed, Mo Ran gasped for breath, his whole body was drenched as if he had just been fished from the water. His face was as white as paper, his lips still trembling, and he collapsed on the ground, unable to move.

Through sweaty eyelashes, he looked up at Chu Wanning's elegant figure, wearing a green jade crown and wide sleeves that fell to the floor.

A strong hatred suddenly surged into his heart - Chu Wanning! This Venerable One wasn't wrong in is treatment of you in his past life, that much is true!! Even after being reborn, the hatred still burns strong! Fuck all eighteen generations of your ancestors!!

Chu Wanning didn't know that this crafty disciple was going to fuck all eighteen generations of his ancestors. He stood there for a while with a sullen expression, and then said.

"Xue Meng."

Although Xue Meng knows that men were the popular choice among rich businessmen and wealthy households, and many people play with male prostitutes just for something new and not really because they liked men, he still couldn't digest it. After a while, he said: "Shizun, this disciple is here."

"Mo Ran went against the three mandates on corruption, debauchery, and deception. Take him to the Yan Luo Hall so he can repent. Bring him to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil tomorrow morning so that he receive a public punishment."

Xue Meng was startled: "What. . .? Public punishment?"

Public punishment means taking the disciples who have committed severe transgressions in front of the disciples of the whole school, in front of everyone, even the ladies in the dining hall, and punishing them for the crowd.

Utterly shameful.

It should be known that Mo Ran was a disciple of Life-Death Peak. Although the disciplinary measures in the school were strict, because of Mo Ran's special status - his uncle pitied him for losing his parents so young and was scavenging outside for fourteen years - he couldn't bear to punish Mo Ran. No matter what Mo Ran did, he would just get a small lecture in private, and he would be beaten.

But Shizun wouldn't even save the face of the sect leader. He wanted to take his precious nephew to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil and publicly punish and shame Young Master Mo in front of the entire sect. This was something even Xue Meng hadn't expected.

Mo Ran, however, wasn't surprised.

He lay on the ground with a sneer at the corner of his mouth.

How great and selfless his Shizun was.

Chu Wanning was truly cold-blooded. In his previous life, when Shi Mei died in front of him, Mo Ran cried and pleading, pulling on his clothes, kneeling on the ground and begging him for help.

But Chu Wanning turned a deaf ear.

And so his disciple had breathed his last breath before him, and even with Mo Ran crying his heart out next to him, Chu Wanning simply stood there and ignored his sobs.

Now all he was doing was putting him on the Platform of Righteousness and Evil to be dealt with before the public. There was nothing strange about this.

Mo Ran could only resent how weak his cultivation base was now. He couldn't peel off Chu Wanning's skin, rip out his nerves, drink his blood, can’t pull his hair back, can't insult him, can’t torture him and destroy his dignity, make him desire nothing but death. . .

He hadn't been able to hide the beast-like hatred in his eyes, and Chu Wanning picked up on it.

He faintly glanced at Mo Ran's face, a stoic expression on a gentle and elegant face.

"What are you thinking about?"

Fuck!

Tianwen hadn't been removed yet!

Mo Ran once again felt the vines tying him up, and his internal organs felt like they were about to be squeezed into mush. He yelled in pain, panting and roaring out the thoughts in his head——

"Chu Wanning, you think you're so refined! Watch me fuck you to death!"

No one made a sound.

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

Even Xue Meng was stunned: ". . ."

Tianwen suddenly retracted Chu Wanning's palm, turning into a small speck of golden light before disappearing altogether. Tianwen was made from the bones and blood of Chu Wanning and could appear when summoned and vanished at will.

Xue Meng's face was pale and he stuttered: "Shi-Shizun. . ."

Chu Wanning didn't say a word. His delicate black and slender eyelashes lowered, examining his palms for a while. Then, he raised his eyes, his face even, but his complexion even colder. He glared at Mo Ran with a gaze saying "this disciple deserves death", then said in a low voice:

"Tianwen is broken, I am going to go fix it."

Chu Wanning threw down these words, turned and left.

Xue Meng was kind of slow: "How could an immortal weapon like Tianwen be broken?"

Chu Wanning heard it, and glanced back at him with a look of "this disciple deserves death" as well. Xue Meng shuddered.

Mo Ran lay on the ground, half-dead, with a blank expression.

What he had been thinking really was looking for a way to fuck Chu Wanning to death. He knew that the Master Chu, who held titles like "Yuheng of the Night Sky, Beidou Immortal", had always paid attention to elegance and correctness, and he couldn't stand being stepped on by others, defiling him.

But he didn't want Chu Wanning to know that he was thinking that!

Mo Ran whimpered like a stray dog, covering his face.

Thinking of the look in Chu Wanning's eyes when he was leaving, he felt that he probably did not have long to wait until his death.

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[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Curious Travels - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader

- reader is part of my Of Monsters and Men series

Summary: Yet again has your humble bard dragged you and Geralt to another kingdom for whatever reason, though as the snow falls outside, you know just how to keep warm.

Warning: fluff, SMUT, some actual plot

Masterlist

Jumping off of your own horse you’re immediately greeted with the soft crunch of snow under your boots. Your pack of three mighty adventures have traveled all this way to the wintery mountainside kingdom of Turga for, as Jaskier would say, “food, festivities, and fun times to be had”. Not being one to ever walk away from such intriguing tidings, you’ve made it a point to accompany Jaskier on his trek to the kingdom.

Geralt on the other hand could absolutely not be bothered in the slightest to come for such “fun times to be had” but he loves you and begrudgingly decided to follow the two of you anyways.

The whole ordeal of traveling had taken about a week, through forest and fields, streams to pass and bridges to cross, until finally at last your horses had reached snow. And more importantly the wooden post naming the direction of said mountain kingdom, causing your bard to become even more chipper and talkative then usual.

Much to your amusement and Geralt’s silent moody frustration, though he would have liked to smack the bard across his head or quite possibly snap that lute in two. Watching your face light up at Jaskier’s jokes and stories from before he met both you and Geralt, so far has kept the grumbly Witcher to himself, just being able to see your beaming face is enough to make this trip all the better.

Though he’s still doubtful anything fantastic will actually come out of this journey in any way, considering most travels with the two of you end rather poorly.

You’re eyes grew big once they spotted the snowy glowing city of Turga sitting comfortably atop a silver hill in all her beautiful glory. Jaskier wasn’t fooling, this place is absolutely magnificent, it’s like a true winter wonderland.

Great evergreens stand tall at the large wooden gates of the town, two guards dressed in silver armor and a red sash over their breast greet you three with generous smiles of welcome tidings that take you more off center then you’d ever expected. How strange it is not to be looked down upon, or scrutinized by people who always tend to think the worst.

Jaskier simply grins, clearly knowing something you and your grouchy Witcher do not, but what could that possibly be, then again it isn’t exactly abnormal. Following closely behind, you and Geralt lead your horses along the snow covered streets as Jaskier leads the way to the stables.

The whole time your eyes have been wide in awe at the beautiful surroundings of the town, lanterns held up by steel chains hang in a line above your heads. Dashing evergreens keep watch from their various positions in the square. Oddly enough the stables look cozy, decorative pines are hung at the front doors, and from the opened windows you can see on the inside that there are rafters kept along with ornamental little flags of a hundred colors.

Soon enough the face of a dirt smudge stable boy races out of the wooden door, a wreath on the back of it jostles at the quick unexpected movement. Although on further inspection you realize he is a sylvan once you notice the two hooves peaking out from under his oversized cloak, he smiles brightly at the three of you while his big shimmering eyes shine a soft pink as he shuffles through the snow to Jaskier’s steed.

“Vallo Vaskier! Hove yuv bveen!” Exclaims the boy in a peculiar accent with a smile that could light up a room.

“Oh you know..” Shrugs the bard, “A bit of this a bit of that. But here’s something....I have made some loyal companions on my travels, they’re a real time, it’s been great honestly...although a tad bit dangerous at times but eh I’m still breathing.” He laughs, “So anyways, when’s the grand feast at the lady of winters hall?”

The boys face turns into a thrilled grin, “Are you performing?”

Jaskier glances to you before turning back to the kid, “Of course I am. Didn’t just travel all the way up here for nothing. So uh, when’s the feast?”

“Oh, right the veast. You hev to be invited first. But I vouldn’t vorry to vuch, vord alveys spreads vhen you’re here Vaskier.” States the stable boy with a curt nod.

“Boy you got any taverns close?” He snaps his head up to you, curls bouncing in the process as he gives a shy smile before nodding.

“Of course mviss. Vaskier knows ver they are.”

A smirk plays at your lips as you find the bards gaze, “I should have know.” You mutter, turning your head to find Geralt, “Now to find that tavern.” You add suggestively with a quick wink. Causing your man to hand you the smallest of smiles in knowing acknowledgment. 

“Alright, Finn. Take this pretty lady to her home for the night. You’ve got two others who’ll need a stall.” States Jaskier as he nods to his horse, “And uh, the one with the scary face and white hair, be good to his mare. She’s very special to him, more then the half-vampire that rides with us and..Oh! Oww! Y/N don’t hit me woman!” Stammers the bard as you fold your arms across your chest.

A smirk upon your lips at his flustered reaction, “What was that about Roach being more special then me? You didn’t finish what you where going to say.”

“Well I would have if I wasn’t assaulted first.” Assures Jaskier, turning back to the kid, “Anyways, we’re ready to find our stead’s a place for the night. Well perhaps a couple nights, we may be here for a few days give or take.”

“A few days? He never said anything about that?” Grumbles Geralt in that familiar gravelly voice of his, “Y/N did he mention a few days?”

Grasping your horses leather reigns in one hand, you rest the other on Geralt’s broad cloaked shoulder, “Oh where’s your festive spirit? Come on love this is gonna be fun. I can feel it.”

Turning to follow Jaskier and the stable boy into the barn, Geralt tugs for Roach to start walking, rolling his golden eyes as he watches you swagger into the large pine rimmed entrance. Though a small tinge of excitement rushes throughout his body when remembering that subtle wink you shared with him only moments ago.

Your crimson irises light up at the colorful flags and cozy barn atmosphere, perfect for the tired horses that so desperately could use a good rest. You’re never this impressed by such festive decorations most times, but it’s been a long while since you’ve bared witness to such things. It feels rather nice, and anyways, another adventure with your boys is always welcomed.

The stable boy quickly takes Jaskier’s horse to get settled for the night, leaving yourself to find your own stable and Geralt to do the same. You turn, leading your own mare into a hay covered stall and doing what you can to help her feel more comfortable.

Taking off her saddle, you lay it off to the side, going now to brush her brown back, smoothing her fur down as you do. While so lost in your own little world you can’t help but begin rambling about your thoughts to the patient horse.

“Now since it’s come to mind...I think this place isn’t too bad, ya know? I haven’t really met any of the townsfolk so my true impression of the people here have yet to be determined. Although I’m not really getting a hostile feeling coming from this place so that’s good.” The mare snorts in reply, or at least you think she does, causing you to chuckle at the horses timely reaction, “Yes, my friend that’s exactly what I was thinking but you already new that and now I am talking to a horse.....and Geralt is standing right over there isn’t he.” You rush, whispering the last part to your horse.

Geralt leans his large frame against the wooden stalls door, a small amused smirk pulling at his lips as he watches you brush the mare. “Not strange at all. I think they understand, in their own way.”

“Maybe it’s because I travel with you too much, look at me, I’m talking to a horse.” You mutter with a small laugh, “Though I guess their company can be better then an actual persons. I have a feeling you know my meaning.”

He smiles again, looking around the barn until his golden eyes find yours once more, “Better then most.”

You gently tilt your head in a small nod, brushing the last of the mares ruffled hide before setting the brush down. Then reaching for your belongings that are hanging from a metal hook inches from Geralt.

He politely steps to the side as you take your cloak and sheathed silver dagger from off of the hook, bundling them under your arm you take a step forward past him, stopping for a moment to not-so-subtly trail your eyes up to his handsome face.

“See something interesting?” He muses, eyeing you up just the same causing a swarm of butterflies to make themselves know in your stomach. 

Biting your lip you refrain from pushing him against the wooden wall and kissing him like your life depends on it, deciding to instead hug your things tighter and give him a small fangy smile.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Is all you can whisper out as you swiftly turn on your heel to go and find Jaskier before you change your mind and pounce on your Witcher like a cat to her prey.

It doesn’t take long to find him, the bard is casually seated on some blocks of hay as he gently strums on his lute while the stable boy brushes his horse for him. Jaskier is so caught up in his own world of playing that he neglects to notice when you’re standing directly in front of him.

“Jask!” You vocalize loudly, causing the entranced bard to jump and just about drop his prized lute if not for the strap.

“My gods Y/N, warn a man would you.” He sputters, setting himself a bit straighter once again as he gathers his bearings, “I could have dropped my dear lady just now.”

Taking a couple steps backwards towards Geralt, you chuckle, “In that case, I’ll try harder next time.”

Jaskier sends you a silent dirty look, causing Geralt to slip a couple hushed snickers out from behind you. “Alright bard..” Starts your Witcher, “where’s the nearest tavern? Considering it’s late and we’re all hungry.”

Jumping to his feet, Jaskier nods, “Right. Right. Of course, a tavern would be nice. Well my friend...and Y/N...let’s go find one.”

“Yes let’s.” Mutters Geralt, annoyance lacing his voice as Jaskier practically swaggers past the two of you, lute tightly in hand.

You turn to follow, nudging Geralt’s shoulder as you step past him, “Come on my White Wolf, let’s find that tavern. I could use a good rest, how about you?” The wink you send him is all but enough to fill his mind with wondrous thoughts for how his evening may truly end.

His heart admittedly fills with warmth and excitement as he watches you trail Jaskier out of the barn and into the wintery night air. Soft cool snowflakes kiss your warm skin as you stand in the silver wonderland, waiting for your Witcher to catch up.

A pleased smirk shows itself upon your face as you turn your head up to the dark clouds, enjoying the feeling of the small ice crystals as they float all around you. The night is absolutely divine, as you enjoy the small white puffs of air leaving forth from out of your mouth and nostrils.

You feel no chill from the harsh winter air, though you’re surprised when a certain someone unexpectedly attempts to throw a snowball at your back. Hearing the ball of ice swishing in the crisp air, you step inhumanly quick to the side.

A burst of laughter falls forth from your lips when the snow crashes into the shoulder of Jaskier as he looks from house to house trying to remember where the tavern is. He jumps back, his blue eyes wide as he snaps his jostled attention over to you, and the snowy haired man smirking from behind you.

“That was—was....Y/N!” Grumbles the bard with an angry pout before he begins to smile and eventually shake with laughter as well.

Chuckling still, you turn a raised brow to Geralt as he simply shrugs, “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah okay, Sir. I-Didn’t-Even-Want-To-Come...” Suddenly your eyes narrow causing Geralt to loose his amusement, “You tried to hit me with a snowball, you fucker.”

Geralt takes a cautious step closer to you, a pleading look crossing his features, “And now I know how well your reflexes are.”

“You already know how well my reflexes are.”

“Yes. But...” He pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to say next as you await an answer, finally he takes another step closer, bringing his hand to tilt your head up with the tips of his fingers. His face so close now you can feel his hot breath against your skin, “I’ll deal with your wrath all night long if that’s what you’d wish.”

Gently removing his hand away from your face, you lean in even closer, your lips practically brushing past his own, “I think that is a deliciously appealing proposition, my love.”

Geralt has no time to answer before you swiftly shift away from him, leaving the man with his thoughts and slightly tighter pants as he watches you walk over to Jaskier once again, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

It took about a good fifteen minutes to actually track down the tavern of Jaskier’s choice, an admittedly large and homey hall appropriately called The Silver Faun Inn. Quite the name for quite the tavern, as per usual when walking into anywhere on the continent in a place like this.

Your marry band of three was immediately greeted with a multitude of cautious glares and many other intrigued excited glances. Though to your relief, no one dares bother either of you while you make to find a quiet corner for the late hour of the darkening evening.

Soon fresh food and tasteful ale is to be had, filling the three of you up just enough to be satisfied for the night, but not too much, you’ve got plans for later. Plans that are so obviously unnoticed by the titular bard who’s now decided the tavern is in desperate need of entertainment.

Leaning into Geralt’s strong side, a lazy smirk upon your face, you watch in amusement as Jaskier joyously strums his favorite lute. “Don’t think I’ve heard that ballot before.” You whisper.

Your quiet Witcher hums in reply, earning him a light friendly squeeze to his forearm that rests on the table next to yours, “The enthusiasm radiating off of you is just, astounding.” You chuckle, burying your face into his shoulder.

Geralt smiles affectionately at your adorable reaction to his less then impressive one, his heart swells with more silent joy when you pull away once again. Only to stop yourself from speaking, your scarlet irises so caught up in your lovers humored face.

You remain quiet for a moment, your face stoic though your eyes crinkle with mischief before you finally break out into a large beaming grin. Without a second thought, Geralt leans in to gently press his plush inviting lips against yours for a beautiful moment of love and lust.

He feels so lovely, you can tell just how much he truly wants you, but all to soon does he pull away, “I think we should find that room, what do you say Y/N?”

Biting your lip, you stare longingly into his golden eyes, “Fantastic idea. I got the keys so let’s get outta here.”

In a heartbeat do the two of you slip from the taverns quiet corner to wander past your oblivious bard as he belts out another marvelous tune that sends the crowd into fits of song and laughter. Soon all is forgotten and left to the back of your minds as you lead your Witcher up the steps and down to the end of the hallway where your room just so happens to be.

Quickly going to unlock it, you’re bewildered when the little metal key won’t turn left, huffing in frustration you try and force it as gently as you can muster. Geralt leans an arm against the doorframe doing nothing to help you focus on your new task at hand.

“Y/N just turn it left.”

“I am turning it left.”

“More gently.”

“I am turning it gently.”

“How much did you drink?” He chuckles.

Snapping your head to him you playfully make a face, “Same as you idiot, now if only I could fucking get this bitch open then we could...” Errreck. Crack. “Oh fuck me.” You deadpan.

“I’m trying.” Muses Geralt.

Smacking Geralt against his arm you take a step away from the broken lock, “Dammit. I broke the fucking key....and I think the lock too.”

“Can you open it now?”

Sighing in annoyance you raise a brow at your man, “Well uh, guess we’ll find out.”

Turning towards the thick wooden mahogany door with its freshly broken lock, you nervously reach a hand up to turn the golden door handle, sucking in a breath you twist the knob only to be met with resistance.

Pursing your lips together you lean your head against the door, “Whoever made these shit locks I’ll fucking cut their hands off cause apparently they don’t need them anymore with whatever kinda fuckery this is.” You growl.

All you wanna do is get it on with Geralt, this is not helping.

“You could just force the door.” Suggests Geralt.

“I’m not forcing the door love, I really don’t need a bounty on me for breaking a knob.”

“Well, guess we’ll just have to sleep in Jaskier’s room tonight then.” Replies your Witcher with a shit eating grin, he knows just how much you want him right now. And so help you god if you don’t get what you want when it comes to a night with Geralt of Rivia.

“No! No! I can handle the fucking door!” You sass.

Taking a step back into the hallway, he folds his arms over his chest, “Alright then. Open the door Y/N.” Smirks Geralt, urging you to create some chaos.

Huffing, you take a step back, readying yourself to charge the grand mahogany door. The smirk on your Witcher’s face is admittedly smackable or kissable, you just can’t bring it in you to focus on anything else but opening this door. He watches in anticipation as you charge, hands out and ready to force open the closed entrance as you make hasty steps for the tavern room.

Without warning the giant door swings opens, taking you off guard as you fly through the new opening and into the grand room before falling to the hard floor with a grunt. Your chin smacks the wooden floorboards with a thwack sound, your opened palms doing just the same when you land.

“Ouch.” You mutter, lifting yourself up from the ground, turning when your nose catches the scent of someone new.

Snapping to your right, you’re caught with big brown fearful eyes of a young maid, “Oh, uh....your room is ready miss.”

Not aware of the less then friendly grimace adorning your face, Geralt steps into the room before you decide to shove the girl out yourself, “Sorry. The lock wasn’t working, I think we may have broken it.”

Quickly snapping out of her frightened trance, the girl turns a nervous eye to your Witcher, “Um, that key you have there...it’s not the right one. I’ll just uh....leave then.” She whispers, her eyes never leaving yours as she hastily slips out of the room and down the hallway.

Geralt gently closes the door, shoving a chair under the handle to create a makeshift lock while you take a couple steps forward over to the large mattress, resting a hand on the bed. He turns to you, “Well that was...”

“Entertaining much?” You scoff, rubbing your split chin, “I think I’m bleeding....no yeah, I’m definitely bleeding.”

Geralt hums, nodding before walking over to find a small spare cloth on the nearby table, “Sit on the bed I’ll clean you up.”

Doing just as directed you sit, watching as your silver haired lover walks across the room to seat himself next to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Rolling your eyes you pout, “Funny is it? The things I do for you, and now my fucking chin hurts.”

Suddenly his eyes go soft, though there still remains a tinge of humor in them, “Y/N, you’ve already healed and the pain will die soon enough....here, let me just clean the blood away.” He mutters, reaching his arm up to press the pale cloth against your blood smudged skin.

Fine, ignore my pain you ass.

Though you’re still annoyed, the feeling of being tended to by Geralt is enough to dissipate away all your recent frustrations and brewing anger. Sending you into a blissful minute of staring lazily into your mans pretty golden eyes like a dazed lover.

Once he’s confident all the blood is gone, he sets the pink cloth in his lap, saying nothing as the two of you stare deeply into the eyes of one another, the sexual tension of the room rising by the second. You slip out a soft breath, the tiniest of smiles pulling at your lips.

“This is the part where you kiss my pain away. Right here.” You point at your chin, just below your lips. His golden eyes dart down, following your directions.

Ever so meticulously slowly does he lean in closer, the blood smudged cloth left and forgotten as it falls to the floor when his large hands go to touch your face. His lips press softly onto your chin, then cheek, then the other, and another two over your jawline. Earning a satisfied hum of approval from you, much to Geralt’s satisfaction.

Your own hands grasp onto his thick forearms, the rest of yourself feeling rather warm all over as Geralt kisses all over your face, slowly as ever.

“You know..” Kiss, “Geralt, mhmm....my lips are right here...” You mutter, just as he presses a heated one onto the preferred area you’ve asked. He tastes so sweet, like the ale he drank earlier in the evening, but this is admittedly much better then any ale you’ve ever drank.

Soon his hands fall to your waist and arm, then to many other places as he decides to explore your body with his calloused hands. Not being one to hold back, you do just the same, earning a low husky moan from deep within his throat when you palm him just to see what’s going on down there.

Fortunately he’s decently hard, the fabric of his dark pants are nicely stretched out from what pleasantries await you soon enough. Leaving him be for the moment, you gently break away from his sweet lips.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” You chuckle at the annoyed expression adorning his handsome features, “I’m just, rather wet down here and I’d like to get things rolling. Though don’t get me wrong I could kiss those lips of yours all fucking day.” You add, deliberately doing your best to give him your bedroom eyes.

He pauses for a second, his eyes trailing from your clothed nether regions all the way up to your shimmering lust filled gaze, “You’re already wet?”

Rolling your eyes you reach out to pull him further up the bed, “Oh fuck off, you’re already harder then a frozen ice cycle and that was before we even got into this room so shut uh uhh mhmm...” Is all you’re able to ramble out before he’s attacked your neck again with those beautifully plush lips of his, the rest of his body hovering just above you as he rests a knee between your parted thighs.

His lips leave a wet trail all the way down your throat until they reach the edge of your tops laced fabric, where a clear V is had that reaches down to the area between your breasts. He kisses once on the lace and exposed skin on your sternum, then another further down.

He’s just about driving you wild with the frustratingly grand lack of friction in certain areas that are so desperately craving such attention. Done with his teasing you lightly tug at his long white hair.

“Geralt just fuck me already.” You mumble, sucking in a quick breath when he gently squeezes your breast without warning.

Kissing your cheek, his face remains mere inches from your own as he stares mischievously into your crimson eyes, “We may need to take some clothes off first.” He chuckles, planting a quick kiss to your lips before sitting back on the bed.

Laying there, body hot and pulsing with pleasure unreleased, you hastily sit up and fumble as fast as you can to remove your grey top. Flinging it to the floor as your eyes find Geralt’s once again, though this time he’s completely shirtless.

Drinking up every last little piece of your muscular Witcher, you bite your lip as he smiles at you, “And that’s a sight I could look at everyday.” You just about swoon at his quick witted words, no doubt feeling a bit heated the longer he stares at you.

Winking at him, you swiftly shed the thin dark material calling itself an undershirt, a playful gleam in your eye as you watch Geralt quickly find your two exposed breasts. Beautiful and soft, your nibbles perked at the arousal coursing throughout your entire vessel.

Wanting to be bold, you wiggle a brow at him before confidently standing, your eyes never leaving his. He watches with an intrigued curious gaze before you begin unbuttoning your black trousers, earning another blissful smirk across the mans face.

Soon enough are all the buttons finally undone, with a spectacular dramatic bow do you then go to shimmy out of your pants, kicking them to the wooden floor in a rush as you’re now left in nothing but your small whole filled and slightly ripped underwear.

As to be expected, Geralt reaches a hand out to touch your exposed legs, getting nothing but a quick playful kick to his hands as you hum in disapproval. Instead you go to set a hand on your hip, nodding your head for him to remove his own concealing attire.

He hums in reply, standing to his full height as you unabashedly watch him fully undress himself, tossing his pants and undergarments to the floor ever so dramatically. He stares you down with those big beautiful golden eyes of his, you keep your sights locked onto them and painfully ignore his now exposed member that’s hard and dripping with pre-cum.

Biting your lip, you try your absolute best to keep from smiling, “Fuck me I love you so much.” You speak breathlessly, your eyes turning more serious again, “Now sit, please.”

Geralt hums, seating himself upon the soft billowy mattress just as directed, deciding to lean back on his arms and let his body lay open and ready for you. Blinking slowly you finally reveal a pleased smile down at him, just about mirroring the same one that he’s handing you so freely, just like his body.

Slowly you walk forward on the bed, your legs held firmly to either side of his lower waist as you kneel down, hovering your soaked womanhood right above his glistening member. You let out a breathy chuckle, resting your palms against his broad shoulders as he does the same action but with your bare hips.

“May I?” You politely ask, leaning your head against his as he gently squeezes the flesh of your hips in reply.

“Of course.” He mutters, low and gravelly in your ear as he patiently awaits your body, his very heart about to explode with how much he loves you right now.

Parting your legs wider, you remove one hand from his shoulder to quickly grasp his thick cock, “Alright let me just...” Bringing it to your dripping entrance you line it up perfectly, “I’m coming in..” You laugh, “literally.”

“Y/N you don’t have to say it...”

Digging your fingers into the side of his shoulder you quickly tilt your head to shut him up with a kiss, “Yes, but you laughed.” Pulling back to look at your face, Geralt’s mouth opens to reply, though his words are left on the wind when you slowly slide yourself onto him.

The new welcoming warmth of your core sending his mind swirling with nothing but a colorful bliss. Yours about the same, he’s big as he sinks deeper and deeper into your body until finally he’s completely filled you up.

Closing your eyes, your face scrunches up in slight discomfort at the new thrilling contact, this feeling isn’t anything new it’s just he’s quite large and you need a couple moments to adjust before the real fun begins. Sensing your slight displeasure, he keeps still inside you, trailing a comforting hand over your cheek as he watches your brows furrow together as you adjust.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t mean to hurt you.” Worries your beautiful Witcher as you open your glistening scarlet irises to find his concerned face.

Shaking your head you slowly roll your hips into his, “Never. Apologize for a big dick Geralt....you’re honestly about to work wonders so keep that pretty mouth shut and make me scream.”

Holding in his laughter, he decides to do just as you’ve asked, a second later do you gasp in surprise when both his hands dig into your hips. Pushing you down onto him even more as he pulls you with each roll of your hips against his. Creating a blissful synced rhythm that begins to bring a low pleasurable build into your soaked core.

He suddenly thrusts up into you as you bounce down on him over and over again, your chests rubbing against one another as you both attempt to hold each other’s gazes for as long as you can try. The room feels hot and sticky, the smells of sex, sweat, and Geralt filling into your sensitive nostrils that drives you mad with lust.

All that can be heard is the familiar slapping of skin on skin as you both move against one another in quick passionate motions. Without warning Geralt thrusts deeply into your sweet spot sending you into a flurry of moaned curses as he thrusts his strong hips into you over and over again.

Your body falls flush against his as you whimper and moan into his shoulder from the intense buildup of pure pleasure that he’s slowly filling you with by the second. He can tell you’re close and with that thought in mind you’re pleasantly surprised when he abruptly holds your back, keeping you against him as he quickly lays you onto the soft mattress.

You audibly moan at the new positioning, not being able to hold back any more whimpers of pleasure as he fucks you into the comfortable bedding like his life depends on it. You’re visibility sweaty now, the slickness of yourself and Geralt doing everything to increase your growing pleasure as he slides in and out of you like a crazed man gone years without a proper fucking.

Another moan escapes from your lips as Geralt bounds you into the mattress, hitting you with deep precise thrusts each and every time, leaving you with nothing to keep you steady but his bare back that no doubt is covered in fresh pink scratch marks.

He keeps flush against your body, his manhood buried deep within your parted thighs as he intertwines his fingers with yours, his lips so soft and inviting as they press against your neck and jaw. You can’t remember if you’re ever felt such pleasure from this man as he pulls you to the edge of oblivion.

He suddenly moans against your ear sending new waves of bliss deep into your core and just like that do you come, moaning his name over and over again as he relentlessly thrusts into you with all that he has left.

He grips your hands tight, his warm seed spilling into you a second later, causing you to squeeze your legs tighter against his, “Ugh fuck Geralt.” You moan, your lips brushing past his as he pumps into you for a few more blissful moments before he falls limp against your body.

Utterly spent with your heated love making session, you chuckle at his honestly adorable actions as he lays flush with you, his cock still buried deep inside. He may be a large heavy man, but you’re no common human woman who lays underneath this handsome Witcher.

It’s plain as anyone could see, though you’d cut the throats of anyone bold enough to take a peek at your secretive actions.

Humming in content, Geralt moves to lay at your side, bringing you along with him so that he can stay inside you for a bit longer. You smirk, holding him close as he does the same, “A little needy tonight are we?” You muse, placing a chaste kiss against his puffy red lips.

“Maybe I missed you in more ways then one.” He replies, his golden eyes finding your crimson ones, “It certainly doesn’t help that Jaskier is always with us when we set up camp. I never get a true moment to myself with you.”

Trailing a hand down his scar covered back, you smile once again, “Well you’re about to get a whole week with me if you’re lucky. And I’m looking forward to every single second of it.”

The way you make him feel cannot ever truly be expressed in Geralt’s mind, though you can tell he loves you deeply even when no words are said at all or perhaps when he gets flustered and stumbles on his tongue for the right ones. Though right now he seems to have you vexed, completely entranced and utterly opened and surrendered to him.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same, his eyelids close in content as you gently trail your fingers down his cheekbone, earning a low hum from deep within his throat that sends shivers down your spine even with something so innocent as this.

You break out into a grin, your fangs showing as you let out a couple chuckles once you realize he’s still inside you. His own lips curl into a tired smile, though he doesn’t open his eyes. “Y/N?” He mutters, wondering what on earth could be so funny right now.

Pushing a few stray hairs out of his face you blink, trying to contain yourself once more, “Oh nothing, you’re just being....dare I say, cute. And all things considered, you’re still inside me.”

Geralt shows you a lazy grin, “I like being inside you.”

“Yes and what if I have to relieve myself, or get a drink?”

“I see no problem when you’re lucky enough to be laying next to me.”

Fake scoffing you gently tug on his silver locks, “Geralt of Rivia you’re blessed enough I love you so much you ass.”

Finally he opens his eyes, the most adorable of smiles crossing his face, and only for you, “Well I guess someone has to.”

“Yes.” You smirk, “And I’ll make disappear the next confidant fucker who dare think to take you away from me.”

“So I’m assuming that last tavern wench we met a month ago went missing....not, under mysterious circumstances?” He wonders, a brow raised in humored accusation.

Rolling your scarlet irises, you give him a friendly pat over his bare shoulder, “I wasn’t appreciating that foxy look she was giving you, looked like a horny buck ready to pounce.” The look he gives you is enough to make you burst with laughter, “What? Don’t give me that face Geralt, I didn’t do anything adherently evil....all I did was leave her in the middle of the woods...near another town!” You protest, trying to make your little petty adventure sound less terrible.

 “Well, at least you were nice about it,” Muses Geralt, “though I’m not sure if that’s better.”

“Oh shut it, I couldn’t help myself if you’d like to know alri...” Knock. Knock. Knock. Three raps against the thick bedroom door immediately draws your attention away from Geralt. Propping his head up by his elbow, he turns a protective glare at the mystery person keeping themselves on the other side.

Wanting to snap at the hidden individual who dare break you away from your rather pleasant evening, you push away from the soft comfort of the mattress, quickly pulling out of Geralt, you maneuver yourself into a seated position. “I’ll see who it is, can’t be anyone with a personal vendetta against us, well.....at least I don’t think so.”

Pursing his lips together in slight apprehension, Geralt silently watches you slip from the bed with nothing but a thin white sheet to keep your nakedness from any prying eyes. Your steps to the barred door are swift and silent as an owl in flight, just the same when you remove the chair from the door knob.

With one hand on the golden knob and the other grasped tightly onto the bunched up bed sheet, you turn a curious glance to Geralt who’s now seated fully upright on the mattress, a thin sheet covering his previously exposed manhood.

Finding your sights upon the door once again, you turn the knob, swiftly opening the door where you’re both greeted with the nervous wide eyed face of a young elven boy, who looks only to be about fourteen, dressed in lord-like attire. A suspiciously high status pose about him that sends your brows furrowing in confusion for this strange unexpected intrusion.

Wearing a soft purple scarf over a pure white thick fur laced jacket, his green eyes shift warily from you to your shirtless Witcher then back to you again. His cheeks most certainly reddening the longer he stares, mouth slightly agape, clearly this kid was not expecting the sight before him.

Deciding to relieve the awkward atmosphere, you clear your throat, “Well you certainly don’t look like an assassin, nor do you appear to be ready with coin for a wanted killing. So, do relieve us of this suspense...I was kind of in the middle of something important.” You state, the tone of your voice appearing slightly annoyed even when you try and hide it.

His big emerald irises flicker as he blinks, swallowing his nerves, does the elven boy in the fancy coat and purple scarf stand a bit straighter, “Hello. I am Venemyr of Rorym, messenger to Queen Allira and her husband King Gabriel of this winter kingdom of Turga.” He stammers, eyes shifting nervously from Geralt to you, suddenly he pulls out a folded piece of white and gold craftsmanship in the form of a beautiful card.

His hand shakes slightly as he reaches out for you to take the concealed letter, finding no ill intent from the boy, you fearlessly accept. Once in your hand does he finally begin his explanation, “I come to ask the Princess Y/N of Alkatraz and the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, if they will accept this invitation to the King and Queen’s eldest son’s banquet as special guests of honor.”

Oh, now things have just gotten very intriguing.

Not positive on how to correctly respond to this large proposition, the young elven messenger nods, “My adversaries had been made aware of you two by a bard named Jaskier who is thought of warmly in this kingdom, then it appeared that the eldest prince became very interested in meeting a lady dhampir and a Witcher of Kaer Morhen.” 

Oh, Jaskier you motherfucker.

Smiling politely, Vesemyr watches with wide foresty eyes when he catches sight of your fangs, noticing his apparent change of demeanor, your face falls, “Uh, well, thank you for the message and this invitation? We’ll see to it soon, and without a doubt report back accordingly sometime tomorrow.”

“The banquet is in two days.”

“Is it now?” You reply in a knowing tone, your brows raising, “Good to know, now if you’ll excuse us...the hour is late and you’d better get to wherever you’ve come from before it gets any colder outside.” And with that said do you flash him a wink before slamming the door into his scared little face and high end attire without a second thought.

Looking down at the strange yet exquisite invitation placed in your hand, you turn it over and find the golden waxes seal of a house sigil. “Y/N come to bed, I think I’d like to have a look at whatever fuckery Jaskier has roped us into.”

Raising your attention back up to the naked man seated casually against the headboard, you smile, making swift steps to the mattress before launching yourself next to his side causing the bed to shift and creak at your jostling movement. Instead of finding his annoyed expression, you’re fortunately greeted with an arm pulling you flush against his side.

With the two of you wrapped up in the white bedsheets, leaning comfortably on one another does Geralt slowly take the parchment from out of your hand. He holds the letter up, studying it’s beauty in the side table’s candle light as you rest your head on his shoulder with one arm slung over his muscular waist.

His breaths are slow and calm, the rise and fall of his chest gently pushing you up and then back down again only ever so slightly while your Witcher carefully observes the golden wax of the houses sigil. “A stag, with a crown of leaves....should we open it?” Muses Geralt, fully aware of how much you want to see what’s inside.

Geralt I swear to god.

Gently giving his waist a loving squeeze, you nod, “If you’d be so kind.” Humming in reply, Geralt makes quick work of the letter, soon its cut open and pulled out for your eyes to witness its ink marked contents.

“Fuck.” Mutters Geralt dismally, “Guess that kid wasn’t fucking with us.”

“And I guess we’re going to a party.” You exclaim, much more excitement flowing through your voice then what Geralt could ever give.

He quickly turns his head down to you, “Y/N no. I don’t give a shit if this prince wants to speak with us, I have no interest in becoming involved in something like that.”

You lightly chuckle at his less then stellar mood before turning your face to press a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder, he sighs, meeting your crimson gaze once again, “Think of it, free drink and food, and this prince wants to see us....we’re practically the guests of honor and I cannot wait to see Jaskier tomorrow cause I’m gonna slap him for it...then I’ll thank him.”

“Ugh, fine.” Begrudgingly mutters Geralt as you press your lips to his.

-

Maybe a part 2 later on, idk we’ll see. Hope you enjoyed this :)

Tagged for series:  @seninjakitey​  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

[raviotherabbit]

royal pain in the ass - chapter 4

Chapter 4: Era of Twilight Queen Zelda heads out for the night.

[first] - [previous] - [next] read it on ao3!

  △ ▲△

“Are you sure this is alright?” The young Hero of the Four Sword trailed Zelda through the halls of her castle, their shoes clicking on the smooth tile below them. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to bother you…”

“I could never be bothered by a hero,” Zelda clarified. “Besides, I believe you of all people should appreciate our collection.”

The pair stopped at a grand set of doors, towering over them with the crest of the royal family, depicted in gold, right in the middle. Before Four could voice any more concerns, Zelda pushed the doors open, dividing the crest in two.

Forgetting his manners, Four rushed past the queen and into the armory. Zelda couldn’t help but chuckle as he admired the vast array of weaponry, hands hovering with a fear to touch. She was struck by how dorky the heroes she grew up hearing legends of actually were, but perhaps she should have guessed they’d be much like her own…

Zelda’s heart dropped at that thought. Oh, Link…

“This battle-axe…” Four marvelled, mouth agape. “I could only dream of making something so well-crafted…”

Forgetting her troubles for a moment, Zelda caught up to Four. “This one is a bit old, actually. I’ve been considering having it hung up somewhere, for posterity.”

“You can never go wrong with an axe on a wall,” Four added.

“Come,” she beckoned him further into the armory. “Let me show you my personal collection.”

Delighted at the notion, he followed her. Eventually, the two came to a wall more tastefully decorated, with several bows and swords hanging.

“I’ve used all of these, at some point,” her hand traced the wooden edges of a bow. With a fond smile on her face, she pulled her rapier from its display. “But I’ve always been fond of my swords.”

Zelda held the rapier out to Four. He hesitated for a moment, looking up to her as if to ask for permission. When she nodded, he took the sword from her with a child-like glee, inspecting it thoroughly.

“I’ve been training with it since I was young,” Zelda explained. “It’s been my favorite.”

And yet, it hadn’t been enough. When the time came, to either fight or die, Zelda had instead chosen to surrender. Her burden went to Link, almost carelessly so, and now…

Noticing her distress, Four placed the rapier back in its display. “Twilight will be fine,” he insisted. “If he’s not back by tomorrow, I think Time is planning on going after him.”

Twilight. The name always throws her for a loop when she hears it. How could Link be so fine with it?

“I’d like to apologize to him, if I can,” she revealed cautiously. “I owe him that much.”

“I think he’s just a bit stressed out,” Four frowned, looking off. “All of us are. Legend got a bit snappy yesterday, and Twilight had to physically stop Wild from pouncing on him.” He sighed wearily.

“I wish he didn’t feel as though everything were his responsibility,” Zelda admitted. But, truthfully, who was she to talk? After all, she was the one who gave him such ideas.

Maybe she deserved what he said to her.

  △ ▲△

“Stay safe, Zelda,” Gaepora instructs his daughter, doing his best to remain stoic as he holds her close. “The places you’ll travel will be unfamiliar, but I know that you’ll be able to find your way.”

“We’ll be home soon,” Sun promises, arms tight around her father. “Both Link and myself.”

Gaepora pulls away from Sun, glancing back at the portal. It appeared just after breakfast, right in front of the Sealed Temple. “Keep those granddaughters of mine safe.”

Sun laughs at that. “I will, father.”

Meanwhile, Artemis and Flora stand waiting by the portal. The glowing, golden light still has a draw on them, but they resist enough to allow Sun her goodbyes. It tugs at Flora’s heartstrings, digging that pit in her stomach a little bit deeper. Her only thought is, ‘Why?’

Karane, one of the knights of Skyloft, marches up to the two queens, dragging Pipit by his collar behind her. She releases him just as she reaches them, and Pipit struggles to right himself.

“Pipit,” Karane asks him. “Do you have anything you’d like to say to these two?”

“Er, yes,” Pipit clears his throat. “Your majesties-” he bows awkwardly. “I’m sorry I pointed my sword at you and called you demons.”

“Uh, well.” Flora shifts from one foot to the other, glancing up at Artemis.

Artemis places a hand on Flora’s shoulder, smiling sweetly down at the two knights. “Thank you for your apology, sir Pipit. It’s greatly appreciated.”

Pipit looks back at Karane, who nods in approval. The two bow for them before making their leave.

“That was very diplomatic,” Flora notes, watching as the knights bicker amongst themselves.

“He made a mistake, and he apologized for it,” Artemis explains coolly. “I don’t see a reason to keep being upset.”

The two are interrupted by Sun, who approaches as she waves back to her father. With one hand gripping her satchel’s straps, she asks, “Well, are you guys ready?”

“It’s been lovely staying here, but we need to get moving,” Artemis asserts.

“Then let’s go.” Flora offers a small wave before she steps backwards into the portal. With a bright flash of light, she disappears.

Artemis smirks. “Oh she’s getting sure of herself, isn’t she? Come one-” she waves Sun along to follow her. “We have to catch up before she gets herself lost.”

Side-by-side, Artemis and Sun walk through the portal. Travelling through time is always disorientating, even though both of them have done it before. Sun’s not very surprised to find that these portals aren’t much different than the Gates of Time, but still, she squeezes her eyes shut as they travel. The world warps around her, a chaotic mess until it stops very suddenly.

Sun peeks her eyes open, just as the portal sputters to a close. She finds herself in the middle of a field, Artemis recuperating for a moment with her hands on her knees. On the other hand, however, Sun feels alright, if a little tired. Flora stands a few feet away, using a hand to block the sun from her eyes as she looks off into the distance.

“That must be the castle, just ahead there,” Flora gestures out, and Sun can just see the silhouettes of a city against the daylight as she makes it to her side. “We can get there in no time.”

“Wow, a real, actual city!” Sun utters in awe. “I mean, Sky’s told me about the ones he’s been to, but seeing it now…”

Flora gasps. “I didn’t even realize-!” She eagerly takes Sun’s hand and guides her towards the city hurriedly. “You have so much to see! Come on, let’s-”

“Hold on.”

The pair barely make it a few steps before Artemis stops them, still hunched over nausea. Flora grits her teeth, breathing in sharply. “Artemis, are you okay?”

“Just…” Artemis plants herself on the ground, but it isn’t long before she lays back, staring up at the bright blue sky. “Just give me a second.”

  △ ▲△

“Castle Town is… a lot,” Sun comments, subtly shifting to hold onto the cloth of Flora’s cloak. “I’ve never seen so many people before in my life.”

The trio are making their way through the streets, weaving their way through the city’s crowds and passing exuberant vendors. A Goron shouts into the masses, advertising fresh spring water, and Sun covers one of her ears.

“Don’t worry, the castle’s right up there,” Flora points up above the buildings, where the spires of walls are visible. “I’m sure when we explain the situation to the Zelda of this time, she’ll give us a nice, quiet place to spend the night.”

“Hm,” Sun hums in response, noticing Artemis frown slightly at Flora’s words.

“Now that you’ve said it…” Artemis mutters to herself, but she doesn’t finish the thought.

The crowd seems to thin as they approach the castle, which makes sense since the gate is guarded by two heavily armored individuals, both wielding some rather sharp spears. Flora, however, is unfazed, and marches right up to the guards. While Sun tries to follow her, Artemis places a hand on her shoulder, holding her back a few feet. Her hand slips from Flora’s cloak.

“Wait,” Artemis commands.

“Hello,” Flora greets the guards, ignoring their scrutinizing glares. Her hands are folded gently in front of her, the picture of politeness. “We would like to see the queen.”

The soldiers both look towards each other, before both burst out laughing.

“You want to see the queen?” the one on the right, gangly and tall, jabs at her.

“Who are you to demand an audience with her majesty?” the one on the left, shorter than his partner, continues.

Flora scoffs indignantly. “Well I never-!”

“Hold on.” Artemis raises a hand, silencing both guards. “Flora, remain dignified,” she reminds her descendant. “We have information about Link that her royal highness must hear immediately.”

“Uh…” the tall guard idly scratches his face. “What’s link?”

Artemis blinks, taken aback. “Th-the hero.” She composes herself. “Link.”

The guards exchange another glance with each other. “The hero’s name is Link?” the tall one asks, only to receive a shrug from the short one.

“Oh for Hylia’s sake,” Flora sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah, listen ladies,” the short guard steps forward, flipping his spear so the blunt, wooden end is pointing out. “You’re not seeing the queen today, so scram.” He pokes Flora with the spear.

“Well I never-!” With rage in her eyes, Artemis grabs onto Flora’s arm, dragging both her and Sun away from the castle gates.

“Artemis, wait!” Sun protests. “I think this is still salvageable!”

Ignoring her, Artemis shouts back over her shoulder at the two guards. “Listen to this! You two are going to be in big trouble soon!”

  △ ▲△

Flora, with a book in hand, disappeared into the depths of Castle Town. After her display on the battlefield, Artemis doubted she’d be in too much danger in the city. Besides, exploring their surroundings seemed to be a good alternative to meeting this time’s Zelda, and that was way easier when they split up.

Of course, Sun came with her. Artemis didn’t necessarily trust Sun to be on her own in this kind of setting, not yet at least. Judging by the fact that she was currently latched onto her arm like a sloth, she may have made the right choice.

“I have an idea of when we are,” Artemis explains to her.

Sun’s head snaps to Artemis as though she’d been broken out of a trance. “Oh, you do?”

Artemis nods. “I think there’s a business around here where we may find some help.”

“Time war stuff?”

“Time war stuff.”

Sun perks up and begins scanning the buildings up and down the street. “I can help. What does it look like?”

“Well,” Artemis paused. She’d never actually seen the place, had she? She just heard about it late at night when her troops made camp, and she was always about five seconds from punting Little Link into the forest by that time. Which is to say, her attention hadn’t always been there.

“It has to do with bugs,” she finally settles on.

Sun tilts her head. “Bugs?”

“Bugs,” Artemis affirms. “Agitha, the owner, and she loves them. I think it’s a zoo of some kind?”

“A bug zoo in Castle Town,” Sun remarks. “I think I understand cities even less now.”

Artemis shrugs. “I don’t understand it either, to be honest.”

Sun hums to herself, before suddenly pointing to a building across the road. “Agitha’s Castle?” she reads the sign aloud, “Is that it?”

“Right, that’s what it was called!”

When Artemis pushes open Agitha’s wooden door, they’re both immediately hit by a wave of warm air. The chirping and buzzing of several insects greet them, a butterfly going so far as to flutter over and land on Sun’s head.

“Artemis there’s a tree in here,” Sun states, eyeing the bugs climbing all over it with concern.

“Agitha!” Artemis cups her mouth with a hand as she shouts. “Are you here?”

“Is that who I think it is?” a voice rings out from the second floor. A young girl appears, leaning over the railing to peer down at her guests. “The other Princess Zelda!” She races to the stairs with heavy footfalls.

“Well, it’s Queen Zelda now,” Artemis informs Agitha as she bounds down the stairs. Her smile is warm and pleasant, like a fire on a chilly day.

Agitha takes the queen’s hands, holding them in her own, buzzing with energy as an excited smile graces her face. “Then you’re the other Queen Zelda! I can’t believe you’re here! I thought the War Across the Ages was finished?”

“It did,” Artemis nods. “My friend Sun and I are here on separate business.”

Hearing this, Agitha’s eyes snap to Sun, as if noticing her for the first time. “Oh, hello there! I’m Agitha.”

“Uh, hi,” Sun awkwardly responds. “I’m Sun, I suppose.”

Though Agitha squints at her words with suspicion, she’s quickly drawn away by Artemis. “We need to see this era’s Zelda, but the guards haven’t let us into the castle,” she explains. “Do you know of a way we can arrange a meeting?”

“Those guards are tricky.” Agitha slowly draws her hands away, bringing a finger to her chin as she thinks. “There may be something,” she reveals. “Why don’t you come have some tea? I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  △ ▲△

While their visit to Agitha’s Castle was by no means short, the subsequent search for Flora ended up being way longer than anticipated. Eventually, they find her laying against one of the buildings bordering the castle wall,

“Breaking and entering is not an option, Flora,” Artemis reprimands, picking up her exhausted descendant off the city streets and slinging her over her shoulder.

“I… ran the whole… perimeter,” Flora pants out, book still clutched tightly in her hands. “We can climb it.”

Sun, standing behind Artemis, pats Flora’s head in consolation.

“We’re heading to dinner,” Artemis says. “Agitha recommended a nice little bar we could eat at.”

  △ ▲△

The bar, thankfully, isn’t too far from where Flora collapsed. Sun breathes a sigh of relief when she sees it’s mostly deserted, save for a couple of patrons sitting at a table past the bar. One is a redhead, a drink by his side as he converses with the girl next to him. She’s black-haired, and curiously enough, her ears are rounded. Both perk up when they see the trio enter.

“Telma!” the black-haired lady calls out towards the back. “You’ve got some customers!”

“Er, is she alright?” the redheaded man points with his pen towards Flora, who’s still being carried by Artemis.

“She’s fine, just tired,” Artemis clarifies. She unceremoniously deposits Flora at the nearest table. “My sisters and I were wondering if we could get a meal here?”

“Well you certainly came to the right place, I’ll tell you that!” He offers her a thumbs up, only to be jabbed in the side by his companion.

Just then, a woman pushes through the back door, leaving it swinging behind her. “Well hello there, girls. Can I get you something?”

Artemis places a hand on Sun’s shoulder. “Wait here with Flora, I’ll order for us.”

Sun nods, sliding into the seat next to Flora, who’s currently laying face down on the table. Quietly, she slips Flora’s notebook away from her.

“So what is this?” Sun asks, thumbing through a few of the pages. There’s a lot of writing, but she also notices some drawings of diagrams. “Is it your diary?”

“Of sorts,” Flora murmurs. “It’s a research journal.”

“Oh!” she realizes. “I remember you seemed very interested in some of the monuments of my time. I could tell you more about them, if you’d like.”

“Sun,” Flora pops her head up, resting her chin on the wooden table. “I would love that more than anything. But I currently don’t have the stamina to write a single sentence.”

With a frown, Sun pats her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll have lots of time later.”

Her sympathy brings a small smile to Flora’s face. “How was your time with Artemis, today?”

“We met one of her Time War friends,” Sun explains. “She mentioned her before, Agitha? She told us about this place.”

“And I bet you like it much more than the rest of the city.”

Sun’s neck grows hot, as she awkwardly tries to refute that. “Well- I-”

Flora reaches to place her hand over Sun’s. For a brief moment, her heart races at the thought that the glow might return. When nothing happens after a few seconds, she relaxes again. Never has she been so happy about a lack of anything before.

“Don’t worry,” Flora says, oblivious to Sun’s panic. “I know it can be a bit of a jump, from so little to so much. It was the opposite for me, but I felt similarly when I returned to my Hyrule.”

“Where did you go?” Sun asks, as if it were the most innocent question in the world.

“It was-” Flora tries to explain, but she just sighs. “I sealed a great evil away for a long time. When Wild eventually came to my side, so much time had already passed.” She looks away. “I didn’t recognize anything, anymore.”

“You didn’t- you didn’t have to say that,” Sun says. “I mean, I also sealed away an evil, the Demon King, but at least I went to the past to do it-” She takes a deep breath, composing herself. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. It must have hurt.”

“Well-”

The pair are interrupted by Artemis, returning to the table with the barkeep, Telma. She places her own bowl of soup in front of her while Telma serves Sun and Flora.

“Hope you girls enjoy,” she smiles, glancing over at Flora. “I made this special, I hear it’s supposed to help after a long day.”

“Thank you,” Flora responds automatically. She sits up slightly, eagerly yet carefully bringing a spoonful of soup to her mouth. There’s a buzz of excitement in her chest as she recognizes the blend of flavors; it can only be cream of vegetable soup. In fact, it’s almost like-

Wait.

Flora’s eyes go wide, and she almost drops her spoon. “Carrots and honey.”

“What?” Sun tilts her head at her.

“This is a carrot and honey cream of vegetable soup, I-” She remembers the night she first tried it. After one hundred years of fighting, she was so tired, and that night, Wild brought her to a stable. He showed her how to make it, explaining where he got every ingredient. And the way it warmed her stomach after so long, especially when he followed it up with a fruitcake dessert…

“This is Wild’s recipe,” she reveals, looking up at Telma. “Did he- how did you get it?”

Before Telma can respond, the door to the bar opens, and in steps a figure in a long, black cloak.

  △ ▲△

Honestly, all Queen Zelda Elaine Hyrule wanted was to relax at Telma’s after a long day of courting nobles and other queenly business. She knew at least a few members of the Resistance would be there, and what better way to get her mind off things than to listen to Shad ramble on about the sky beings for hours?

What she didn’t expect, however, was a young girl looking like she was going to cry about her soup while grilling Telma about the recipe.

“Uh,” Artemis looks between Telma and the girl, befuddled.

Telma grimaces when she notices her. “Honey, why don’t you go sit with Shad and Ashei in the back? I’ll have this handled in a second.” The pair of them are standing just a few feet away, Ashei with a hand ready to draw her sword.

“How did you get Wild’s recipe?” the girl demands, standing as one of her companions tries to reach for her.

“I didn’t take it,” Telma counters. “He gave it to me-”

“Wild?” Zelda asks. “As in, Link’s friend, Wild?”

A silence passes over the girl, she and her friends staring at Zelda. One of the other patrons at the girl’s table, seemingly the oldest, speaks up. “You know Link.”

“He’s-” Zelda almost calls him her friend, but truthfully, she doesn’t know if he would call her such at the moment. “Yes. I know him. And how do you know Wild?” She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“He’s my best friend,” the first girl says, crossing her arms.

“We’re friends of Link’s friends,” the older one says. “The ones he’s travelling with now.”

Very suddenly, it clicks in Zelda’s mind. These aren’t just any visitors, now are they?

“Ah, I see,” Zelda replies. “You all are quite far from home, are you not? Tell me, what is it that brings you to the Era of Twilight?” She slides up to their table, resting her hands on its wooden surface.

“Link and his friends may be in danger,” the last one, a girl with a feather on her belt, reveals. “We need to see this time period’s Zelda.”

“Well then, you’ve found her.” Zelda pulls down the hood of her cloak. She takes one of the empty seats at the table. With her hands folded in front of her, she narrows her gaze at her counterparts. “Telma, give us a moment. What’s wrong with Link?”

“Dusk, I presume?” the older one asks, receiving a nod in response. “I’m called Artemis, these are Sun and Flora.” She gestures to the other two. “We encountered a monster that could change shape, primarily taking the form of our heroes. He taunted us with their safety, and since we haven’t seen them in quite some time, we can only assume he’s done something to them.”

“That’s… concerning,” Dusk admits. “So why have you come to me, then?”

“We want your help,” Sun continues. “We’ve been going through the portals, and they’ve brought us… Zeldas? They’ve brought us all together.”

Flora plops back down in her chair. “The shadow creature is strong. We’ll need as many hands as we can get to defeat it.”

Dusk’s first instinct is to refuse them outright. Though she’s not sure about the rest of them, she has a kingdom to run! She can’t just leave on a journey across time on a whim, not when her people need her. She isn’t Link.

Oh.

But this is for Link, isn’t it? Link, who she let do everything while she was trapped in the twilight of Hyrule Castle. Link, who saved a land that wasn’t his without question. Link, who deserved more than she had given them.

“Ashei, Shad!” she calls out, beckoning the two Resistance members to her side. “Tomorrow, I’m going to make an announcement. As trusted advisors and saviors of Hyrule in your own right, I will leave you both, as well as Auru, in charge of all royal duties until further notice.” She turns her attention back to the other Zeldas. “I’m coming with you.”

“Thank you,” Sun smiles at her sweetly. “All of our Links mean a lot to us, I’m sure you understand.”

“Sorry you had to see me, er,” Flora gestures to her soup, which she stirs with her spoon. “It’s just… I haven’t had this soup in a while, you know?” She suddenly turns towards the bar, where Telma is cleaning some dishes. “And sorry for yelling at you, miss!”

“Don’t you worry, honey!” Telma calls back. “Tell Wild thanks for the recipe when you see him, alright? I think he could use the pick-me-up.”

“Pick-me-up?” Flora echoes quietly.

“Now.” Artemis slams her hands on the table lightly. “Dusk, I should tell you. We had the worst experience with a pair of guards outside the castle, earlier today.”

“Oh, did you?” Dusk leans in, resting her elbows on the table. “Well, we’ll have to handle that.”

[gh0sture]

Under the Sea

Trafalgar Law x gn!reader

Part 2, Meet the gang

You've never been particularly good at meeting new people or making good first impressions for that matter but this, by far, has to be your worst one yet. Your clothes are soaked still, your hair a sticky mess from the saltwater and your mouth is opening and closing lika a fish gasping for air as it flaps around on a bridge after being caught. It's not one of your best looks you'll admit but it is all you can offer at the moment given the circumstances.

You try to form coherent thoughts, you really do, but this is just way too much for you to take in. He reaches a hand out and you flinch before grabbing it to make an awkward shake.

This isn't just insane. This is completely knock-your-socks-off bonkers.

You feel as if you were looking at the golden gates of heaven themselves, not daring to look him in the eyes out of fear that you might go blind from the sheer radiance of his aura meanwhile the man in question just looked at you blankly. Possibly with a hint of disgust. Definitely a bit of disgust.

"The name's Trafalgar Law, captain of Polar tang" his handshake is firm and he looks at you expectantly while retrieving his hand and crossing his arms over his chest.

Neither of you say anything. He clears his throat but you give no reaction. Still staring at him like a five year old looking at a blackboard of university level algebra equations. He grimaces slightly at your behavior.

"Are you ok? I don't remember finding any trauma to your head, you should be fine" he grabs your chin and tilts your head around to inspect it disapprovingly in search of an injury. Although, he is an expert doctor so he would never miss any injuries, his pride wouldn't let him. This does nothing to soothe your symptoms though and doesn't exactly help with calming your heartbeat at all.

"I wouldn't have missed anything what's wrong with you" he mutters to himself when you finally managed to collect yourself enough to remove his hands.

"uhh no! no, i'm ok! thank you for ,uh, saving me by the way" this is the best and worst thing that have ever happened to you.

"it wasn't my choice" he deadpanned and turn back into the room to get a den-den mushi with a familiar penguin hat on it. Its so strange seeing on in real life. Although, you don't know if this is real life (is it just fantasy?). He proceeds to make a phone call (mushi-call? den-den call?) into it while you shift awkwardly on your feet in the hallway. Your feet ache from walking on the metal grid barefoot you had barely noticed until now. After exchanging a few words he walk over to the desk where he'd previously  been sitting and open a journal, presumably to continue doing whatever he did before.

"One of my crew members will be here shortly to get you settled for now and give you some necessities. We reach a port in nine days where you can leave." his voice was calm and composed, like pouring molten chocolate into your ears even though the words themselves were less than pleasant. When he spoke you could feel your knees get weak and you feel tempted to ask him a question for the sole purpose of hearing him speak more. God this man was hot. You nodded at his statement at first, not really paying attention to what he had actually said until you realized that nothing he said had been actually registered in your head.

"Wait, what?" you asked. He doesn't look up from his writing but you can hear the mild annoyance in his voice when he answers.

"Looking at you, you are rather ill equipped for staying here until we reach a populated island. Since you don't have any money or anything valuable, my crew will provide for you until we reach the port where you can find another ship to go back wherever you came from...Whatever weird country that's supposed to be...Now go down the hallway, He should be there already to help you so leave me alone" you get the feeling that you'll loose a limb if you stick around longer so you turn to head down the hallway and find "Him" who you hoped would be more polite.

"Not that way" you hear from the study and you turn around to head down the other way, somewhat (very) embarrassed.

You really wished that your first time meeting a celebrity would've gone better, but then again they do say that you should never meet your heroes. Was he always this rude in the series and book? Sure he came across as a bit of a tsundere but he seemed at least approachable in the series. You don't have the charisma or extroverted superpowers that Luffy have so that is probably an important thing to consider. As you head down the hallway you come across a man walking in your direction pretty soon. He seem far more ok with your existence and even appear to lit up a bit when he sees you and give you a friendly wave. This is already going a lot better than last time.

"Yo! You're the one we found floating around yesterday! Nice to meet you, people around here call me Penguin" He gives you a wide yet genuine smile as he grab your hand and shake it enthusiastically before you even have the chance to reach out.

"thought you were a goner when we found you haha!So it's good to see that you're up n' about, c'mon let me show you a round!" he turn around to walk from where he had just come from while you follow behind him silently.

Penguin makes it his personal responsibility to keep a conversation going even if it's pretty one-sided but it's nice. Comforting even, as he went on about how nice the other crewmembers are with the exception of the captain but you shouldn't take what he says too personal as he's a bit misunderstood. He  ask you different questions like your name, where you came from, complimenting you on your weird clothes, although it feels like that was mostly him being polite and you didn't have heart or energy to tell him that you're wearing PJ's. He doesn't mind your short answers and seems satisfied with the information he's able to divulge. To be fair you aren't sure how to answer since you don't know how you ended up here but also out of fear of ripping the space-time continuum open by telling him forbidden knowledge about his universe. It would be rather awkward explaining to him that you know a lot about them and what they've done/are about to do. You've technically stalked them through tv and books and if someone told you that they've been watching you, you would freak out. Rightfully so too. They might even think that you're a navy spy sent to gather information action for their arrest and they could kill you. Yeah, this is a mess and a half but you'll burn this bridge when you get to it. You did tell him your name though and he doesn't seem to suspect you working for some nefarious organization so all is well.

He showed you where the important places in the submarine was such as the kitchen, living quarters, rec area and bathrooms. You still have trouble telling up from down will undoubtedly get lost but he assures you that after a while you'll know this maze like the back of your hand. After leaving the living quarters he guides you to the top deck to find someone else he says will help you so that he can get back to work.

The yellow ship had surfaced at a deserted summer island and everyone was outside enjoying the sun after spending several days in the dark of the ocean. You hadn't been down in the submarine for that long , at least not while being conscious, and was already getting a bit unnerved over how cold and cramped it was. As soon as the warm rays of light hit you both the cold and your worries melt away.

"Hey Ikkaku! You have to help the drifter get some clothes!" He yelled at a woman laying in a sun-chair on the deck with her eyes closed. The familiar heart pirates uniform was open to reveal a green tank top and an orange and yellow striped hat was laying beside her.

"Haah!? Why do I have to do it?" She sat up to glare at Penguin and was about to protest when she spotted you behind him. One second you were hiding behind Penguin and the next you're face to face with a very pretty woman with very poofy hair. Her glorious lion name bounces a bit as she hold up both your hands in hers and lean over a bit to stare into your eyes. Everyone is so tall here why is everyone so ridiculously tall. Anime proportions are wild.

"Oh my god!! We were so worried about you, we thought you were dead when we found you!" You felt uncomfortable with her being so close to your face and politely thanked her for saving you while doing your best to avoid eye contact.

"Oi! Where's your manners! They've been through a lot being stranded in the ocean have some respect!" He bops her on the head and she lets you go to tell him off (and/or punch him back) but she remembers the shiny new toy in front of her and settles for staring daggers at him instead.

"Oh shut yer trap" She stares at you intensely as if to make sure you wouldn't run away or vanish into thin air. It's kind of nice being fawned over like this, and clearly the crew enjoy having a visitor.

"It's so nice having a fresh face around, It's been years since Captain let anyone new stay onboard  and being stuck with all the same jerks weeks on end gets a bit tiring you know. Now come on and let's go find you some proper clothes!" She grab your hand to drag you along back into the dark,dark depths of the submarine.

Oh joy. more cold, feet grating and claustrophobia.

"You're a bit smaller than everyone so we should probably ask Uni to sow it in for you if it's way too big" She says more to herself rather than you while handing you the classical white uniform with the heart pirates logo on the chest over your heart.

The woman who's name you had learned to be Ikkaku turn around and continued rummaging around the small closet in front of her in search of more clothes for you while you change into the white uniform when she isn't looking. It feels incredible to finally get out of those damp and sticky clothes and into something soft and warm instead. You are also the proud owner of a pair of fuzzy socks and black boots. Your poor abused feet are overjoyed that they no longer have to walk the metal grid of a thousand needles. Life is good.

"Once we get to the port of Pellar island you can probably trade your way to some more clothes but this should be fine for now"

In the little time you had spent with her you had learned quite the few things about the crew on the ship. For starters there were 21 members in the crew (including the captain), You were lucky number 22 according to Ikkaku, even though you aren't a part of the crew it's apparently better to have an even number of people aboard the ship. And hearing the stories of what they've been through it seems like you're their new rabbits foot. Since you're considered baggage or fancy cargo rather than someone useful she gives you some times on how to stay out the way, especially out if the captains way which you feel is probably a wise decision but you offer your help should she need it in the kitchen which she greatly appreciates. You hate feeling useless.

You can't help but wonder where you are in the Once Piece timeline as you rolled up the long sleeves of the uniform on your arms and legs for comfort. Had Luffy and Law already formed the alliance? Were you before the timeskip and the incident at Marine Ford? Maybe you were even ahead of the manga and anime itself in a future arc even. You were snapped out of your thoughts when Ikkaku pushed a bundle of toiletries into your arms involving a towel, a toothbrush, and a bar of soap.

"We haven't figured out where you'll sleep for the moment but it'll work out soon enough. Otherwise you can just sleep in a spare bed in the infirmary but come help me gather food from the island! We don't want to get scurvy while we're submerged!" She drag you away towards the deck after leaving your things in her room for safe keeping for now.

This woman is going to pull your arm off.

She seemed very sweet but all the touching and stereotypical anime arm-pulling is weird since you have literally just met. The way she smiles while asking you about your favourite foods and how she excitedly plan different recipes out loud make you almost forgive her though. Almost.

You move sluggishly towards Ikkaku's room to get the only material items you currently own in this world. Foraging for fruits and herb until nightfall was tiring but at least you didn't have to carry that much stuff, a guy with a black pompadour haircut had come along to help carry the crates of stuff you and Ikkaku gathered. He seemed very nice too, somewhat cocky though. You had asked Ikkaku for information on a certain Straw-hat pirate while making small talk and have come to the conclusion that he probably hasn't even started his adventure towards becoming the Pirate King yet. She didn't know who you were referring to and was even showed some seagull newspaper from their library but no info of the gummy monkey man could be found whatsoever. Since you recall him making news very early on in his "career" it's fair to assume that he hasn't gotten up to his mischief yet.

It feels a bit weird to be honest. To be in the prologue of the story like this and you have no idea what kind of things anyone other than the Strawhats and Luffy had been up to since the story followed them, maybe some vague details about Law's past and fragments from some characters backstories but this is all uncharted territory. Your thoughts are interrupted as you suddenly bump into someone and fell backwards. You reach your arms out like a bad imitation of a seagull in attempt to grab the wall but someone grabs you before you manage to take hold of anything. Your grab their shoulders to steady yourself and let go once you're back on your feet but they don't remove their hands from you. You look up to thank them for catching you when all the colour drains from your face and you realize who you're standing prom-slow-dance proximity to. It is but the one and only person you'd least want to embarrass yourself in front of. Again.

"Do you have a death wish or are you just plain stupid 22-ya" He looked down at you with what you assume to be the ghost of an amused smile or slight disgust. Probably disgust. Again. while you're distracted by his closeness and the humiliating event that is currently taking place. It could be much worse though, right? you can salvage this situation probably.

"Crap, sorry I was just zoned out.." You tried looking anywhere but his oh-so-handsome face to avoid you making this anymore awkward than it already was. You are not immune against handsome people after all. You tried moving away from him slightly but his hands stayed firm on your shoulders and could feel his gaze on you like needle pricks on your skin. you definitely do not dare looking him in the eye.

"You have to look where you're going or you might get seriously hurt next time" He mused. He may be attractive but he's definitely a jerk.

"It's impossible to see down here it's so dark..." you mutter under your breath and quickly move to side to walk past him, he let's go this time rejoice that your attempt to escape the harassing captain is successful, desperate to get away from this weird atmosphere you have created. Unfortunately for you, the universe have other plans  as he start walking behind you in the same direction you are and boy, is it awkward.

After a bit of walking you start to get a bit suspicious though. Was he following you around, waiting for you to get lost so that he could make a smartass comment about it? He is the kind of person who would find great amusement in petty bullshit like that for sure but then again you do have a tendency of assuming the worst in every situation. You decide to test this theory out by steeping to the side and make as much room as you could in the hallway and drop down to pretend fixing your shoelace. Instead of trying to walk past you he stops completely right behind you. You move as slow as you can without arising suspicion but he so kindly wait patiently behind you. When you're done "tying your shoelace" and stand up to continue your journey he follows close behind.

Oh hell no.

You can handle rudeness but this is some psychological warfare or foul play that you want no part of. No matter how handsome the guy is you will not stand for this kind of fuckery. You make a sudden halt and quickly turn around to kindly tell him to fuck off.

"Do you need something from me?" you ask with as much calm you can currently muster, irritation building up behind your customer service smile but he doesn't say anything and only look at you with the same dumb face as before. Almost like he's sizing you up before a fight. Possibly with even more disgust this time.

This Motherfucker.

When he still doesn't say anything for several seconds you just decide to be the bigger person and turn around to start walking again. Of course, with him still following you. It's better to just ignore him and he'll go away, you know where you're going. You finally reached Ikkaku's room and gather up the few items that belong to you when he finally speak up.

"You don't have a room assigned yet right?" You gave him a somewhat puzzled look. That's what he needed to know? That is why he followed you?? To ask you this???

"No? why?" You admit cautiously, almost preparing for him to start fighting you or using his power to "confiscate" one of your organs. For a brief second you could've sworn you saw a mischievous glint in his eyes you know that something bad is brewing. The cogs of evil are turning in his mind and you know that whatever comes out of his mouth next will undoubtedly mean bad news for you.

"I have an idea"

[letstrywritingmaybe]

Love, Learned

Summary: If there’s one thing Shiho does best in life, then it’s that she never settles. Ever. She knows her worth, but she might just make an exception this time. Being actively pursued by a handsome and rich detective who’s in need of a green card changes a few things. Think of it as a business deal, he gets his citizenship and she gets to make some money. Sue her for wanting to indulge in a luxurious life, she’s more than worked her fair share of labor to deserve it. Besides, who says money can’t buy love?

One

October is slowly drawing to an end, after Halloween, it will be time for Thanksgiving again. Then Christmas, the holidays are always the worst, especially living alone in America. She thinks she should be able to stay in San Francisco until the end of the year this time; her contract doesn’t end until after the new year. She hugs herself tighter as a cool breeze passes by, working the late shift means never seeing the sun, but she prefers it this way.

The twilight hours provide some moments of peace, she slows her speed as she passes the Golden Gate Park. It’s too foggy and dark to make out the iconic red bridge by the bay, but she still pauses for a moment to take in the scenery. This, she thinks, this is what she would miss the most when she inevitably leaves. She was about ready to start up her bike again, but the ringing of her phone stops her, she knows before answering it must be Ran. No one else in their right mind would call her at nearly four in the morning, but if it was closer to eight p.m on the other side of the world then that’s a different story.

“Shiho, hey, you just got home right? I think I calculated the time difference correctly this time!”

“You did, I just took a detour, so I’m not quite home yet.”

“Oh, I can wait till you’re home, it’s nothing important.”

“Actually, why don’t I switch to FaceTime? You can hear how loud the waves are right now!”

She turns on her camera for the video call and together the two of them listen to the sound of water being pulled back and forth under the light of the barely visible moon. Shiho feels calm and collected as she leans against the railing with nature in the background. A minute later Ran teases her about her odd pastime instead of going straight to bed after a long shift.

“I feel more rested coming here than I do sleeping anyways.”

“Still haven’t gotten rid of your insomnia I see.”

“I don’t think that’s ever going away. My poor sleeping habits aren’t the reason you called though, what’s going on?”

“I almost forgot! Since you said you can’t come home this year either, I thought we would go down and visit you instead. I’m not taking no for an answer. Sonoko booked everything already.”

“I don’t really have vacation time, I won’t be able to do much with you guys. Besides, you should be home for the holidays.”

“You should be too, but we’re actually going to be there for a couple weeks mid November. My Christmas is booked pretty much every year.”

“Ah yes, with your childhood sweetheart’s family. It’s a wonder your husband isn’t jealous.”

“You are just as bad as Sonoko, I swear. Shinichi and I are just good friends. Besides it would never work out, I knew this a long time ago. He’s married to his work, though speaking of him. He’s coming with us on this trip. Maybe you two can finally meet this time!”

The glee in her tone whenever she mentions the two of them meeting is present as always. It’s been years and Ran still hasn’t given up hope that her two best friends will magically fall in love once they meet. She’s read too many fairytales to convince her that they would be perfect if given the chance to know each other.

“Doubtful, you said it yourself, he’s a workaholic. There’s no way he would take time off for a vacation.”

“He really isn’t. Apparently he’s thinking of expanding the detective agency. His dad mentioned something about it and after another run in with some other detectives, they decided it would be a good thing to join forces I guess? I don’t really know the full details of it. I also wouldn’t ask if you actually want some peace while he’s visiting.”

“I don’t plan on seeing him much anyways. Besides, with his luck, there’ll be a case.”

She hangs up the phone after bidding Ran goodbye, though she stays lingering on the bridge for a few beats longer before retiring to her apartment. Time flows by, she’s always felt time passed far too quickly when she busies herself with work. It just seems to slip away, from when she was seven to eighteen and now she’s thirty two. She can’t even remember her twenties, time works in mysterious ways, though her occupation shares some blame as well. After a disastrous falling out with the first pharmaceutical company she worked at freshly out of college with a doctorate at barely twenty, she finds it difficult to trust any corporation. Who would’ve known The Black Organization was harboring deep dark secrets with a lunatic as their head, to be fair she should’ve known from the name, but this was where her parents worked before they passed. Since then, she’s made sure to do extra research before accepting any temporary positions for another firm. It’s tough being a traveling scientist, but it suits her, besides she really doesn’t have a true place to call home. She’s grateful for the found family in her life, but it does nothing to curb her waves of loneliness that would appear every so often. She has no one in her life, and no one to blame but herself. The holidays are always the hardest to deal with, seasonal depression is unfortunately a very real phenomenon.

It’s rare that she finds herself on the bridge especially after another long shift, she prefers to look at it from a distance, away from all of the tourists. At these late night hours, there isn’t another soul around. The fog has cleared considerably since last week when she spoke to Ran on the phone, looking down she can see the deep blue waters clearly. It looks inviting, but it’s a one way ticket that she has no intention of accepting. She merely changes her grip on the bars when she hears a voice telling her not to jump. At first she wrote it off as her hallucinations from being awake for far too long, but then she turns and sees the voice belong to a living breathing body. One that she should find familiar, but she can’t quite place why she would know the stranger.

“Don’t run from your fate.”

“Huh?”

“This isn’t the answer. Whatever it is you’re trying to escape, this isn’t the way out.”

“I think you’re misunderstanding the situation.”

“Your life is worth more than you know.”

“I’m not planning on jumping.”

“Sometimes it’s an impulsive decision.”

“Okay look, I get that this is a known location for people to commit suicide, but I’m too tired to have this conversation with you. I’m going home, save your spiel on someone you can actually help.”

Maybe the stranger was a figment of her imagination, but his shocked expression looks real as she walks off towards the direction she came away from him. She didn’t even bother glancing back to see if he was still there, she should have just headed straight home. It’s probably the excitement of knowing her best friends are coming into town tomorrow putting her in such a mood. Wait till they hear about her misadventure tonight, surely they’ll laugh with her about this random encounter.

Turns out Sonoko did find the situation a bit funny, but she was also concerned over Shiho’s wellbeing since she wasn’t sure if the event happened or not. Ran on the other hand kept a straight face the entire time. The three women were sitting at a cafe while the others were in charge of checking into the hotel and getting settled in. They only have a few hours with Shiho before she has to go in for her night shift. Apparently breakthroughs in manufacturing drugs are made between the hours of seven p.m and three a.m.

“Ran, I promise I’m fine. Now can you please stop looking at me like that?” Shiho felt as if she was in trouble from the puzzled look on her friend’s face.

“Sorry, this isn’t directed at you… I just think the story sounds familiar…” Ran remembers a very similar story from Shinichi right as she was getting off the plane.

What were the odds, there’s no way the two would’ve met and not recognize the other. Except, she can’t seem to recall the two of them ever having a face to face interaction. Ran has known Shiho for the last fifteen years and somehow the scientist has never met her detective best friend. Either she was too busy with lab work or he would be pulled towards a case. It’s entirely plausible that the two had their first encounter in the early morning while she was still on the plane. She decides to keep this information to herself, she can’t wait to see how they react once the whole group meets for dinner tomorrow. They’ve certainly already made an impression on each other.

Shiho was running late, she overslept. Usually on her days off she would sleep in, which she did, but now she’s going to be late. She really does need to work on her sleep schedule. Though to be fair, they were having an early supper due to her friends’ jet lag. Luckily dinner isn’t going to be at some fancy venue, she quickly throws on a t-shirt and her favorite leather jacket then she heads out the door. She manages to get a parking spot out front where she spots her friends outside the restaurant. Ran and Sonoko both wave enthusiastically at her, she doesn’t pay the others any mind. Until she takes off her helmet and her eyes meet his. Apparently the stranger wasn’t a figment of her imagination afterall. They’re immediately drawn towards each other and everyone takes notice.

“Shiho! This is Shinichi, he’s finally not off on a case and joining us for once.” Ran is absolutely sure the two met last night now, but she still plays along to see what they would do.

“How nice of you to grace us with your presence Detective.”

“You’re Shiho…”

“It’s Miyano to you.”

“Pretty sure we’re past last names after last night.”

“Last night? I didn’t think you two knew each other? Is this why you wanted to take an earlier flight, Shinichi?” Switching her questioning gaze from the detective to her brilliant best friend, “Shiho, you can do better.” Sonoko couldn’t resist butting in, thus making everyone laugh at his expense.

“That’s not…” he starts to defend himself then trails off muttering to himself though she’s close enough to hear him, “I’m a great catch for the record.”

“Don’t worry Sonoko, he was just the guy on the bridge trying to play a hero.”

“I thought you were going to jump!”

“What gave you that idea? I expected more from a world renowned detective.”

“You… never mind… we should order soon, the waiter keeps looking over.”

Said waiter has been looking over at their table for the past five minutes. It was almost creepy the way he stood unmoving just staring at them, and why wear sunglasses indoors especially when it’s already dark outside. He didn’t have them earlier when he filled their drink orders. Something was wrong, both Shiho and Shinici noticed it at the same time. They get up to approach the man as Ran tells them to be patient. Before they could reach him, one of his coworkers accidentally bumps into him, making him fall to the ground with a loud thud. He didn’t respond when asked if he was alright. His sunglasses were knocked off revealing his closed eyes.

“I don’t think he’s breathing.” Shiho takes note that his chest wasn’t moving.

Shinichi kneels down to check his pulse, there was none. He tells her to call the police, she was already on it. The waitress who bumped into the now deceased man starts screaming in hysterics as she thinks she must be the one responsible for his death. Shiho tries to keep her calm while Shinichi tries to keep the scene intact. By the time the police arrived, they already had the suspects narrowed down as well as the cause of death. The responding officers were thoroughly impressed by the two.

“Poisoned needle stuck on the back of his neck in between the second and third vertebrae. You can barely see the end of it sticking out the point of entry. There’s no prints, but that’s to be expected since all the waitstaff are required to wear gloves to serve the hot dishes.” Shiho was the one to point this out to Shinichi while he was interviewing the rest of the staff that was around them at the time of death.

“Only three people have been around him since he served our drinks. He was standing against this computer station for almost ten minutes before we decided to investigate. All three of those people got up close to him while we were talking.” Shinichi ponders about the motive briefly, but it’s hard to tell without interviewing the suspects first.

Together the two of them go on to interrogate the waitress who bumped into the body, the hostess, and the bartender. They were both so invested in the case, neither of them realized when their friends left in search of food. Ran tried to go tell them, but Sonoko said it was a lost cause, besides this would be an opportunity for them to get to know each other. It seems their friends already had plans for them.

By the time the investigation is over, nearly two hours have passed. The two worked seamlessly together despite it being the first time they’re in this type of situation. Shiho wonders why she even bothered to step in, she could have easily just left it up to Shinichi. This wasn’t even technically her field, though her knowledge of poisons did help move the case along.

“So, I think they left us.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I tried calling Ran, but all she did was text back saying they’re at the hotel. They’re still a bit jet lagged.”

“Oh, well I guess I can take you back to your hotel then we’ll call it a night.”

She’s not sure why she offered him a ride, she could’ve just said goodbye and gone back home. It was too late to take it back now, she’s going to have to find another helmet. Luckily there’s a store just a few spaces down.

“Actually… if you’re alright with it, we could still go get something to eat. I can hear Ran telling me not to skip dinner again.”

Shiho laughs at that, it was something she would say and something all too familiar to her as well. “She tells me the same thing too, hm… well it’s not too late yet, we could probably swing by the pier and get some chowder.”

The sun had already set by the time they sat down to eat, it was a bit quieter since tourists tend to visit during daylight. He didn’t try to make awkward small talk to get to know her better, she finds that refreshing, though given his reputation he must have lots of fans try to pry into his private life.

“Why did you order the bread bowl if you’re not going to eat it?”

“I did eat it.”

“You had maybe two bites, and now you’re feeding it to the birds. You’re a local, shouldn’t you know that’s bad for them?”

“I’ve only been here for the last six months, and I’m not planning on staying. That hardly makes me a local. Besides, this is their main source of food, they’ve adapted. Plus you can’t not get the bread bowl, that’s sacrilegious.”

“Right, your contract will be up soon… where do you plan on going next?”

“Definitely staying on the west coast; maybe Oregon, I’ve been to Seattle already, but I never made it past Washington.”

“Why not come back to Japan?”

“One day sure, but it’s not the right time yet.” She finishes sprinkling the last of her crumbs for the seagulls then stands, “Are you done? Let’s get you back, I’m surprised you’re not falling asleep yet.”

“I’ve been here for a few days already, the time difference doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“Work related I’m assuming.”

“Yeah, I’m actually thinking of moving here.”

“San Francisco?”

“Not necessarily, America in general. Any suggestions?”

“Depends on what you’re after, every city offers something different.”

“What brought you here then? What does this city have to offer you?”

“A job.”

He laughs at her honesty. She isn’t too picky about where she winds up so long as it isn’t by the Bible Belt. She would not be welcomed there, but other than that she went with the flow and chased the money. Sure she has presences for cooler weather and close proximity to coffee shops, but other than that she didn’t care. At thirty two she should have things figured out and build some sort of permanence in her life; at the very least a home. She’s still enjoying the pull of wanderlust, traveling to the next destination to explore each new city. She hasn’t found a place to call home yet, she’s not sure she’ll ever find somewhere she belongs, maybe one day.

Also available on ao3 <3

[100hearteyes]

First chapter of a fic I will likely never continue. Canon divergent. Unedited and riddled with typos. ~5k words.

Lexa straightens her posture as her horse halts just after the forest and at the first sign of civilization ahead. It huffs and hits the soil with one of its hoofs, expressing its disquiet. She shares the sentiment; Skaikru are very much an odd and unpredictable body in the grand scheme of things still.

The Sky clan had been at war with Trikru for over a decade since falling to earth, seeing as they had occupied Lexa's people's land,whrnh the Ice Nation offered them an alliance. Trikru yielded, aware that fighting both clans at once would be foolish. At the time, the Commander was from the Blue Cliff clan and no more than a religious figure, indifferent to the quells between clans. Lexa has changed that over the past few years — and is intent on continuing to do so.

"Heda." She turns her head only slightly to her right, just enough to be able to look at Gustus from the corner of her eye. "I do not have a good feeling about this."

"We both know that if it were up to you I would be locked up in the tower and never come out." She softens, regards her bodyguard fully. "You worry too much, Gustus. The Sky People will be a valuable asset for the Coalition."

"They think themselves superior just because they have guns and tech," he counters with distrust. "They are dishonourable in combat and gloat about it."

"The Coalition needs them," Lexa snaps, and that is the end of it. "And, hopefully, they need the Coalition, too."

Arkadia, capital of the Sky clan, is by all means an impressive sight, very different to anything Lexa has ever seen. Everything is metal and a heavy grey; from the wall protecting it to the pair of guard lookout towers, to the massive gates with the 'Arkadia' lettering on top. From her elevated position, Lexa can see a main building that rises slightly above the wall and takes up about a quarter of the whole area, and other smaller buildings sprinkled about the space left vacant by it. It is evident that while the Arkadians had no say on the positioning of the main building, they planned the city around it, since everything else is so geometrically placed, including the grey dirt roads that trace an intricate cobweb that winds through the empty spaces and gives the city an air of concrete orderliness. However, everything pales in comparison to the giant wheel propped just to the side of the main building, presumably what was once meant to surround the ship that Sky People lived in up in space before they fell to earth. It is clearly one of the few things that have resisted the decades unadulterated, even if it has been repurposed, as Lexa assumes from the sillhouettes of people climbing up and down its inner arms. It is a formidable sight, even for those more averse to the marvels of the world that Skaikru left back in space and have ever since tried to recreate on Earth. Nonetheless, Arkadia as a whole is an obtrusive presence in the midst of the greenery and unwavering power of nature. It makes Lexa almost squirm on her saddle, uncomfortable with such a demonstration of stubborn inadaptation — no village, town, or city should be so violently at odds with its surroundings.

They approach the city slowly and with only half the warriors she brought along, so as to indicate that they mean no harm — and make sure no one will frame it otherwise. Lexa's retinue is mostly made up of warriors, amongst them her personal guards, but she was also careful to include two of her most trusted diplomats; people who will negotiate in her stead when need be and will work to make sure that those on her side remain there. They are people who work the complicated web of politics and favor better even than her.

As they come closer to Arkadia, its inhabitants crowd close to the walls, looking at Lexa and her crew as though they are wild, fascinating animals. Such is the consequence of isolation. Lexa watches as a small group gathers just outside the walls and recognises Marcus Kane, chancellor of the Sky People, at the head of the greeting party.

Finally her group come to a stop just a few feet from the Arkadians and Markus of the Sky People steps up to greet Lexa with a genuine, welcoming smile. "Commander," he says in greeting and extends his hand. "It's such a great honor to have your visit."

She nods and grips his forearm. Marcus of the Sky People is a pleasant man, both in appearance and personality. His luscious hair and thick beard frame kind eyes and a jovial smile that make him extremely likable. Soft-spoken and invested in every conversation he takes part in regardless of its actual importance, Marcus of the Sky People is a dependable fatherly figure. He is also fierce and wise, however, and Lexa likes him even more for that.

"Chancellor Marcus Kane," she greets back, careful to use his full name, as Sky People do. "Thank you for receiving us on such short notice."

She lets go of his arm and lets her hand rest on the pommel of her sword. "We're just lucky you're here at all," he replies honestly, then turns to the rest of his group. "Please give your warmest welcome to the Commander, Lexa kom Trikru." She appreciates the effort to use her mother tongue — details like that can make the difference between a successful deal and a failed one, for it builds bridges where there are none. Marcus is a proficient builder of diplomatic bridges.

The first person to step forward is a woman in her forties like Marcus, though the lines of her face are more tired and severe. She looks like a woman who looks death in the face every day and when she extends her calloused hand for a greeting, Lexa realises that is exactly the case. "I'm Abby Griffin." Lexa clasps Abby's forearm and she spies a special brand of kindness in brown eyes that tells her that this woman is not only a caretaker, but also a mother. "I'm a council member and Chief Doctor of Arkadia and Skaikru in general."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lexa says as Abby takes a step back and a new member of the greeting party comes forward. "Raven, I assume," Lexa nods, clued in by the girl's oil-splattered cheek. "Your fame precedes you, tech master."

The girl beams, dark eyes shining brightly, and salutes. Her ponytail swings with the movement. "At your service, Commander. I hope your visit proves fruitful."

"That makes two of us, Raven of the Sky People."

"I'm Bellamy Blake." Lexa turns to the man that has stepped forward and clasps his outstretched hand instead of his forearm. She can tell that this is a man who likes things done his way; insecure enough to need to underline his status. "I'm in charge of all things military and security."

"A general, then," Lexa recognises. "Are you Octavia Blake's fabled brother?" She is careful to use her Sky People surname and not her Trikru suffix lest he become even less friendly.

His nose crinkles and his freckles dance angrily beneath dark eyes and unruly, short curls of hair. "Haven't seen her in almost a year since she got it in her head that she wants to be a barbarian."

Lexa lets the comment slide. "She is a fine warrior. My people are very lucky to have her."

He grunts and gives way to the next council member, a middle-aged woman with a gentle smile but a fear of the unknown in the way she clasps Lexa's forearm. "Hannah Green. Farming, hunting, and other resources," the woman greets. "Council member, too."

Lexa nods her acknowledgement and watches as Hannah kom Skaikru steps backward. Her replacements are two tall, robust men, their dark skin, eyes, and mannerisms nearly identical, though the younger one is more genuine while the older one has an air of arrogance about him.

"I'm Wells Jaha and this is my father, Thelonious," the young man says pleasantly, and Lexa likes him right away. She clasps Wells's forearm, then Thelonious's, and even their grips are different. How can two men look so alike and yet behave so differently?

Just from the introductions, Lexa is slightly worried. Bellamy, Abby, Hannah, and Thelonious will vote against entering the Coalition; a number that exceeds that of Marcus, Raven, and Wells. The chancellor has the deciding vote, but it will be for naught if the numbers do not even out.

The final person steps forward at last. A girl around Lexa's age, with blonde hair and determined blue eyes. "My name is Clarke," the girl greets, her voice husky and only moderately welcoming. Lexa studies the girl, looks for twitches and tells, but cannot read her at all. It is worrying; the last thing she needs at this point is a wildcard. She can tell, however, that her own first impression is lacking. "I'm in charge of urban and regional planning, and foreign affairs." Lexa extends her arm for greeting, but Clarke leaves her hanging. A golden, sceptical eyebrow is quirked and Clarke's eyes are narrowed, and it is all Lexa can do not to growl at such insolence. "Let me decide first if you're worth shaking hands with."

Lexa takes a deep breath and tells herself that punishing Clarke kom Skaikru's impertinence is not worth wasting the chance to draw the Sky People into her Coalition. So she purses her lips and clasps her hands behind her back, letting her posture straighten and her chin rise with defiant authority. Her eyes burn into Clarke's. "Very well." She turns to Marcus, who seems to have blanched considerably. "Please lead me to my quarters, Marcus of the Sky People. The day has been long and we have much to discuss tomorrow. I would like to rest."

~~~~

Arkadia isn't home. But it also is, because she has never known another place. Nevertheless, she has never felt at home inside its dull grays, angry lights, and obstinate refusal to fully mesh with its surroundings.

Clarke isn't one to fantasise about what could be; she locks her dreams inside drawings of another life and lives what is instead. There is no space, no time to wonder on the ground.

Still she can't help musing about a world where she would be able to travel between clans freely and adopt another as her own. She can't help musing about a world where they wouldn't have to fend off attacks from the other clans, even if the Ice Nation has helped them through the more difficult times. That is exactly why she finds the idea of a coalition so appealing — it's eating away at her, however, to entertain the idea of it being led by a tyrant like Commander Lexa.

She's heard all the stories and she knows which ones are true. She knows of the Commander's thirst for glory and power. She knows of her ruthlessness and disregard for human life. She knows of the Commander's penchant for spilling blood and autocratic style. She knows and she saw it all in the Commander's conceited bearing, in the cold press of full lips, in the raised chin of a despot; she saw it in the way the Commander's eyes flashed with anger, the only display of emotion during an otherwise frigid interaction.

Yet the cry for change reverberates through the halls of Arkadia, which thrums with the need to be more. And Clarke... Clarke wants the best for her people. Always. So if she deems joining the Coalition the right step to take, she will vote for it no matter how tough a pillow it will be to swallow.

Another tough pill to swallow? Kane's reproach for the way she talked to the Commander.

"It was unacceptable, Clarke. You embarrassed the Commander and risked being beheaded on the spot." It means something when Zen Kane gives you such a talking-to. "You shamed us all."

"Stop right there, Marcus." Oh, yes. Your mother defending you does make the situation a hundred times better. It's not at all ignored for being biased. "I think you're being unfair. Yes, Clarke should've minced her words, but she didn't same us."

Kane's eye roll is exactly the reaction Clarke's expected. "Look, Abby. I know you're her mother—"

Abby's affronted look is even more predictable. "This has nothing to do with—"

"Enough!" Kane and Abby as well as the rest of the council look at her. Clarke looks at each of the six other faces sitting around the semicircle-shaped table and then at Kane, who stands alone at the straight side of it. She sighs. "I made a mistake. I put us in a difficult position. I'm sorry."

Kane nods his approval. The small, dark room lends him a more solemn, even poetic appearance, and the way he cups his bearded chin while he thinks makes him look like a philosopher. "Thank you for acknowledging your mistake, Clarke," he says kindly as he lays a companionable hand on her shoulder. "There will have to be consequences, however."

She expected nothing less. Despite the little show she put on before the Commander, Clarke knows her place. "I understand, Chancellor," she nods, and feels more insecure the moment his fatherly hand leaves her shoulder. Her dad died years ago and no one will ever replace him, but the way Kane behaves towards her reminds her a little bit of what it was like to have a father. She's grateful for it; she misses the comfort of her dad's hugs and the pride in his smile.

The moments before he finally doles out her punishment remind her why she doesn't like this room — it's cold and dark and has an ominous feeling to it that makes her feel trapped. Like everything discussed in her is always too serious. It often is. She much prefers the strategy meeting room with its rectangular, waist-high table that causes them to stay standing and its glass-like boards with maps and notes written into them with colorful pens. It's also larger — so much larger. It's better illuminated, too.

Finally Kane stops thinking and meets her eyes. "You will be the Commander's shadow. An ambassador. You will show Arkadia and whatever else necessary to her and you will be her guide around here. You will make sure she has everything she needs and you will handle everything relating to her presence here."

Clarke can't help but scoff. "You mean I'll be her damn babysitter," she challenges.

"Yes," Kane acquiesces, not giving in an inch. "That's exactly what you will be."

"You can't be serious," she presses, because this is too heavy a punishment for her offence.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then scratches at the side of his beard. "Look at it this way: you will be able to get to know her and her culture better and it might help shape your vote. I know you're the only one of us who hasn't made up her mind yet," he notes with a meaningful look. And yes, he's right. Actually, her vote is pretty damn important because with the way things are it will decide the Sky People's fate altogether. "It might help you decide that being a part of the Coalition is nothing but trouble for us, or it might actually change your mind and show you that the Commander's intentions are not so bad after all. Whatever the outcome, it will have been a good experience."

Clarke knows he's right, but she can't imagine spending two weeks with the Commander and not confirming that she is indeed a bloodthirsty savage. Alas, she owes it to her people to at least try.

"Fine."

~~~~

Lexa is not unused to the bustle of early morning, the sounds of the city rousing to life outside, the doors that open and close and the voices that speak in hushed tones so as not to wake those sleeping. They often wake her anyway. What she is unused to are the boots that clank on metal, that fans that whir along the halls, and the flickering, buzzing light provided not by candles but by a hollow opening in the ceiling.

She left Anya outside of Arkadia to set up camp with the rest of her retinue. Gustus came with her, along with a handful of warriors and diplomats. Despite reason, she does not think they will be at risk inside the walls of the ally of their enemy. Besides, having Gustus by her side — or in this case, in the next room — is like having an army of twenty. Lexa trusts him with her life and that of those she loves most. There was only one time when she trusted him and he could not keep someone she loved safe. It wasn't his fault, despite the tears of guilt and regret that ran down his face when he came back, battered and bloody and without Lexa's lover. It took weeks for his wounds to heal enough for him to leave his bed. Months later, he would finally admit that it had not been ten warriors he had had to fight off, but thirty. Lexa never blamed him, never even imagined blaming him for what happened. There are only two people she has ever blamed for it — one of them is herself.

Lexa gets ready for the day in motions automated by the years. She resents Skaikru for not having proper bathtubs; she doesn't dare touch what the server girl from last night called a shower, so she foregoes washing altogether. There is a river nearby she can bathe in anyway. Once her pauldron is resting on her shoulder, its weight and looping red sash a permanent reminder of her station, Lexa leaves her bedroom, only to register with disapproval that the Sky Council did not assign anyone to guard her door. Instead she finds Gustus waiting for her, no doubt already having sent whoever he assigned to her door away. "Heda," he greets with a bow. "How was your night?"

"As would be expected," she replies, keeping her face neutral as she notices Marcus's approach. He sends her a warm smile.

"Commander." They clasp forearms with comfortable formality. "I hope you had a good night's sleep."

"The mattress was stiff. But I have spent much worse nights in foreign clans." It is both criticism and a compliment, and she knows it leaves Marcus slightly disconcerted albeit resolute to make sure her next night is better. It keeps him on his toes without outright insulting his hospitality.

"We'll look into the matter." A pause, then another smile. "In the meantime, I'm sure you would like to eat, Commander?" He waits for Lexa to nod before leading her and Gustus through numerous halls, walking by doors left and right. Lexa peers curiously as they pass by a by room lined with tables and people eating. "That's the mess hall, where almost everyone eats, but I'm sure you'd like to have a more... discreet meal, if you will. I've arranged for breakfast in my office."

"I wouldn't mind eating with your people, Marcus," she says truly as they come to a stop at a door, two staircases later. He fishes a key from his pocket and inserts it in the hole.

"Of course, Commander. But just for today, for your very first meal here, I thought you would appreciate something not as overwhelming."

"I do," she nods.

He opens the door for her and she stops into a room with a wooden desk and a mismatched chair next to the far wall. A battered couch sits against one of the walls to one side and on the other are several maps and eerily realistic paintings nailed to it. A lamp hanging from the ceiling provides light to the entire office and an open door near the couch leads them to a more open, free space. Marcus motions for Lexa to enter it and she is pleased to find a small, semicircular room with large, tall windows on the round wall that oversee Arkadia from two stories above. There is a round table in the middle with three chairs around it and several dishes waiting for Lexa's hungry stomach. Looking out the windows again, she wonders if this is a room they had up in space before the Sky People fell to the ground and if they could see the stars and the Earth from there.

"Did you live there? In space?"

Kane is now standing next to her and looking out the windows with his arms being his back, a pose that very much mirrors her own. It takes him almost a minute to reply; when he does, it is not without a sigh she cannot decipher. It sounds like nostalgia laced with relief.

"The Ark fell down about thirty years ago. I was just a kid then, twenty years old and sure that I would become someone important one day. Which I did," he acquiesces with a rueful smile, "but not for the reasons I wanted it then. The ground shaped me. I've spent more years on the ground than I did in space already. I have... changed a lot since then. I was eager, too ambitious, and too overzealous in following the rules. The ground taught me that rules need to be interpreted. I'm still eager," he chuckles, and Lexa almost lets a small smile escape her lips, "but what drives me now is love for my people. I want what's best for them, not for myself. And that," he turns his torso to her with a raised eyebrow and a kind smile, "is why I want the Sky clan to be a part of the Coalition."

"What do I have to do to make sure our common goal is achieved?" Lexa asks with caution as he turns back to the windows. She needs to tread carefully.

"Convince Clarke," Marcus says easily. It is as she thought. "Everyone else has their mind set. I have the deciding vote, but right now we are at a disadvantage. We need her yes to tie with the no's and activate the deciding quality of my vote. Otherwise, it's just a vote. Anyway." He turns to her again and extends an arm towards the table. "Shall we eat? Food's getting cold."

Lexa eats mostly in silence while Marcus tells her stories of the Ark, the stars, and their planet seen from space. She keeps her expression neutral, but is secretly fascinated and hangs on to his every word. She barely notices when she has finished eating and Marcus leads her out of the room. She is shocked out of her awe when he opens the door to his office to reveal none other than Clarke kom Skaikru.

"Commander, I'm sure you remember Clarke Griffin," Marcus says pleasantly. Lexa's eyes do not leave their new company's.

"Yes, our first meeting was... quite memorable."

Clarke has the decency to lower her gaze to the floor in a clear sign of shame. When her eyes return to Lexa's, she sees honesty in them.

"I wanted to apologize for that, Commander. I was unnecessarily rude," Clarke admits, and Lexa has to fight off a triumphant smirk. Instead, she dips her head in wordless assent. An uncomfortable silence spans for several long seconds, before Marcus clears his throat.

"So. Clarke will be your guide here, Commander. She will be at your disposal for anything you need and will help you acclimate to Arkadia. I genuinely hope that all your future interactions will be better than the first." He finishes with a warning glare at Clarke, who once again ducks her head in embarrassment. His attention shifts back to Lexa. "Commander," he nods. She nods back wordlessly and then he's off to somewhere else, leaving her alone with Clarke.

Lexa is not a fan of employing clichés, but the silence is deafening. Neither she nor Clarke know what to say or do now that Marcus is not there to act as a buffer. Eventually, Clarke clears her throat, thus ending their torture.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in Arkadia, Commander. Today, I would like to show you what each sector does around here."

~~~~

First, Clarke takes her to see the farms. Lexa is impressed with the technology they employ, some of it simple enough that the other clans can replicate. They lack the knowledge earned through years of experience, however, and Lexa can visualize how the other clans can help the Sky People complement their scientific expertise with conventional wisdom. The same would be true for hunting if her people were keen on using fire guns. Instead, it is a foregone conclusion that the Sky People have much to learn before they can hunt in an effective way that will truly allow them to live fairly comfortably through the harsher seasons.

During the day, Lexa realises that Clarke is bright and ingenious, though judgemental and opinionated. Lexa can see that the Sky Council member is making an effort, however, so she does not make her job too hard. Clarke talks her through her clan's decision-making process, some general laws and traditions, the way religion evolved on the Ark, and how the ground contributed to diminish the gap between classes.

"We all need to work to survive," Clarke explains. "Some people will always be lazy, some will work more than others, but opportunities are never amiss. If you work hard enough, life will be merciful. Or as merciful as it can be on the ground," she adds as an afterthought. Lexa takes the chance to point out that life can be easier for the Sky People if they ally with her. Clarke counters with a smirking 'maybe' and moves on.

Lexa feels a quiet sense of wonder, muted also byba slight prickle of fear and discomfort, when she first enters the medical aisle. Everything is white and pristine, and there are machines as big as Lexa that both sit the patients down in comfortable seats and lloom over them with big, mechanical arms. There are beds everywhere, an organised chaos of machines, healers, and patients. Lexa feels miserably out of place, but she can't help but marvel at how advanced the Sky People seem to be in terms of medicine. This her people can learn from.

"Raven has managed to build more equipment and make our medical aisle as effective as it can be." Clarke's husky voice provides pleasant commentary on all the technological wonders around them. "A lot of the doctors are still in training, but soon we'll have a hospital ready to answer everyone's needs."

Lexa turns to Clarke, dips her chin in a slight nod. "Our methods are more traditional. We answer many needs, but often find ourselves lacking the means to further our expertise. Our healers could learn a lot from yours," she says. Clarke turns to her with a pensive crease between her eyebrows. "And maybe they could teach your healers how to draw from nature to cure many ailments."

"That's... not such a bad idea," Clarke concedes, and a smile ghosts over pink lips, making the beauty mark above them tip upwards. "But we would have to think things through very thoroughly. That is, if we joined the Coalition."

"Of course."

Their day draws to an end when the sun has already hidden behind the walls of Arkadia and the sky is the same purple that colours its flags. Clarke explains to her that each of their cities is represented by a colour and together they form a rainbow. "I may have had a hand in that," Clarke confides, although the meaning of her sly smirk is lost on Lexa.

Clarke takes her to the door of her quarters and it is not until Lexa is about to nod her goodbye that the Sky leader clears her throat and extends her arm. Lexa's eyes take in the proffered arm, then find Clarke's gaze with a raised eyebrow. Clarke purses her lips and takes a deep breath.

"Look, I am— genuinely sorry for... for what happened yesterday. My behaviour was unacceptable."

Lexa is tempted to punish Clarke a bit further, but decides to offer an olive branch instead. She clasps Clarke's forearm and feels soft fingers wrap around her own. "You are unwaveringly protective of your people, Clarke. I can appreciate that."

Clarke's small, grateful smile is worth the concession.

~~~~

The next morning, Lexa leaves her quarters to find Marcus and Clarke waiting for her. Once all pleasantries are exchanged, the Chancellor invites her, with an eager tilt to his voice, to have the first meal in the mess hall.

Lexa accepts the invitation with polite words and Marcus takes the front of their little group of four, Gustus included. Lexa and Clarke walk side by side just a few steps behind.

"I hope you are liking your stay here, Commander," Clarke says after several seconds of silence.

Lexa gathers her thoughts before she answers carefully: "It is in many ways an experience unlike what I am used to. The sounds are different, the clothes too. There is no shortage of metal."

Clarke hums in agreement. "Technology has its pros and cons. Against it is the fact that you find yourself turning your back on your surroundings." Lexa's eyes must hold a question in them, for Clarke answers it immediately: "When everything you need is inside a wall, you end up exploring the world outside less and less."

"Maybe I can help your people find their balance."

Clarke shrugs noncommittally, but Lexa spies indecision in her eyes. It is not until some seconds later that Clarke decides to voice her thoughts.

"The problem with alliances is that they only last for so long. Eventually one clan's needs trumps the alliance's and everyone falls back into their old, warring ways."

Lexa understands Clarke's doubt; it has plagued her sleepless one too many nights. However, it is not just a matter of conviction. Lexa knows that if she manages to find a balance between codependency and independency, she can keep the Coalition alive for many ages. She wants her legacy to be enjoyed by many commanders after her.

"Clarke, I am trying to build something that will last for many generations. An alliance that will stand the test of time, a brand of peace that will outlive all of us," she says, unable to keep a thread of passion from her voice. "Something much stronger than the Pauna's fist and far greater than a hero's glory. War breeds legends, peace feeds civilisations."

Clarke's smile is teasing, but Lexa recognises it for the deflection that it is. "Nice speech, Commander."

She shrugs and lets her eyes glint with mirth. "I am not above making rousing speeches to sway your vote, Clarke."

~~~~

(there was more but it was incomplete so I figured this would be the best place to cut)

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter eleven: the end of the world

The next morning was a cold, gray, and soggy one, but Sam had no intention on returning to Louie's apartment for another round that day: she had already packed her things in the back seat and she nestled down in the front seat with her arms folded across her chest and the lapels of her jacket pulled up to her ears. She had no hood or something to cover her head but she wished for one. She didn't want to be seen. Louie himself meanwhile, locked the door behind him and he headed down the steps. She looked on at him as he rounded the front end of the car and opened the door. She sighed through her nose as he climbed into the front seat.

“You okay?” he asked her in a low voice, and she nodded her head.

“Look—I was thinking about this last night before I fell asleep, too,” he started, “neither of us mean to inflame or kick up any old wounds with anyone. We're just—fooling around, messing around, you know?”

She gazed out the window right as he said that. She had nothing to say to that.

“If either of us made you uncomfortable—and I can tell we did—we didn't mean to. I didn't mean to, and I know Alex didn't mean to, either. And for that, I want to personally apologize to you for it.”

Sam never moved from her spot in the seat next to him. She couldn't hardly stop thinking about any of what went down the night before, such that it almost brought a tear to her eye.

“Also—I, uh—” he stammered and then he cleared his throat, “—hate to tell you this, but I'm kinda out of money.”

She turned her attention over to him and frowned.

“What do you mean you're out of money?” she demanded.

“I'm out of money,” he repeated, “well, for now anyway. Remember what I said yesterday, I had enough for breakfast and a cab?”

“Oh, right, right.” She hesitated. “So what's this mean?”

“Well, I have a full tank of fuel to start with,” he stated, to which she frowned and scoffed at that.

“Louie, we're not driving back to Elsinore from here—it's too far.” She was scorn.

“But the train already left, though,” he pointed out. “It's kind of overkill to fly on down to Elsinore, too.”

She sighed through her nose again.

“Don't really feel like driving through the valley, either,” he added.

“Yeah, it's boring as hell,” she said in a soft voice.

“Boring as hell and still hot as fuck, too,” he said, “at least here we have a bit of leeway with the San Francisco fog. Seven hours of nothin'.” He paused for a second. “We could take the coast.”

“That's longer, though,” she pointed out.

“Nicer, though,” he insisted.

“True. It's way nicer, actually.”

“Bet you've missed the Pacific Coast, too,” he said.

“I have—it's one of the many things I haven't been able to do like at all. Especially when I was growing up out here.”

“Really?” Louie was genuinely taken aback by that.

“Yeah.”

“Well, let's—” He set his hand on the ignition key and turned it. “Let's.”

Sam strapped herself in and Louie shook his head of hair about a bit.

“One thing I really wanted to do with Zelda,” he started again as he pulled on the parking lever, “when we were together was go on a road trip with her somewhere. I always considered driving from Providence down to some place like D.C., or go all the way down to like West Virginia. The two of us on a trip together and just hanging out together.”

“What kept you from doing it?” she asked him.

“Touring and making albums—and dealing with record company horse shit in her case—and in my case it was living a double life. There was no way I could do it, not with my other life in full swing.”

They pulled ahead and began up the block, around the cemetery and towards the block on the other side.

“So—I haven't really taken the Pacific Coast Highway much from my place so just kind of—like—bear with me here,” he sputtered.

“It's okay, it's okay.”

Louie glanced over at her at one point as they rolled up to a stoplight.

“You know—and I'm being perfectly honest with you here, Sam—I'm a little intimidated by you,” he confessed.

“You?” she asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he replied with a shake of his head, “but there's just something about you that completely intimidates me. Like it's hard for me to maintain composure when I'm near you.”

“There's no reason to be, though,” she promised him.

“But I feel it anyways, though. It could be because you made a bold move in moving across the country and back again, but I can't really say for sure.”

“Funny you say that 'cause you did that,” she pointed out.

“True. But see, you weren't living a double life like I was.”

“I mean, I kinda am now,” she assured him.

“How so?”

“Joey doesn't know about Bill. He also doesn't know that I'm hanging out with you guys, either. For the record, Bill doesn't know that I'm hanging out with you guys, either. It's like a triangle of sorts with me come to think of it.”

“A delta,” said Louie.

“A delta?”

“Yeah. You know the Greek letter delta?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah!”

“Apparently in the realm of science, it's symbolic of change. Like change in temperature or heat.”

“How do you know that?”

“I dunno if she's shown you this but Morgan—you know, Morgan from the Cherry Suicides—has this old chemistry textbook back at her place. She found it in the garbage believe it or not.”

“Something wrong about that,” Sam declared.

“Oh, yeah. Unless it's actually trash, books do not belong in the trash. But yeah, she found it and I just happened to prop it open one day, and I read a tidbit in a chapter about equations at one point.”

“Huh. Bill has a bunch of old books at his place—mostly old literature, but it's worth a peek, though. I keep meaning to crack them open but I'm not sure where to begin.”

The light turned green and Louie lunged ahead on the street. The clouds hung even lower over them as he merged lanes and they headed for the 880 Freeway. To the right of them was the stretch of gray waters that made up the very Bay itself.

“If you ever come back up here this way,” he started again, “you know you're in a car on the P.C.H., you've got to cross the Golden Gate Bridge at some point. There's just—something majestic about it, even if you've lived here your whole life like the five of us. Well, four of us, anyway, unless Chuck was telling a fib about where he was born. This will take us right by Santa Clara and down to the interchange in San Jose, which'll in turn take us all the way down the coastline to the City of Angels.”

Sam nodded her head and she peered out the windshield to the gray overhead. To think that the assumption with the California coast was all bright sunshine and infinite beaches: it made her laugh the more in which she thought about it.

“What's even the deal with him, anyway?” Louie asked her out of the blue.

“Who, Bill?” She looked over at him with her eyebrows knitted together and he took a glimpse over at her.

“Yeah.”

“Well,” she began, “I mean, you were sitting right there when I called Chuck and told him what was going on.”

“Pff, how could I forget? But what I'm asking is—is there like a time limit with him? Like you signed a marriage contract plus a prenup but surely someone over at the school has to figure that out at some point because it's totally illegal. Setting you up like that and forcing you into something that you had no desire to get into and then threatening a whole bunch of bullshit with you like locking you in your room and forbidding you from going out and visiting people.”

“Well, when I first came out here and I spoke to Marla over the phone—you know, she's been trying to get a job and she finally did with Belinda up in Albany. But she went to the school and she told them that he was still on the payroll. He got fired, Louie, but there was some weird glitch of some sort so he still got paid and he got paid a lot of money, too. So he was able to afford that large house and care for his daughters, such that he enlisted them in a private school.”

“So he loses his paycheck, he's fucked, basically,” he followed along.

“Yeah. Unless he got something to help him out when we weren't looking, he's probably got to pull the girls out of school and sell the house.”

“And what happens to you if and when that happens?” he asked her.

“I—” She froze. Louie glanced over at her with his eyebrows raised. “I—don't know. Oh, wait!” She snapped her fingers.

“What's that?”

“My mom's moving down to the Southland soon. Where exactly is another question, though. She might be going out to Catalina or she might be going to San Pedro, I dunno.”

“Or you can go back to Joey,” he pointed out. “You know, make things easier on your mom. It's another cross country, for sure, but I feel it'd be more beneficial to take that risk again and go with him rather than put extra pressure on your mom like that. But that's my opinion, though. You do whatever you want.”

“There should be a way to null it, too,” she added.

“Yeah, being in a car with another dude,” he joked, and that brought a laugh out of her.

Within time, signs for the interchange came into their view and Louie took the next exit which looped around and met up with the Pacific Coast Highway. Right as they matched up with the pavement, the clouds over them swirled about like the old feathers or the wisps of paint mixed into the wash for a watercolor project. She looked out to the low hills off to the right, all of them different shades of green and yellow. All of them still that rich green despite the late summer. All of them still rich dark green despite the yellow dead grass everywhere. The clouds overhead beckoned rain but at the same time waned away from the coast line.

Such a strange position to be in as was the state of California, but that pocket there, the hills that followed her and Louie all along the highway on that lengthy seven hour drive, reminded her of that special place.

The quiet place. The spot that she and Charlie had found together and the place where she and Joey visited during their final days together.

“This is almost like the precious part of California,” she noted aloud.

“Nah, the eastern Sierra is the precious part of California in my opinion,” he said. “There's something lonely and ancient about the eastern Sierra Nevadas.”

“This whole area here reminds me of a place that Charlie and I found together when they were making the Stormtroopers of Death album,” she followed up.

“Really?”

“It was like this little nook in the trees down the street from the studio,” she explained as she returned her attention to him. “We called it 'the quiet place' because you go in there and it's like completely untouched in comparison to everything else. You walk down the street and you have to duck underneath the trees as you're going in there.”

“Sounds like something you keep a secret,” he remarked.

“I told Joey about it, though,” she told him. “I imagine upstate being covered in places like that.”

“Places you go to that no one else knows about,” he followed along. “This part of California and the eastern Sierra is like that, too. Lots of nooks and crannies and what have you. Like there's a place outside of Salinas—I'll have to show it to you when we get there. It's closer to Monterey Bay, though, which means we'll have to leave this highway, though.”

“It's okay—it'll get us over to the ocean.”

“The ocean makes everything better,” he remarked.

The highway took them down past Morgan Hill and then Gilroy: at one point the road turned towards Monterey Bay; off in the distance loomed those cold dark gray waters that seemed to stretch on forever. The view enlarged as they came closer and closer to the next turn off and the 156: Louie told her it would take them to Highway 1, which would in turn take them to the place he had in mind. At that point, the clouds increased and everything grew dark despite it being almost ten o'clock in the morning.

“While we're over here, you don't mind spending a little money for breakfast, do you?” he asked her at one point.

“Not at all. I was just gonna ask you if you're hungry at all.”

He showed her a grin in response, and then he pointed out the windshield to the next sign up ahead: the town of Castroville as well as the turn off to Highway 1.

“So anyway, this place—it's over by the Salinas River, which eventually heads out to the ocean,” he explained. “When I first met Zelda, and I was waffling on if I wanted to go with her or stay with my concurrent girlfriend and our baby, I always came here. It always helped me clear my head to drive down here when the baby fell asleep and Zelda was back in Rhode Island. I remember staying down here for a full afternoon once. Like I didn't get back home until well after the sun went down. Needless to say, I almost got in trouble for that.”

She laughed at that, and he gave his long smooth hair a little toss back from his face and the side of his neck.

“And the highway will take us all the way down the coastline, too. Take us down to Big Sur and all around the coast, all the way down to San Simeon and Cambria, and then Morro Bay, and then that'll take us over to San Luis Obispo and that's where we meet up with 101 again.”

“And that'll take us all the way back to L.A., too.”

He nodded his head at that, and then Sam cleared her throat.

“I don't think I get Alex,” she confessed.

“A lot of people don't,” he assured her with a straight face.

“It's funny, he said the exact same thing to me,” she recalled. “Word for word.”

“Well, because it's true! A lot of people don't get Alex. That kid is a bundle of contradictions, many of which are not for the faint of heart. I've only known him for a few years but can confirm that, though. And what's mind blowing to me is he's completely aware of it, too. I remember the first time I got into an in-depth conversation with him a few years ago when Testament first formed and we were still Legacy. Sam, I never had such a worse headache.”

“Well, like. For example, when we were in Germany and he and I spent a whole day together—”

“And he missed the train?” he finished for her. “Chuck told me.”

“Yeah, he missed the train and he got upset with me when I tried to grab his attention and get him to come onboard. Then the fireball happened and he realized the error of his ways and we patched it up. And then, you know last night, he opened up the wound over Cliff with me.”

“The fireball happened and what exactly did he do there?”

“I put my arms around him and held him close to me,” she explained. “Wept like a baby right into my chest.”

“He probably liked to feel your chest,” he pointed out.

“What makes you think that?”

“Sam—he's nineteen, soon to be twenty. When I was nineteen, that was all I ever thought about were touching and feeling boobs and clits. We're horny bastards at that age, and I would imagine that he is especially, too. Alex is bit of a nerd—it's the whole thing about how girls don't really talk to nerds.”

“But he's a guitar player, though. I would imagine the girls getting all hot and bothered to guitar players.”

“Not Alex and not our crowds, no. He's like the thinking man's guitarist. I'm sure you've seen him before a television.”

“Oh, yeah, he's all over news reports whenever they come on. Well, I was with you guys in Boston and he and Greg were right before the TV in the room there.”

“Oh, yeah, that's right! But still—at the end of the day, even with his large brain and social scientist parents, he's still a guy. And he probably wanted to feel something soft and warm and comfy.” Louie glimpsed over at her. “You said he was scared, right?”

“Yeah. It was right when that big fireball went up. He just—came over to me and burst into tears at the sight of it. I held him so close to me and I let him weep into my chest.”

“Well—if you see him next time, really pay attention to his behavior towards you,” he advised her. “If he's actually sincere with you, then it's probably because he's confused and his inexperience is showing. If not, like if he gets close to you again, then don't bother with him for a second longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I'm saying is he either wants you for you or he's using you,” he explained. “I wish I could tell you more about it, but I'm not Alex, though. I can only tell you what I know from being in between two women for a couple of years.” He shook his hair again and then raked his fingers through one side: outside, the signs for Castroville emerged from the scraggly shrubs on either side of the road.

“I imagine him being soft and sweet, though,” he confessed in a low voice, such that it took her aback to hear that.

“Is—there something about him that you see with him?” she sputtered out as she took a glimpse over at him with a bewildered look on her face. Louie bowed his head and cleared his throat.

“Let me ask you a question,” he said as he leaned his head closer to her.

“Okay.”

“Does it bother you at all—” She could tell that he chose his words with care. “—when a guy finds another guy attractive and it's obvious he's not gay at all?”

She opened her mouth to say something to that, but no sound came out.

“Take as much time as you need to answer that, too,” he assured her, “—I asked Zelda this once and she really had to think about it.”

She thought of all the times that she made art while in class, and she thought of the time that she drew Marla in her journal. It wasn't until she really got to know Marla as well as Belinda when she began to see them as a couple of beautiful women. Indeed, as she thought about their willingness to help her out even while she had posted up out on the West Coast, the more she wondered if the whole thing extended further than their smooth New Yorker skin. Further than Marla's colorful hair and further than Belinda's soft doll like features. There was something more to Alex, much like there was something more to Louie in the seat there next to her, and there had to be something more to herself as well. More to them all, and the fact that she and Louie both had a quiet place, a place where they went that fell on blind eyes, was enough to give her a clue.

The hidden spots and everything in between. It was only the beginning.

And thus it only made sense to her to realize that it resided with everyone, including Alex himself.

“No,” she replied after a long while. “No, it doesn't bother me at all.”

“Okay,” Louie proclaimed as they rolled into Castroville. “Sometimes I look at Alex and I think, 'god, he's a really beautiful boy. I imagine being the perfect cuddler, like he must be adept to snuggling and feeling soft underneath a bunch of blankets.' Not necessarily sexy, although he does have a nice chest and thighs.”

“Nice arms, too,” she said in a soft voice.

“Yeah, he's got those really lanky strong guitar player arms.”

“Hey, you've got nice arms, too, Lewis,” she declared.

“Drummer arms.” He shook his right elbow about: his muscles were tight and sinewy.

“Reminds me of Joey's arms,” she said.

“Oh, yeah, that's right! He's a drummer, too.”

“Drummer and a hockey player.”

Louie took the first exit off into that small town and Sam volunteered to buy the both of them cups of coffee and a couple of scones for themselves: she took a chocolate one where he took a peach one for himself.

Within time, they climbed back into the car and Louie guided her over to the spot in question, right down by the Salinas River and where it widened out before it reached the ocean in small narrow fashion. It was there that the shades of yellow that followed them out of the Bay Area returned to that rich dark green that reminded her of New York. The space in the forest outside of the studio where she and Charlie ventured to together, and then she and Joey visited under a blanket of pure white snow.

“We all have a quiet place,” she declared.

“We really do,” Louie said as he sipped on his coffee.

“We all have a house and a home, even if it isn't physical,” she said.

“Yeah, we all have an attic. We all have secrets. We all have things that we show to everyone.”

“We all have things that we've buried—skeletons in the closet,” she muttered.

“And we all have a quiet place,” he added with a raise of his eyebrows.

He took the next right turn, one that brought them down the Salinas River and away from civilization. All the while, the ponderosa pines stretched high up into the sky around them, all up into those low dark swirling clouds that enveloped them in a blanket of coziness. Soon, the pavement gave way to gravel and broken pieces of pavement itself; and every so often, Sam spotted a series of shrubs all over the places, shrubs with little light pink and pearly white flowers.

“The rhododendrons are still in bloom I see,” Louie remarked.

“I don't think I've actually seen those before,” she confessed; the whole scenery made her think of the hole in the wall back in Ithaca. “They only grow here on the coast and in northern Nevada, we have all manner of pines and trees but nothing like this, though. Nothing as delicate and fluffy as those, though.”

“You guys get oleanders down in the Southland. I've seen those a number of times, they're quite lovely.”

“Oh, yeah. Only drawback with oleanders is they grow like weeds down there. Which is absolutely amazing to me because they're very poisonous.”

“At least it's not strychnine,” he told her. “Strychnine or—better yet deadly nightshade.” And Joey entered her mind right as that final word left his lips. “I don't even know if strychnine grows out here,” he continued.

“Yeah, I don't know, either...” Her voice trailed off at that. She thought about Joey and what he was doing right at that moment. They were still touring over in Europe and they were about to drop their brand new album in the meantime as well. If nothing else when she got back to Lake Elsinore, she had to pick up a copy of that.

She would have to search about for that familiar lettering: she knew it when she saw it.

“There should be a garden somewhere,” he continued, “one full of poison plants.”

“The most dangerous garden in the world,” she declared.

“We should literally call it that.”

“'We'?”

“'They', I should say,” he corrected himself; before them, the little road led to that wide part of the river. Big lush ponderosas as well as oak trees with large wide green leaves the size of dinner plates and tall narrow trees with high canopies surrounded them.

“I was just gonna say—do you really wanna go there, Louie?”

“Unless you wanna.” He tugged on the parking lever and switched off the car. “I ain't gonna do it unless you want to do it.”

“We gotta be careful, though,” she pointed out.

“Oh, absolutely. That's something that's just not for the faint of heart. The quintessential declaration of 'you can look but don't touch'. Might wanna throw in a 'for the love of god' in there, too. 'You can look but for the love of god, do not touch.'”

“'Welcome to Shelley and Clemente's poison garden,'” she declared with a gesture of her hand, “the most dangerous garden on Earth. We've got everything from strychnine to belladonna to oleanders to—whatever else we can find. Have it all together under one umbrella. You and me—we could retire off the profits.”

“You think people would actually pay money to see that?” he asked her, stunned.

“Yeah. People pay money to see the weirdest shit, Louie.”

“Case in point!” He gestured to himself.

“You guys aren't weird,” she assured him.

“Yes, we are. We're as weird as weird can possibly be.” He sipped on his coffee a bit more and then he unbuckled his seat belt. “Anyways, this is where I come to clear my head. I call this place 'the end of the world' 'cause it's far removed away from anything. It's only ten miles back to Castroville but—still.”

They both climbed out of there in unison; Sam peered up to the gray sky overhead and she took in the smell of the salt as it filtered in through the trees before them. The Salinas River flowed right next to the small stretch of gravel and partially collapsed pavement.

“This is like the perfect place for a poison garden,” she told him as he led her to the soft dark river bank.

“Oh, yeah, this lush soil here. Look up the plants and see what kind of environment they thrive in.”

“I do know oleanders like heat,” she told him, “it's why they're everywhere in the L.A. area and in the south, too.”

“Have a special greenhouse for those guys,” he continued as he held his cup of coffee close to his chest. “Kinda clean up the pavement behind us a bit so—Skolnick can drive around on it on his—golf—cart.”

“Shelley and Clemente's poison garden—featuring Alex Skolnick's golf cart.” She laughed at that and he laughed with her.

“Can you imagine Alex on a golf cart?” he asked her, and then he held out his arms, “'oh! Oh god! Oh god here we go!'” And he lowered his voice to where he almost matched Alex's tone.

“Four wheelin' on a golf cart,” she laughed some more.

“Hey, Alex! Take it easy, little man!” Louie lowered his voice to a near whisper. “There's stuff in here that'll kill you faster than you can say your middle name!” He shook his head and chuckled some more, and then he took another sip of his coffee.

“So what's the quiet place like?” he asked her as they neared the river's edge.

“In upstate?”

“Yeah.”

“It's about like this, without the river, of course. There was another spot that Joey and I went to when Stormtroopers were in Ithaca a few summers ago—right by the water's edge at the one lake—one of the Finger Lakes that's there. It kind of reminds me of that, like I'm getting the same feeling as that.”

They stopped at the water's edge and Sam leaned out a little bit for a view beyond the trees. The stretch of rich black and gray that was the Pacific Ocean, a mere stone's throw up ahead of them. Even though Louie had a different opinion, Sam couldn't help but feel that there was something prehistoric about this part of the river; something precious and untouched.

“Sometimes, when it's a bit sunnier out,” he started again, “I'll kneel down to the waters here and search around for insects and rocks and stuff. There's a lot of bizarre life here that's endemic only to this part of the river and as far as I know, the whole state.”

“Kind of like a 'keep it forever' sort of thing,” she noted.

“Exactly, right. Keep this whole place hidden away from the world so as to protect it from everything and everyone. Eastern Sierra is the same way. Exact same way.” He sipped on his coffee once again.

“C'mon, I think it's gonna rain—I feel it.”

They returned to the car and sure enough, as Louie fired it up again and they made a turn back at the dead end and proceeded back up the pavement, the first large drops of rain pattered on the roof and the windshield. It would be some time before they reached the Highway 1 once again, but once they did, Sam wondered as to how far they could go without seeing another sliver of civilization between Monterey Bay and the next spot on the coast.

To the left of them stood the high sea cliffs in all their withered and eroded glory, strong and high over their heads, much stronger and higher than the buildings back in New York City or Los Angeles or even San Francisco itself. To the right stood the ocean: the gray and black waters that went on forever into the horizon. Empty and cold, and cradled by the clouds over them. Everything gray and black.

Every so often, Sam peered down to the waves down below as they crashed on the rocks. She looked to the left once again: every so often in the cliffs, a minute ponderosa jutted out from the cracks as if it gasped for the fresh oceanic air. The coast line seemed to stretch on for infinity before them. She glanced over at Louie and the serene expression on his face.

He was her drummer in that moment.

She turned her attention back out to the ocean beyond them as they went around a corner. Maybe it was the lack of anything discernible on the cliffs or the fact that the ocean appearead so endless beyond them, but something about all of this made her squirm in her seat.

Louie's occasional peers down to the gages behind the steering wheel didn't help, either.

An eternity in such a small pocket of the coastline. They really were at the end of the world.

A sign emerged on the side of the road but she had no idea what it read.

“We probably should've stopped for gas in Castroville,” he told her at one point.

“Why, are we low?” she asked him as her heart skipped a beat.

“Sorta. I hope. I don't really know the economy on this thing—I don't really pay attention to that sort of thing.”

They rounded another corner and Louie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel: that time they had a full view of the ocean. The grand view of the waves as they welcomed her to the end of the world, and they were about to run out of gas as far as she knew right then.

Another sign emerged from behind the guard rail and that time she saw that they were ten miles from the central part of the coast.

“Mother fucker!” he spat under his breath.

“It's okay—we're almost to San Simeon,” she told him.

“Yeah, I know—I'm still kicking myself, though. We'll probably gonna coast there the rate we're going at right at the moment.”

“Seriously?” she demanded, shocked.

“Yeah!”

She closed her eyes and she thought of Joey over in Europe. The only thing that seemed worse than losing Cliff to a bus accident that was far beyond her control was her being stranded on the Central California coast and not being able to tell anyone. But then again, they were close to the next piece of civilization.

“As long as we don't drive into the ocean, I think we'll be fine,” she told him.

“We don't drive into a—poison garden,” he muttered as they went around yet another bend in the road: the cliffs soon began to lower away to the sight of more ponderosas and scraggly shrubs.

“There's no poison gardens here,” she assured him.

“You sure? 'Cause like—there's a bend here—and another here—it's like this.”

They rounded a corner as it wound around the coastline: the road dipped inward into a gentle curve and they doubled back to the next crevice in the landscape.

“Sit—” He pointed to the left. “—down—” He pointed to the right. “—sit—down—sit—down—poison garden.” He pointed straight ahead at that last part and she chuckled at that.

Sure enough, the car sputtered a bit right outside of San Simeon: Hearst Castle rose up off in the distance but they had no time to visit right at that moment.

“Told ya we'd have to coast,” he told her as he guided the car to the gas station right there at the edge of town. The engine sputtered again and died right as they coasted into the first spot near the driveway. He let out a low whistle and leaned back in his seat.

“That was close,” she remarked.

“Yeah, I'll say,” he breathed, and then he turned his attention to her. “A twenty'll get us to the heart of Lost Angles and it'll get me up the Grapevine and into the Central Valley.”

“You're not gonna hang out there with me?”

“I can't,” he told her. “We're supposed to make a new album ourselves.”

“Oh, yeah, that's right!” She handed him a twenty dollar bill, followed by another which would ensure him a ride back home to the Bay Area.

Once they were filled up, they returned to the road.

“I don't know if Hearst Castle is even open,” Louie confessed.

“I don't, either. It's getting kind of late in the day, too.”

“Yeah, exactly!”

Some more coastline and they found their way down into Solvang and then San Luis Obispo where they were met with the Pacific Coast Highway yet again, and they moved away from the end of the world. So much that she wanted to show to Joey. And so much that she wished Cliff could see again, especially that one stretch of the highway where everything felt so finite and endless at the same time.

They wound their way through the low foothills and yet another unknown pocket of California, until they skirted the outside of Santa Barbara followed by Carpinteria.

The waves down below thrashed even more as they wound along the cliffs towards Ventura. At that point, the sky began to darken with the setting sun on the other side of the blanket of clouds overhead.

“Part of me wants to go down to the beaches here,” Louie confessed to her. “Like—take a walk on one of the beaches here. Yet another thing I wanted to do with Zelda when we were together.”

“We don't have towels, though,” she pointed out.

“And it's cold, too!”

“Right!”

The highway led them into Camarillo and then the heart of Los Angeles, where it ended and became the 210. At that point, night was about to fall over them, and the feeling of dread washed over Sam herself. She knew that Bill would be furious by the mere sight of her walking through that front door without any sort of explanation.

Louie drove them down to Corona and then the hills which cradled Lake Elsinore away from the rest of the region. The clouds had finally dissipated and gave way to a violet and orange sky overhead. Such a great length of time to be in that car with him and a part of her wished they had more time.

More time together. More time to relish over the idea of the poison garden.

But that time was all they had right then and there, much like that stretch of highway that overlooked the ocean.

She guided him to the house by the lake and within time, she recognized the neighborhood in question.

He pulled up to the curb and she sighed through her nose at the realization. Her head spun a bit from having driven such a great distance but at least they could come to a stop on a steady piece of ground. She looked on at the house, with its windows dark and the shades pulled despite the fact that it wasn't that late in the evening.

“Do you need any help?” he offered her, to which she shook her head. Instead, she sighed through her nose again and she climbed out to fetch her things out of the back seat. She decided to give her mother a ring later that night when Bill and the girls had gone to bed, that is if they already did. She hoisted her overnight bag over her shoulder and she held her purse close to her body as she reached the driver's side window. He rolled it down so she could speak to him one last time.

“Louie?”

He leaned closer to the window with his eyebrows raised.

“Thank you,” she said to him in a soft voice, and he showed her a sweet smile.

“It's my pleasure,” he told her with a wink. “Poison garden.”

“Poison garden,” she echoed him with a smile on her face.

“Also—”

She stopped and he gestured for her to come on closer to him.

“Don't worry, I'll—I'll talk to him,” he vowed to her.

“Who?”

“You know. The little man.”

“Oh, him!” She stopped right in her tracks. “What for?”

“Just to see if he's alright. One thing I've noticed about him when he fucks up something—he's real hard on himself. So if it's kinda messed between the two of you, I'll check in on him. I'll check in on him anyways.”

“Good plan,” she told him. “You be safe going back up, alright?”

“You be safe, too. Poison garden!”

Sam stepped away from the car and she turned back to the house, still in one place. Louie drove away right then and he disappeared around the corner. Another seven hours and he'd be back up there. She returned to the front door of the house and she opened it with ease. Silence.

She knew that he wouldn't do it. Sam shook her head and she bowed upstairs to her room.

[impishnature]

OK, loves! Ask and ye shall receive - or I guess say ‘yes please tell us more about these things’ and watch me ramble my little heart out.

I’m not sure if I need to put any warnings? I mean it is archaeology so bones/human skeletal remains will be discussed. Plus heights and a few other things. I’ll leave it at that for now but understand if I should put other things - stay safe, loves.

Archaeology rambles under the cut because I thought it might be long otherwise. <3

Also none of the images are mine - just a google search to show off the area

OK first of all, I need to talk about the cliffs. The Downs have a few well known places - the white cliffs of Dover, the Seven Sisters and the one I’ll be talking about: Beachy Head.

Now Beachy Head is the tallest chalk cliff along the coast line. And I’ve had much fun showing this image to friends before:

Amazing photo. 10/10. magical floating island according to @sightkeeper​

This is what you’re more likely to see though, unless you go when the sea mists are really high - which probably isn’t recommendable considering the 162m drop.

So I’ve said the cliff is well known - and it is. But not for anything that we’d like to speak about really. All I’m going to say on the matter is that its infamy is akin to the golden gate bridge or the forest around Mt Fuji and I wouldn’t suggest googling the place unless you are ready to see some rather unfortunate articles on the subject.

So, if I’m not going to say any more on that matter why bring it up at all? It actually comes into some of the archaeology we’ve found here in a rather weird way.

In the 90s an excavation was done around a local college. During this an anglo-saxon graveyard was uncovered (or well, when I did my dissertation it could have technically been three layers on top of one another but I guess that’s not important and only my theory so~). Unfortunately for whatever reason it wasn’t until 15 years later that it was decided their stories should be told and we got the chance to really research it.

That would be where I come into the story - a little 2nd year archaeology/forensics student looking for work experience during the summer and still trying to figure out what to write her dissertation on.

So we start cataloguing everything, checking our information and thoughts now based on those from 15 years ago to try and see what we could find out about these people - our ancestors in a way. But in amongst the assemblage was a rather... worrisome box.

This box had joined the museum at some point but all that was written on it was something along the lines of ‘Beachy Head’ and ‘1950s’. I looked up newspapers, records- anything from the 1950s that might help us figure out exactly how this box had come into our possession but there was nothing other than what was already written on the box.

Just: Beachy Head 1956 (or 1959, it wasn’t even clearly written)

And the worrisome thing about that was that we had no idea if the skeletal remains inside had been found at the /top/ of Beachy Head- or at the bottom. And this led to speculation: were these remains even archaeological at all? 

It didn’t help that upon looking in the box, the teeth on the individual seemed to have little wear, yet the bones were from an adult - and that can always lead to speculation as to whether the remains are modern or not.

So, due to this intrigue and us all wanting to know more, these remains were one of the ones picked for carbon-14 dating and isotope analysis (there were over 300 skeletons so we could only do a sample). And what we found out was super interesting! 

She was actually one of the oldest remains in the collection, from the Roman period (200-245AD) and was of Sub-Saharan African descent. There’s been facial reconstruction done and all sorts now and she’s officially known as the ‘Beachy Head Lady’.

She became the focal point for the exhibition after that, though it all came together under the ‘Eastbourne Ancestors’. 

You can look her up really easily if you want to know more. But there’s just something great about having been there when nothing was known at all about her to - well, this. Having a face, an idea of when she lived. I can’t describe it! 

OK, ramble over. But that’s just one cliff, one story. There’s so much we can find if we just look for it and strive for it. I just wish it hadn’t taken so long, I still don’t understand why the research stopping in those 15 years. But I guess if it hadn’t I wouldn’t have been able to be a part of it... weird that things happen like that.

[minuteminx]

Revolutionary

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

Chapter Two: When Freedom Calls

Chapter Summary:   The Museum of Freedom feels like the end of the line until another one of Mama Murphy's visions comes true.

[First Chapter]

[Previous Chapter]

[AO3 Link]

“The first lesson a revolutionary must learn is that he is a doomed man.”

- Huey P. Newton

Concord, October 2287

A loud barrage of knocks thundered against the uncomfortably flimsy wooden door, the millionth barrage of knocks in the past two days. Preston was actually impressed that the barricade continued to hold out as long as it had considering the number of raiders who’d thrown themselves against the door, attempting to ram it open. A few of them stomped away with—most likely— dislocated shoulders and the more forceful negotiation tactics simmered down into hilarious attempts to persuade him and the four remaining Quincy settlers out of their makeshift museum bunker.

The Museum of Freedom turned out to be a pretty decent spot to hole up, with its remotely controlled security gates and maze-like remnants of hallways. It had managed to keep the raiders busy for most of the night as they attempted to navigate their way in the dark, spending ammo on mannequins conveniently dressed in colonial attire. Under different circumstances, Preston might have found it funny, but he could hardly bring himself to even be relieved, let alone amused. After nearly a month of traveling, and losing far too many people under his care, it was all he could do to not surrender.

“Come on,” whined one raider with a deep, gravely voice, “We just want to talk to the old broad. Let us in!”

“Not by the hair on our chinny chin chins,” Sturges mumbled absently and under his breath as he fiddled with a locked terminal he’d been trying to hack. Unsuccessfully, so far.

“ Are you fucking kidding me? Jokes?” Marcy scolded. “There are raiders outside trying to kill us.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we built our house out of sticks this time,” Preston remarked dryly, walking over to the door that led out to the balcony and cracking it open to take a peek. More raiders littered the streets, hiding behind stacks of crates and rusted old cars and shooting at the museum’s exterior. A laser musket glowed in one of their hands and he closed the door. His last comrade had been shot just as the last of the settlers entered into the museum and now the damned raiders were using the man’s weapon, a gut-wrenching disgrace.

When he turned back around, he found Marcy glowering at him, arms crossed. She wasn’t crying, but he could tell she wanted to, and he could hardly blame her. Despite all their efforts, Kyle hadn’t made it. His leg wound had become infected, and his parents had to bury him in a shallow grave just on the outskirts of Jamaica Plain. Nothing about the situation fair, but the loss of a child in the middle of it all—he couldn’t imagine— but it wasn’t his fault that they were currently without sanctuary.  He’d done the best he could to protect everyone, and while he prided himself on patience, Marcy was wearing him thin.  He shook his head and turned back to Sturges.

“Goddammit,” shouted the mechanic at the terminal screen that suddenly went blank.

“No luck,” Preston asked, watching green text reappear in a crawl across the screen.

“It locked me out again.” Sturges sighed. “I don’t know if I can crack it.”

Preston clapped him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at it all night.”

“Thanks, boss,” he answered and collapsed back into a chair by the desk, rubbing at his eyes.

Preston would’ve rubbed his own eyes, too, if he thought it would help, but his exhaustion was more than even a decent night’s sleep and hot meal could fix.

More pounding rang out against the door, this time accompanied by a threat of violence if those inside did not open up. It was not exactly a convincing offer, considering that the raiders would be violent whether he opened the door or not. He pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to ignore both the obnoxious men at the door and Marcy’s audible complaints about his “pathetic attempts at playing a hero.” It startled him when a gentle pressure fell on his arm and he jumped, opening his eyes to see the old woman smiling up at him.

“Hey Mama,” he said, still blinking, “Everything okay?”

“We’re going to get out of this,” she remarked emphatically at the wall just behind his head. Her eyes never focused when she was like that. “I saw it. We’re going to find our Sanctuary.”

“Where’d you even find chems in a place like this?”

“Hush, Preston. Just listen,” she said, holding a crooked finger to her mouth. “I saw… an angel in golden ones and a sea of bright, bright blue. Right place, wrong time, to save us!  To save you.”

Those last words were the twist of a knife already lodged deep in his chest, one he’d been pretending wasn’t there, one he’d assumed no one else could see. How had Mama heard his constant, nagging wonder if death would be better than continuing his exhausting, hopeless battle to survive. Had he worn his hopelessness on his back the entire time, or did the old woman really have psychic powers? Skeptical as he was, he couldn’t count her vision out. He didn’t really want to. If some “angel” wanted to conveniently fall from the sky and save their asses, he might actually get religious.

“Well,” he said, “Let’s hope our help shows up soon. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold these raiders off.”

The old woman’s mouth twisted into a wry grin and she squeezed his arm. “Thank you for helping us, kid. The others can’t see what I’ve seen yet, but they will.”

Preston watched as Mama shuffled back to her seat on the couch and eased down, leaving her words to ring in his head. He wanted to believe in her visions, to have something to put his faith in, but he’d already lost so much. The Commonwealth had robbed him of his family, his role models, his friends, and now his last shred of hope. Even if they managed to escape the museum and make it to safety, what then? He was the last of the Minutemen, and he couldn’t do it all on his own.  He wouldn’t.

Gunshots outside interrupted his thoughts, followed by the low growl and furious bark of a dog. Dogmeat. He had forgotten that he sent the hound out to find help, hoping that the raiders wouldn’t notice a stray mutt wandering around Concord, and they hadn’t, at least not when he’d gone out just an hour or so before. That they shot at him now must mean he had someone with him. Preston glanced over at Mama who smirked, then to the rest of the settlers who wore stunned expressions. Heart pounding, he rushed back to the balcony door, swung it open and stepped outside to investigate.

Some commotion it was, the small cluster of raiders he’d seen before all with their backs toward the museum, and instead aiming their weapons at Dogmeat, who stood protectively in front of a crouching figure dressed in a bright blue vault suit. He could tell little else about this person, other than the coppery red hair that peeked out behind Dogmeat’s fur and that they were armed with nothing but a security baton.  He tried not to get ahead of himself and believe that this was the same person Mama had seen in her vision, but his pulse jumped anyway. Personal savior or not, this mysterious stranger was a goner if he didn’t do something and fast.

His hands tightened around his musket as he lifted it, aimed, and turned the crank. If there were ever a time when he wished he had an automatic weapon, this was it. He shot the raiders closest to the figure first, each with a slow, precise blast to deadly areas. Head, chest, ribs, each shot filling his nose with the scent of burning ozone, each coming with a flashbulb memory of Quincy, of Lexington. He kept his breath steady and scanned the area. Once he was reasonably confident it was clear enough for the woman— he could see she was a woman now— to make it inside, he called out to her.

“Ma’am!” Dogmeat barked in response but the woman looked around from side to side, clearly disoriented and unable to tell where his voice came from, so he shouted again and waved. “Up here.”

Dogmeat nudged at the woman’s thigh and barked in Preston’s direction until her gaze lifted up to the balcony. He could see the frightened suspicion in her eyes, the doubt that he was anymore trustworthy than those who had their guns pointed at her. Lowering his weapon and raising his hand, he continued. “Listen, I know you’re scared, and you’ve got no reason to trust me, but more of those guys are coming and you need to get inside.”

The woman looked around her, then to the dog who nudged her again and wagged his tail. Worry churned in his stomach as he noticed more raiders approaching from the outskirts of town. Agitated and desperate, he yelled again. “Come on! I’m trying to help you out. Grab a weapon off of one of those raiders and hurry.” He didn’t like being forceful, or barking orders at anyone, especially not a frightened and confused woman who probably hadn’t factored fighting raiders into her schedule for the day; however, he had no choice. She was going to get herself killed if she stood there any longer.

To his relief, his demand seemed to snap her out of whatever shock she was in and back to reality where she looked up at him and nodded frantically before grabbing a pistol and some ammo off one of the bodies near her feet, and headed inside. He knew he should have warned her about the raiders that were in the museum, but he wasn’t thinking clearly, and it would be easier for her to take out a couple of the goons at a time in the narrow hallways than to survive being surrounded outside. He returned to the room where the others waited expectantly for him to give them a recap.

“It’s a woman,” he explained, “Looks like she’s from a vault.”

“Oh thank God,” Marcy spat, “Exactly what we needed! An out-of-touch Vault Dweller who doesn’t know shit about surviving out here.”

Preston clenched his fists, biting his tongue so hard he thought it might bleed. Losing his temper with Marcy wouldn’t do anyone any good, no matter how much he wanted to just explode. Jun sunk down against a desk on the far side of the room, hands in his hair, rocking back and forth, and Sturges hung his head. The only person who seemed to be pleased with the latest turn of events was Mama Murphy, who winked at Preston and leaned back comfortably against the couch cushions.

The wait was excruciating, each uproar and explosion of gunfire tightening the knots in his abdomen.  If he were honest with himself, Marcy was right. The odds of some lady from a vault, of all places, surviving the hostile maze of raiders with nothing but a pistol and a dog were slim. The odds that she might be able to get them safely out of the museum were non-existent. If she made it up to the third floor, it would be pure luck. If she managed to rescue him and the settlers, well, he might have to reconsider his opinion about miracles. Still, the gunshots crept closer and closer, slowly but surely, as he paced around the room. He stopped when the men who’d been terrorizing them just outside the room stirred.

“Well, well, what do we got here,” asked one of the men, “Are you lost, little g—”

Whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by a gunshot, and the thud of his body collapsing to the floor rang out past the door. Alarmed, the other guy who’d been outside shouted, “You killed ‘im! You bitch.”

Another shot rang out, followed by a gargled yelp, and then nothing. There was silence for what felt like an eternity, broken only by the sound of Dogmeat pawing at the door. Preston hurried and moved the barricade of desks and chairs out of the way, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.

His breath caught at the sight of the young woman standing in the doorway. She looked to be close to his age, with short-cropped, red hair that was in disarray and caked with splattered blood at various stages of drying, along with the rest of her. She was wet with sweat, and stood tall despite the exhaustion in her dark brown eyes. Her gaze locked with his and she scowled.

“I am not a bitch,” she grumbled, placing a hand on her hip.

Preston flinched, not expecting those to be the first words out of her.  Cautiously, and with a grin tugging at a corner of his mouth, he ventured a reply. “I, uh, didn’t say you were, ma’am.”

“No, but I just wanted it on the record because those…” she trailed off looking back out into the hallway as if the word she was searching for would be there.

“Raiders?”

“Yeah. Those assholes.” She shook her head and turned to face him again. “They kept calling me a bitch, and that’s just… hurtful.”

“Well,” Preston began, not exactly sure how to bridge the conversation from name-calling to the need to get the hell out of the museum, “I don’t know who you are, but your timing’s impeccable. I’m Preston Garvey. Commonwealth Minutemen.”

A confused expression crossed the woman’s face, and when he offered her his hand, she glanced between his eyes and his hand tentatively, before shaking it.  At the touch, she trembled, and when he moved to pull his hand away her grip tightened, eyes filling with tears.

“Whoa. Hey,” he said gently, keeping a hold of her hand as he led her over to the chair where Sturges still sat, and motioned for him to get up. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, releasing his hand as she sat down and took a few deep breaths. Then, she smiled up at him. “It’s a long story.”

“I’d love to hear it.” Preston knelt down so that he wasn’t looming over her and offered her the most reassuring smile he could. “But first, we have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

She nodded. “Right.”

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Charlotte. Charlotte Smart,” she answered and then cleared her throat and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, “But, um, I go by Charlie. You can call me Charlie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Charlie, and thanks for the help with those raiders.”

“I’m not actually sure how I… I mean I’ve never.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard enough that Preston could hear.

“What did I tell you? She’s useless.” Marcy laughed derisively in the background, and he snapped his head to glare at her. She rolled her eyes and sat down beside Jun.

“That’s Marcy,” he explained as he turned back to Charlie, “She’s lost a lot and she’s just angry. That guy by the desk is her husband, Jun. Old Mama Murphy’s over there on the couch, and this is Sturges.”

“Yo.” Sturges looked up from the terminal where he was hard at work again, and waved, before looking back at the terminal which had gone blank. “Damn it all.”

“What’s he trying to do,” Charlie asked, eyebrow quirked.

“He’s trying to hack that terminal to open a security gate downstairs. See, we’ve found a crashed vertibird and a suit of old pre-war power armor on the roof but—”

“It’s out of juice,'' Sturges interrupted, much to Preston’s relief. Technology had never been his strong suit, “But, there’s a fusion core downstairs behind that gate. If we could just get the damn thing open, we could use the power armor to rip the minigun off that ‘bird, and the raiders are toast.”

To Preston’s surprise, Charlie rose out over her seat slowly, and he stood with her, stepping out of her way as she walked over to the terminal. “Can I try?”

“It’s all yours, miss,” Sturges replied, scooting over and leaning against the desk, and Charlie went to work, long fingers clicking rapidly on the keyboard. A gold band glistened on her left hand, and Preston wondered why she was alone.

“Let’s see,” she mumbled to herself, “I’m not sure if these are the same as the ones my husband used to work on back before— well, just a while back. He taught me a little about how to break into a locked system because I had a bad habit of forgetting my own passwords.”

A smile flashed across her face, but it wasn’t happy. There was something beneath it, something she seemed to be trying to muscle her way through, as she continued working until finally she blurted, “Ha! There we go. I’m in.”

Sturges jumped up from his lean and turned to peer over Charlie’s shoulder, amazement washing over his face. “Well, I’ll be damned. When we get out of here, you’ve got to teach me how you did that.”

“I can try.” She stepped away from the terminal and collected her pistol from the desk, reloading and cocking it, then she turned to Preston. “I’ll get that fusion… thing… and head to the roof.”

Caught off guard by her complete shift in confidence from the shaking woman who’d been sitting in the chair just moments before, refusing to let go of his hand, he stammered out, “I… but… okay. Thanks.”

She ran out of the room, Dogmeat trailing behind her, and Preston had to focus much harder than usual to keep his mouth from hanging open. Just as she was out of earshot, Sturges cackled beside him. “That little lady is something else.”

“No shit,” Preston agreed, shaking his head, and then looking around the room to everyone else, stopping at Mama Murphy, whose eyes glittered knowingly, “She might get us out of this after all.”

After just a few minutes of waiting, Charlie burst back through the door, fusion core in her free hand, waving it in the air as she rushed past the settlers to the door that led up to the roof. There was some loud clanking, the whirring sound of power armor starting up and then a clatter as she seemingly tore the minigun from the vertibird. Preston stepped outside on the balcony, and peered over and up at her on the roof. She waved cheerfully, before jumping down into the street and absolutely laying waste to the raiders that flooded toward her. It was messy fighting, and she clearly wasn’t so much aiming as she was, closing her eyes, spinning, and holding down the trigger, but it was effective. He only had to take care of a handful of enemies who managed to climb up to the tops of buildings.

When Charlie finished clearing up the area, she turned around and waved up to Preston. He laughed and waved back in disbelief, at least for a second until a cold rush of dread fell over him as he noticed the beast surging toward her, claws out, drool leaking past it’s gigantic, sharp teeth.  He didn’t have time to say more than, “Charlie. Behind you,” before the deathclaw picked her up, power armor and all, as easily as if she were a rag doll. He watched in horror, gripping at the railing, too far away to get a good shot at the thing.

She struggled with the minigun, pulling the trigger a few times, only for it to shoot a couple of rounds and fizzle out of ammo. She yelped, and tossed the gun at the deathclaw’s nose, which stunned it just enough for her to reach into one of the leather pockets on her belt and pull out what looked to be a frag grenade. Preston panicked. If she threw it at such a close range, she’d be caught up in the blast too. He opened his mouth to shout at her not to do it, but she’d already ripped out the pin with her teeth. Then she leaned back, and tossed the explosive just as the deathclaw opened its mouth. Startled and choking, it threw her to the ground, the armor the only thing protecting her from several broken bones.

Ten long seconds passed as the giant lizard wheezed and clawed at it’s own throat, long enough for Charlie to rise to her feet, exit the damaged suit, and run for cover behind a nearby barricade the raiders had built. Then there was a sickening explosion, a muffled boom followed by the splattering of deathclaw limbs and flesh all over the street and nearby buildings. Flecks of blood even reached as far as to splatter on Preston’s duster and he frowned— He’d just found the damn thing, and it was already going to have stains on it.  Looking up and out at the gory mess, he sighed and muttered to himself. “ I guess that’s one way to do it.”

By the time he made it back inside, everyone had left the upper floors and congregated downstairs, waiting for their hero to return. Mama wobbled on her feet, and Preston hurried over beside her so that she could grab onto him for stability. “Take it easy, Mama,” he urged, patting her hand she’d looped through his arm, “You okay?”

She squeezed his arm and hissed playfully. “I’m fine, Preston. Quit fussin’.’”

“Someone has to fuss over you,” he teased, guiding her to a cushioned chair that sat against a wall and helping her sit down, “Might as well be me.”

“Sugar, I’m about fifty years too old for you to be doing all that flirting.”

“It’s not—”

The old woman chuckled and patted his cheek. “I’m just yankin’ your chain.”

Preston let out an embarrassed laugh, and rose just in time to see the doors to the museum creak open, a thin band of light peeking through, and Charlie’s silhouetted figure walking in way too gingerly for someone who’d just gone toe-to-toe with a giant irradiated lizard and won. When she closed the door behind her, the shadows cast over her vanished, revealing her harrowed face. To see her fight, one would have thought her fearless and indestructible, but it must have been terrifying.

“Well,” she exclaimed as she walked toward the area where the group had congregated, “That sucked.”

Preston hurried forward without thinking, compelled to greet her, to thank her, to apologize. “That…” he trailed off not knowing what to start with, “That was impressive. I’m glad you’re on our side.”

“I’m glad I have someone’s side to be on,” she stated kind of ominously. He couldn’t figure out what she meant. “You’re the first people who haven’t tried to kill me since… I got here.”

“New to these parts then?”

“You could say that.” She laughed, scratching the back of her head and looking down at the floor.

“ Well, it’s good you got here when you did. I think I mentioned that I’m with the Minutemen earlier?”

“You did. I’ve no idea what that means anymore, but…” She shrugged.

“It means we protect the people... at a minute’s notice, and—” He dug into one of his pockets and pulled out a pouch of caps, all he had left, and extended it to Charlie— “We pay our debts.”

Charlie reached out with both hands, placing one atop his and the other beneath the pouch, squeezed and then lowered his arm, smiling and glancing briefly toward the others in the room before bringing her eyes back to Preston. “You don’t have to pay me,” she said.

Alarmed, Preston pulled his arm away from her grasp and returned the caps to his pocket, eyeing her suspiciously. “Why did you help then?”

“Because I could.” She smirked and put a hand on her hip in what was turning out to be a characteristic movement for her. “Or at least I thought I could. The dinosaur was a surprise.”

He laughed, truly laughed for the first time since before Quincy. “Yeah, it’s not everyday a deathclaw strolls into town.”

“Deathclaws? That’s what you call those? Huh.”

“Man, you really aren’t from around here are you?”

“No,” she stated more seriously, glancing back down again and twisting the ring on her left hand. “Definitely not.”

A heavy silence passed between them, and Preston found himself fidgeting uncomfortably, not exactly certain how to react to genuine kindness and generosity from a stranger.  It’d been so long. “You know, you remind me a lot of some of my friends in the Minutemen. They died doing what was right, and now I’m all that’s left.”

“I’m sorry,” she interjected before he could finish his thought, “I kind of know how that feels.”

“Umm, thanks.” It was the first time anyone had apologized to him since everything started, and she didn’t even know what happened. He straightened his hat. “What I was going to say is that you should come with us. We could really use your help.”

“Where are you going?”

Preston tilted his head toward Mama. “Mama Murphy’s been seeing visions of us going to this place called Sanctuary. It’s a rundown old town right now, but she thinks we could build it up again.”

“Visions,” she asked, looking back at the old woman.

“She just thinks she has visions,” Marcy chimed in from across the room, “And Preston and Sturges are too nice to tell her she’s just high off her damn gourd. So we end up wandering around based on the ramblings of an old chem addict.”

“ Hey,” Preston snapped, “If you think you could do better, then by all means—”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Sturges scolded, clearly sick of the hostility, “We’re all on the same side here, so let's settle down. Marcy, do you have a better idea?”

There was a long silence in which Marcy did nothing but cross, uncross her arms, and huff. “Nothing? Okay, then we’re going to this Sanctuary place.” Sturges said after some time and then winked at Preston, a signal that he had the situation under control.  Preston nodded his thanks and returned his attention to Charlie once again, who was still deep in conversation.

“Diamond City,” she asked, that pain he’d noticed before surging to the front of her face, “Is he there?”

“I… it’s not clear, kid, and I’m tired,” Mama answered in that way she always did when she was about to attempt to bum some chems off of someone, “Maybe you bring me some jet later? Maybe I’ll have you some more answers.”

“Jet? What’s—”

“Mama,” he interjected, not wanting the old woman to abuse the good graces of a potential ally, or even a friend. “I told you to stop messing with that stuff. It’s gonna kill you.”

“Oh shush, Preston,” Mama grumbled, “We all die someday, might as well help this young lady out.”

Charlie flashed a grin at him, and then patted Mama on the shoulder, “I wouldn’t want you to do anything dangerous on my account.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. Don’t let Preston charm you into good behavior with that pout of his. Handsome or not, he’s just a worry wart.”

To his surprise, Charlie actually looked back at him and tilted her head. He darted his eyes away under the scrutiny of her examination. “He’s not pouting,” Charlie remarked matter of factly, “And I’m perfectly capable of good behavior on my own.”

Mama shook her head as Charlie gave her another gentle pat on the shoulder and walked to stand next to Preston and whisper, “I’m assuming Jet’s a drug?”

He blinked a few times, “Do they not have chems where you’re from?”

“I don’t know enough to answer that question.” She laughed and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, before bumping his shoulder, “I’ll explain later… when we get to Sanctuary Hills.”

“So, does that mean you’re coming with us?” He tried not to let his excitement show too much.

She nodded. “Definitely.”

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 9)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hello everyone! So I have been on a nice long break from writing over the past month or so, and please believe it was not by choice. I am still feeling a high level of burn out from school and from 2020 in general and I just couldn’t seem to sit down and write. Instead I have been trying to relax and enjoy the end of summer and this beginning of fall. Luckily, this week brought my muse back into focus, and I was able to get more of this chapter on the page that I have been building to for a long time. As I promised, the angst of this story is now behind us, but the intrigue is not exactly over. This chapter shows some still remaining pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place. Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and I really hope you enjoy this new installment!

The dreaminess of a Montenarran morning was hard to describe to someone who had never experienced one before. The magic of this place hung in the air, dancing on the coastal breeze and glistening through that perfect Mediterranean mix of sun and spirit. The golden hues that lit up the world here were different than the paler lights Emma and Henry knew back home, and the crystal blue waters were nothing like the Long Island Sound or the harbors in New York.

Other places in this corner of the world must share similar splendor. People loved visiting Spain and Italy and Greece for a reason, and perhaps Emma was merely untraveled and so could not really compare this place to those, but in her estimation she and Henry had yet to face a less than stellar day in this beautiful country. Somehow, through a higher, stronger power, the weather always held, and the mood was always happy. People were calm but vibrant, kind and filled with purpose. It made for a delicious melody of life that pierced the soul with the same humming happiness of a favorite lullaby. This tangible energy was a constant here, and in meant that even a normal walk from one point to another was enjoyable. In short, every day here felt remarkable, and this morning was no exception.

“Do you really think everyone will like my surprise, Mom?” Henry asked, filling in the comfortable silence that hung between them on their stroll from their home to the Center. “I know you said that everyone loves to try new things, but maybe this isn’t as great an idea as I thought.”

Emma turned her gaze from the bustling street they were walking on to her son, who for the first time in a long time looked younger than his years and moderately hesitant. She tried not to chuckle in the face of Henry’s anxiousness, as that would not be kind, but she wished she could tell him just how unfounded his worries were. Henry’s intended surprise for the children at the Center today was going to be well received. In fact, Emma anticipated it would start an institute-wide revolution.

“Believe me, kid, they’re going to love it. They ask me all the time about what things are like in America; the movies, the food, the sports. They’re going to love learning about baseball, I guarantee it.”

Henry nodded, resuming a more assured nature as they continued down the street. He was so cute and determined like this, and Emma wished she could capture this moment in time and freeze it so she could remember it always. In a few years Henry would be a teenager, but for now he was still at that place in childhood where the world was filled with only hope and good and possibility.

In the interest of sharing those good vibes with others, Henry was bringing everything needed to teach the kids about America’s favorite pastime. He carried his whiffle ball bat slung over his shoulder, and a bag of plastic balls in a sack in his other hand. It felt like a miracle to have these silly simple things from home, but to get these items shipped to Montenarro had taken some finessing and plenty of help from Mr. and Mrs. H. It was no exaggeration to say that Mrs. Hubbard had moved mountains for her favorite neighbors in shipping these supplies, and when they finally arrived, they came with the most beautiful note, and a reminder from their dear landlady to soak in every moment and follow their hearts. They’d been speaking with Mr. and Mrs. H each week on Facetime, but these words still made an impact, both for Emma and her son. Now Emma was thrilled to see Henry follow his passion and lead an activity at a place she loved so surely with kids who meant so much to her,

“Do you think Cecelia will want to play?” Henry asked, singling out the child Emma had a special bond to. Henry’s own personal fondness for the little girl rang out in his voice, and the question was sincere and sweet. Over the now many times Henry had come to the center, he had grown attached to Cecelia too, and he was always bringing her into things, even if he spent most of his time with the older kids. Those actions and their bond touched Emma’s heart, and always left her with this ache in her chest like these few moments shared all together were not enough.

“I think Cecelia will do absolutely anything that you deem cool.”

“Yeah, and if we get Killian to play she’ll totally join.” Emma laughed at the undeniably accurate assumption. It was true after all, for as much as Cecelia had bonded to Emma, she’d grown just as close and comfortable with Killian too. It was so good to see how energetic and extroverted she’d become in the last three months. Little Cecelia was truly coming into her own, and growing more confident each and every day.

“Didn’t Killian tell you he would play last night?”

“Oh yeah. He promised me, and Killian never breaks a promise.”

Emma was aware of that and in the two months since they’d had their first date, she had only grown more invested in their relationship because of this tendency. It was insane that it had only been two months, given how much she felt for him, but at the same time they were so lucky to have had all this time without public interruption. For the moment, she and Killian were still keeping things private. No one in the press or outside the bubbles of their little world knew, but at the Center, and on their own time, they never lived in hiding. They saw each other nearly every day, both at work and at his or her home, and Emma had seen Killian on more one-on-one dates as well as outings and evenings with Henry. It had all been so natural that, honestly, Emma was prone to forgetting that he was a prince. To her he was just the man she loved fiercely, who made her feel like anything was possible.

I need to tell him how I really feel soon, she thought to herself as she and Henry made it to the front gate of the Institute.

This was hardly the first time she’d thought this. She had known for some time how she felt and what she wanted, but there were still a few key things that were up in the air. For one thing, her position at the Center, and thus in the country, still had a time stamp. She thought that Marco and Marie may offer her a chance to stay on in a few months, but it was by no means a definite. Also, making such a permanent change would have huge implications for her and Henry. The plan had always been to go back to New York, but if she was transparent with her feelings, Emma could admit that New York no longer felt like home. In a very short time Montennaro had taken root in her and Henry’s hearts and it felt like the place they were always supposed to be.

Then there was also the little matter of Killian’s family, who Emma was told knew of her, but whom she had never met. Even now, she didn’t know how she felt about that. On one hand she was glad that they hadn’t crossed that bridge yet, because meeting his family would no doubt be stressful and have all this weight and expectation. But on the other hand, Emma was really feeling like this was a forever kind of love, and so she had to meet them someday, right?

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite Yankees,” a voice called out from behind the gate. Emma and Henry looked to find Anna who was waiting for them with a huge smile and her hands on her hips. “See what I did there, because baseball. Wait, did I do it right? Elsa, are the Yankees baseball?”

“How should I know?” Elsa joked from across the lawn before gesturing to Emma and Henry. “Ask them.”

“It was a solid pun,” Henry agreed, “But we’re actually Mets fans.”

“Mets?” Anna asked, looking to Emma for confirmation. A soft tug from Henry told Emma to play it cool, so she kept her poker face in check. “What on earth is a Met?”

“It’s another, way worse, baseball team in New York. But don’t worry, I’m just teasing. Yankees all the way.”

“You may look like an angel, Henry, but there’s a rascal spirit in you,” Anna said with feigned huffiness. Now Elsa laughed full out, prompting smiles from the rest of them at her genuine joy.

“Anna should know about rascal spirits; she was chastised for having one by our Grand-mère for years.”

“That’s a fancy way to say grandmother right?” Henry asked eagerly. “Like in that movie with the missing Princess we saw. Anastasia, right Mom?”

Emma nodded, but she couldn’t help but notice the way both of her friends went pale at the mention of the film. Elsa mumbled something about Anastasia technically being a duchess while Anna barked out a quick mention of it being a French custom. What was with her friends and these weird moments any time someone probed about their pasts or lives beyond the Center? Emma didn’t know, but she didn’t have time to linger with the curiosity, for at that moment they made their way inside and were greeted with a swarm of kids, all of them clamoring to see Henry again. Emma laughed outright at everyone’s excitement and said hello to all of the cuties who greeted her too, but before long, her eyes were called across the room, landing on a man she’d been missing for the last 12 or so hours.

“Good morning, love,” Killian said, coming forward and taking her hand before pressing a kiss atop it. It was their little routine now, his way of saying hello when they were surrounded by the kids.

“Long time no see,” Emma said, trying to sound sarcastic but failing miserably. The wry grin that pulled at Killian’s lips made her heart race as he whispered his reply.

“Trust and believe it’s been torture for me too, Swan. But tonight I’ll have you alone once more.”

The promise in his words made her tremble slightly, and she hoped he wouldn’t catch on to how affected she was, but he definitely tracked it, smiling once more and pressing a kiss to her cheek before diving into the morning with the kids. The two of them got caught up in all of it, and having Henry there as well only added to the good times. Unfortunately, they only had about an hour of this bliss before things went off the rails.

It started with a phone call, which was hardly unusual for a placement home, but the call did draw some notice as this was a weekend. Emma wondered if this was an intake request for a new child, but when Marco and Marie departed to take the call, she threw herself back into the morning rush. About five minutes later, however, she watched as both of them emerged with Marie looking pale as a ghost, and even the unflappable Marco looking surprised.

“What do you think is going on there?” Elsa asked, and Emma shrugged, completely unsure. Things only grew stranger when Marco called Killian over to speak with him. Now Emma’s heckles were up. Was everything okay? No sooner had she thought that then Anna appeared, darting from the back hall looking flushed and flustered.

“They’re coming!” Her words were loud and automatically the other adults in the room and a few kids shushed her for the outburst.

“Who’s coming?” Emma and Elsa asked at the same time, quietly inquiring so as not to rile the children.

“Killian’s family.”

“You’re kidding,” Elsa said forcefully as Emma’s jaw dropped. When Anna shook her head, Elsa continued. “Oh my God you’re serious?”

“Heard the whole thing when Marco left the office door open. They’ve just left the castle. King Liam, and the two dowager Queens. It’s about to be a very full, and incredibly fancy, house.”

“Oh my God,” Emma said, her voice more a raw squeak than anything else. Fear began to descend, and her eyes looked at Killian across the room. She expected to see a similar sense of dread or panic, but he was… calm. As in completely and totally unphased.

“Do you think he knew?” Anna asked, obviously seeing the same sense of cool that their resident Prince was donning in this moment.

“No,” Emma said with confidence. “He actually told me last night that he wanted to introduce us all soon. He mentioned the Montecarri festival in a two weeks. He said Henry would love the palace’s party. I didn’t give him a real answer, but…”

“But you were going to say yes.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, exhaling a shaky breath. At that moment the conversation between Marco and Killian finished, and immediately Killian’s eyes found hers. Silently they exchanged a mountain of words, and both of them knew they had to touch base, so with a quick goodbye to her friends, Emma moved towards him, finding a quiet alcove away from the others.

“Let me guess, Anna’s somehow heard and told you everything.”

“Pretty much,” Emma said with a nod. “Are you okay?”

“Aye. I’m strangely - I don’t know - relieved? They’ve all been asking me for ages about this place, and about you, I’ve tried to tell them, but nothing compares to the real thing.”

“This will change things,” Emma said anxiously but Killian’s hand came to cup her face in a reassuring gesture she had no choice but to lean into.

“Nothing is ever going to change how I feel about you, love. I won’t lie and say my family isn’t prone to over-involvement, but they’re harmless, and I swear to you they’ll love you. Who could resist loving you, Emma?”

Her heart sped up so much at his words but all she could do was kiss him. It immediately helped ground her and made her feel better, but too over it was soon, as Killian pulled back, still holding her but putting a little distance between them. Her brow furrowed in question until she heard it.

“Hi Mom, Hi Killian.” Henry. Oh thank God Killian had heard him coming. She did not need to be scarring her kid with some hot and heavy, stress-induced PDA. Looking over to her son, Emma noticed Cecelia holding Henry’s hand tight. She looked a little bit unsure, and Emma immediately shifted her focus. Whatever was wrong she wanted to fix it. “We saw you guys head over here. Is everything okay?”

“Aye, lad. Just a bit of a plan change. You know how you asked about when you and your Mum might meet my family?” Henry nodded. This was news to Emma, but she kept quiet, intrigued to watch Henry’s reaction. “Well it turns out they’re coming here today.”

“They are?” Henry asked excitedly. “That’s so cool! I can’t wait to meet them. Maybe they’ll stick around for the baseball game!”

“Mes too?” Cecelia asked, her free hand coming to cover her mouth in a shy gesture that made the words a bit more mumbled.

“Aye, little lass, you too,” Killian said brightly. This prompted a big smile from Cecelia who ran over to Killian and threw herself into him. Instinctively he picked her up, and Emma swore she felt tears in her eyes. God so much was happening right now, but this moment felt especially important.

The next few minutes were filled with Henry’s palpable excitement, and Emma decided to hold onto that as her own apprehension grew. They returned to the main room with the others, who had all been told of their soon to be arriving guests, and the reactions of the children were mixed. They all seemed to be in awe of such an arrival, but all it took was one reminder that these were Killian’s family members, and everyone calmed down. The little boys especially went on and on about how Killian might be a prince but he was mostly their friend. He played pirates with them, and he was their pal, and they had to believe his family must be just as wonderful. Emma would never bring it up, but she watched as Killian wiped away a few stray tears at their compliments. Unknowingly, this had prompted a center-wide affirmation of how much Killian was loved and appreciated, and it was touching to say the least.

Shortly thereafter, a fleet of cars, including a palace limo, arrived and the hush that settled over everyone was instantaneous. There was rarely any quiet in this place, but in this moment the anticipation manifested into total silence. Even the tiniest babies in the home were still and through the window they all watched as Queen Meera, Queen Eleanor, and finally King Liam left the confines of the automobile and headed into the front hall. Marco and Killian were set to greet them, and Emma could see how relieved Marie was to not be part of this welcoming party. Going off of how agitated she was when Killian came the first time, Emma could only imagine the pressure of three royals at once.

“It’s going to be fine, right, Els?” Anna whispered and Emma looked back to her friends. Elsa was currently holding one of the infant babies, a lovely little joy named Ariana who had arrived a few weeks ago. Though she too was agitated, Emma could see Elsa taking comfort in the affectionate baby, and she finally turned her more grounded gaze to her sister.

“Of course it is,” Elsa confirmed. “It was a long time ago, Anna.”

“A lifetime ago,” Anna agreed with a nod. Then she noticed Emma looking at them. She appeared torn between saying more and playing it off like nothing happened, but then Elsa took her hand.

“We can trust Emma, Anna, and we do. We’ll tell her everything when they’ve gone, okay? No more secrets. Not between true friends.”

Anna and Emma nodded at Elsa’s request and then the movement of their guests into the main room called everyone’s attention. Emma had been momentarily distracted from any kind of worry, but now, seeing Killian’s family in the flesh, she was surprised. Oh they were beautiful and regal and poised to be sure, but they were also dressed in a much more approachable way than she’d expected. There were no gowns or crowns or anything like that. They’d clearly made adjustments to come here, and if she didn’t know better, she’d think all of them completely normal people.

They probably are normal, they just live a completely abnormal life, she thought to herself.

It was impossible to not compare this meeting to holiday parade, the first time Emma had seen all of them in person, but immediately it felt like an incomparable set of circumstances. The three people gathered here may be the same, but their sense of approachability was so different. At the precesion they’d been decked out in their finest ensembles, designed to look like royalty who may care for the people, but who ultimately stood apart. Today, they could have been any attractive, well dressed family. Queen Meera and Queen Eleanor especially carried themselves with genuine smiles and eagerness, looking upon the children with affection and excitement. Emma also noticed their continued glances at her and Elsa and Anna, but both women were able to tamp down any outright staring.

King Liam, however was another story. He may not look the part of reining monarch per-se, but his stance was so formal and still a bit too stiff to seem comfortable. He had dressed down for the moment, something Emma was sure he rarely did, and while there was curiosity in his gaze, she wouldn’t say he had the same soft affection for the children. If anything, the King looked intimidated, as if he’d never seen so many little people in one place before. That made Emma’s heart warm to him, but it couldn’t even begin to compare with the next moment that came.

“Hi, Killy’s family,” Cecelia said eagerly, the L’s sounding more like a w in her excitement. In an instant, she stepped away from Henry’s hand with a smile and approached Liam, Eleanor and Meera without fear. They’d all been caught in a kind of quiet moment where no introductions had yet to be made, and Cecelia, it seemed, had no patience for that. She was taking matters into her own tiny hands. “I’s found these for you.”

“Oh my dear, how precious you are,” Meera said crouching low to accept the flower. Emma saw they were all wildflowers from the back way, and she wondered how Cecelia had had the forethought to do this. Then she looked at Henry and she realized this was a joint effort. Damn, her son was as thoughtful and cute as could be.

“Thank you, little one,” Eleanor said happily as she took her flower. “So very kind of you to give us a gift.”

When Cecelia came to Liam and gave him the flower, Emma watched the large man begin to crumble, and a smile formed on his face. Just as with Killian, it was amazing what a smile did for his features. King Liam was handsome already, as Emma expected any man born into this family would be, but when smiling, he looked younger and even more engaging. It felt very much like a rare occurrence, and it brought tears to Emma’s eyes to know Cecelia had faced her own fears to help all of them feel welcome.

From there, Killian accepted a tight hug from Cecelia before introducing them all to his family. The kids, having watched the kindness given to Cecelia, were immediately more comfortable, and just as when Killian first arrived, a sea of questions broke out. But in the midst of that madness, a rather remarkable moment happened. It began with Liam looking at her, and in an instant Emma knew that he knew who she was. They exchanged a nod, an acknowledgement that they’d be better introduced later, but when Liam shifted his focus beside her, his face totally changed. Something like awe and fascination appeared across his features, and Emma looked to see what could be the cause, only to find Elsa with the same starstruck response.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Emma asked Anna and her friend nodded.

“If what you’re seeing is the King falling in love with my sister at first sight, then yeah, I think we’re all seeing that.”

“Anna,” Elsa said, flushing with embarrassment as she turned to both of them. “It’s not love at first sight.”

“I don’t know, Els, unless you guys have met before, I think Anna might have a point.”

Emma didn’t know if it was her insistence that there was some real chemistry sparking, or the insinuation that they’d met before that threw Elsa, but suddenly she was overcome with emotions and was saved by the baby, so to speak, when Ariana began fussing for some food. Never had anyone looked so grateful to escape, which just made things weirder and weirder. Emma looked back to the King and watched as he closely monitored Elsa’s movements. He appeared to be seconds away from following her when Killian grabbed his arm and redirected him to the kids. A tightness came to Liam’s features, but then he relented and joined the larger group. Henry was in the mix there, and Emma felt her heart in her throat. God, she hoped these people could accept her son. Whether or not they liked her meant less to her. The most important thing in her world was Henry.

As if he could sense her worry, Killian chose that moment to step to Henry, his arm on his shoulder as he further introduced him. Emma could hear the introduction of Henry as Emma’s son, and immediately all of Killian’s relatives looked intrigued and excited. Emma noticed that they paid him some extra attention, and when Killian looked back at her with a grin, she wondered if she should join them. Was this the right moment to do this? She couldn’t be sure. There were so many other people around. It might be a little odd, right? But in the end, it wasn’t entirely up to her.

“All right, everyone. I know we are all eager to greet our guests today, but we have many other things that must be done.”

“You mean like eating lunch?” one boy asked and everyone laughed.

“Joseph, you’ve only just had breakfast an hour ago. No I was thinking more along the lines of getting out into the sunshine and seizing the day. Seems a marvelous day for adventure, what do you all think?”

All of the children were eager for a day in the sunshine, even the older kids who sometimes lacked for enthusiasm. With barely restrained exuberance, everyone made their way outside, and in the meantime, everyone broke apart in groups to do different things. Emma was assigned to the gardens where some outdoor games had been set up, and where a group of kids were out ‘bug hunting.’ It was so funny to watch these kids trying to collect all of these different kinds of insects, especially since she herself didn’t care for bugs. That fancy had never appealed to her at any age, and there were a few kids who heartily agreed. Cecelia was one of them, and instead of engaging with the bugs, she was far more interested in talking about her latest obsession – fairies.

A fierce devotion to these magical, mythical creatures was not something Cecelia alone carried. There were half a dozen little girls who had all glommed onto imaginary games and elaborate stories about faeries over the last few weeks. It all started with a book that Emma read one rainy afternoon, an offshoot of the Peter Pan story wholly focused on the tiny magic weilders. She hadn’t thought much of it when she chose it off the library shelf, but all of the kids at story time had been spellbound, even the boys, and the older girls who had already gone through a similar phase. The interest in faeries had only grown from there. Soon the little girls were asking every adult at the Center for any information they could get on faeries, and the tidbits they’d been given were equal parts funny and adorable.

“Did you know that faeries protect the garden?” Cecelia asked Emma and Emma shook her head.

“I didn’t realize that. But it makes sense, faeries love flowers, right?”

“They do, they do! Just like me.”

“And me too!” a number of the other girls chorused.

“Miss Emma, Cook said that faeries can be mi-mi -michevus,” Evangeline, another little girl noted and Emma bit back a smile at the girl’s inability to say mischievous. Still, at her age, that was a very tall order. “What does that mean?”

“It means that while usually faeries are perfectly behaved, sometimes they cause a little trouble.”

“Like when they moved the special stone in the story and hid it from Peter?”

“Exactly. No one got hurt, but it wasn’t the nicest thing to hide the stone, was it?”

The girls all agreed with that, before a newcomer caught their eyes. Emma followed their gaze to see Queen Meera at the edge of the gardens, having taken a tour of the whole outdoor space. She was smiling at all of them, her beauty really something to behold in the midday sun. Again, Emma was struck by how young the Queen appeared when she had two grown sons, but instead of being intimidated, Emma rallied and offered a welcoming hello.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but hear you all speaking of faeries, and I was wondering, have you all found a faerie kingdom here yet?”

“A faerie kingdom?!” They all asked excitedly, and Queen Meera patiently explained a Montennaran legend that hadn’t yet been shared with the children.

“How many of you have heard about Montecarri magic?”

Some of the girls chattered that they had heard, but from the looks on their faces, Emma could tell none of them knew very much about it. Cecelia meanwhile was completely unaware, and all of them looked desperate for more information. Queen Meera sat down beside them on their blanket as she continued.

“Well as you know, Montecarris are very delicious, yes?” The children nodded. “And they’re very important to Montennaro because they only grow here. But montecarri bushes are not our only special plant. We also have trees that only grows within our borders. They’re called Montecarri Dogwoods and legend has it that Faeries build their kingdoms in them because the flowers in the trees branches never die. They bloom in spring and last all summer, and then when winter comes, they close their blossoms but stay intact, protecting the faeries from the cold and the chill.”

“How do we find one?” one girl asked.

“Oh they’re very special trees, that stand out to even the least familiar eyes. They have light gray bark that swirls with shades of cream and ridges all over, some deep and some shallow. These ridges are the doors for the faeries. The safest way for them to travel. Sometimes the trunks also have giant knots, big bulks of wood that are taut and strong, and they are filled with magic. Those knots are the foundations of the faerie kingdom.”

The little girls chattered amongst themselves. The description of the bark sounded like a few trees here, but they were desperate to know if they had a Montecarri Dogwood.

“I don’ts knows so much about trees,” Cecelia said, when none of them could come up with anything. “But I love flowers and I sees all the ones we have here. Even the ones from the trees. What does the magic flower look like?”

“Well, it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen any myself. We have many at the palace, but I never stray too far from my roses, and the trees are farther in our grove of woods. But if I recall they are a mix of pink and pearl, with the slightest tint of yellow in the middle.”

“Oh!” Cecelia said excitedly, patting the Queen’s leg in an exuberant affirmation. “We has a tree like that! It’s over there, see it?” Queen Meera looked over and clasped her hands as if genuinely surprised. Emma knew though that she had seen the tree before. The older woman never would have given these little girls hope without knowing there was one nearby.

The Queen went on to explain how her mother always said faerie kingdoms should be honored and protected, and she ended up giving the little girls a mission that gave them purpose and increased their excitement. Faeries, in this legend, liked flower offerings, and now the girls were desirous to collect lots of wildflowers and leave them all around the tree’s trunk. This new adventure meant they were all still perfectly within view of the others, and Emma was impressed at the Queens’s ability to inspire them all so swiftly.

“That was a beautiful story,” Emma said.

“Indeed it was,” another voice said, and Emma realized it was Queen Eleanor. Oh good. Now she was meeting both Killian’s mother and grandmother without him. Excellent. Despite her nerves, however, Queen Eleanor, at first appearance, proved to be just as kind and welcoming as Queen Meera.

“One of the many folktales I grew up with. My mother never lacked for pretty stories. Funny how something I held so dear at their age was so long forgotten. But it’s like looking at a glimpse of the past. I was like them once, desperate to find magic and hold it in my heart.”

“Theoretically I suppose I was too, but the prehistoric age was so different you see, it’s difficult to distinguish what species of plants were abundant in those times.” Emma let out a low barking sound that would have been a laugh but was stifled at the last second. The comment was clearly comical, but too late she realized she didn’t know Queen Eleanor’s sense of humor. Maybe it was a test, and not a purposeful joke.  

“Oh Eleanor, you are so bad. What will Emma think of us?”

“From the laughter she’s bit back, I say my jest has land fairly well. Good thing too. After all these years, you’re all too used to my quips. I’m in desperate need of a new audience. Between Emma and young Henry, I finally stand a chance of receiving the comedic recognition I deserve.”

The mention of her son had Emma looking in his direction, and she was happy to see him kicking around the soccer ball with a number of his friends, as well as Killian and Liam. For the moment his baseball lesson was on the back burner, but this afternoon he’d introduce them all to the sport. In the meantime, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. His smile was evident even from here, and though she couldn’t hear his words, Emma caught the happy tone of her child as it wafted in the air across the way.

“He’s a lovely boy. My goodness the way he was with that little Cecelia this morning, it was just so sweet. But I suspect he gets that generous spirit from you, dear.”

The kind words from Queen Meera made Emma flush pink, but she accepted them, knowing that her son was a good kid and that he would one day grow into an equally good man. She had worked hard to develop and enable his best qualities, and though it was sometimes hard to see her own strengths and good traits, she knew, deep down, that they both shared a loving, hopeful heart.

“We hope you’ll forgive us, Emma, for this lack of traditional introduction. Obviously custom would dictate that we wait until Killian was ready to introduce you and Henry to us all.” Queen Eleanor’s statement was blunt and filled with understanding, if just a tiny bit of frustration. “But you see, patience has never been a particular strength of mine.”

“That is an understatement,” Queen Meera muttered conspiratorially, but Emma could see the affection between the two women.

“When you get to be my age you’ll understand. Time is not promised. It’s of the essence.”

“One thing you’ll come to learn is that my mother-in-law makes regular reference to her age, but she’s fit as a fiddle and likely to outlive every single one of us. She’s also sharp as a tack. Very rarely is there a smarter person in the room.”

“Now, now Meera. Don’t go giving away all my secrets. Let the girl discover them for herself.”

It was hard for Emma to know exactly how to respond. Here were these women, the most important women in Killian’s world, showing her kindness and a willing repartee. It was easy with them, and Emma’s nerves had been settled by their witty banter and their lightness of air. But there was an awful lot of assumption being made in their words. The belief that Emma would definitely be with them enough to learn these quirks and tendencies was loaded, and while Emma was glad that she seemingly had some early approval from Killian’s female relations, she was more than surprised at how bold they were in their estimations.

“In the end, despite the unusual nature of this visit, I believe it’s for the best. Here, we can see you in your most natural state. Correct me if I am wrong, but this seems to be a place where you are truly at peace. You love it here. I see it in the way you are with these children, in how you speak with your friends, and in how you steal glances at my grandson nearly as much as he steals glances of you.”

Ignoring the part about staring at Killian, which was more than a little embarrassing, Emma nodded. “I do feel peace here. The Center reaffirms to me that all the things I believed could be real, truly can be. There’s a way to care for children who need it most in healthy and encouraging ways that make them feel cherished and valued, no matter what life has thrown at them so far. Providing anything less is the product of bad policy and funding shortfalls. I knew that was the case, but seeing it, and feeling what kind of positive impact can be made gives me hope. And as far as I’m concerned, hope and peace really go hand in hand.”

“It’s no wonder he’s so drawn to you. You’re a beautiful woman, but that passion, that belief… yes I believe it’s exactly what Killian’s been needing in his life.”

“And how are you liking Montenarro?” Queen Meera asked, pivoting before any kind of quiet could descend in the face of Queen Eleanor’s commentary. “It’s very different than New York I know.”

Emma’s brow raised at the mention of New York. She hadn’t said where she was from, but then again these women had shown a propensity for knowing a hell of a lot prior to so much as shaking her hand. Someone had probably let it slip at some point this morning.

“This is nothing like New York. It’s really nothing like any place I have ever been before. I didn’t expect anything like this at the beginning. I was so excited about the fellowship, the place we landed was somewhat secondary, but now I couldn’t imagine a better situation, for me or for Henry. We’re both really loving it here. It’s like a long-term holiday, but somehow it’s our life.”

“Oh how wonderful,” Queen Meera said with a delighted smile. “It’s truly better than we planned.”

“Planned?” Emma echoed, not following the word choice, and the looks in the other two women’s eyes were damn near opposites. Meera immediately looked remorseful, like Henry did when he spilled something he hadn’t meant to give away. Eleanor, meanwhile, was flustered for a moment and then pivoted to a calm demeanor, giving only the barest hint of frustration away. 

“Oh Meera. Meera, Meera, Meera. What ever will we do with you?”

“Am I missing something?” Emma pressed, feeling the word ‘planned’ as if it weighed a hundred pounds and had settled on her chest. 

“I just meant you know, ehrm, how lovely it was for you to take to the country so well.” Stuttering like this from a woman as well spoken and measured as Queen regent of the country? Oh no, Queen Meera was definitely hiding something. 

Still, while Emma was wholly unconvinced, she didn’t feel like she could press too hard. Killian’s mother had definitely said the word planned, and now she was way less collected than she had been. For Emma it set off the alarm bells in her head. Meera was verging on a lie right here, but why would the Queen be so open and welcoming with her only to start being evasive and cagey?

“But that’s not what you said, is it mother?”

Killian’s voice was close, and they all turned to find him well within hearing distance. Emma hadn’t noticed his approach before, but there was no denying it now, not when he was so on edge. Instinctively she reached her hand out to him as he came to her, and he took it without hesitation, pressing a kiss to her temple as he came to her side. The action calmed Emma, and felt so natural she didn’t think twice about it until she followed Killian and looked back to the Queens. Only then did she think of how bold it was to do that in front of his mother and grandmother, but while both of them looked on at Emma and Killian with fondness for the display, they were quickly pushed to fend off a new question from Killian.

“What did you mean when you said planned?”

“I meant – well you see, it was just… um?” 

Meera was at a total loss for words and eventually she stopped trying, looking to Eleanor for some kind of aid. The older woman was quiet for a moment, weighing her options with the reined in control of a capable monarch. In the end, however, she squared her shoulders, exhaled a long breath, and steadied herself for whatever was to come. Though Emma was curious and a little anxious about whatever they were about to say, she couldn’t help appreciating the humor of the moment. Killian’s Gran was a bit of a diva, and dramatic in a way that didn’t fit with usual imaginings of royalty.

“She means that when you came home in need of a little guidance, we made sure the winds were blowing in the proper direction.”

“And how exactly did you dictate these winds, Gran? What have you two done in the name of commanding the weather?”

“Everything I’ve done, and yes, it was mostly me, so please refrain from being angry with your mother, was in the interest of securing the future of this family.”

“The future... of the family,” he replied. “What right did you have to get involved in my choices?”

“I have every right because I love you, because I want the best for you, and because I know that underneath the pain and the changes you have faced, you are still the same Killy, the same sensitive, loving boy you always have been. We faced a problem at your return. You were unanchored and unhappy. You had seen so much in war and avoided every part of our world here. You needed to come home, but more than that you needed to find something good that was just for you.”

“Yes, I needed to find it,” Killian said, his words low but determined as he squeezed Emma’s hand. She ran her thumb across his shin gently in a quiet show of support and agreement. “And I did. I found Emma. We found each other. Now you’re saying that wasn’t just fate?”

“Well of course it was fate. It was fated that I would do some research and scope out our options.”

“Gran,” Killian said, his voice strained from the bevy of emotions he was facing.

“Killian,” she replied, not in the slightest intimidated by his reaction. “I fear you may be overblowing my abilities to intervene. All I did was speak to Marco about his newest fellow during our quarterly check in. When he gave such a glowing review, I was intrigued, and then I saw Emma’s picture in the file on his desk and I thought it didn’t hurt to read some more. So when he stepped out to speak with Marie, I took it.”

“You took it?” Killian asked, shocked at Eleanor’s bit of thievery.

“Well see there’s where we reach a gray area. Technically I lifted it from the desk, but Jefferson took possession of the documents.”

“Gran?”

“All right, he smuggled them out for me.”

“Gran!”

“What? Marco was none the wiser. I had Jefferson make copies and it was replaced within the day. No one was bothered in the least.”

“I’m bothered, Gran. You shouldn’t have done that. It’s not right.”

“In this case we must agree to disagree, Killian. I believe it was right. In that moment I made a calculation based on hope. I hoped that Emma would take to you as much as you would take to her and that love may come from it. Was the means of achieving that dream unsavory? Perhaps, but I stand by it all the same.”

“But why?” Emma asked, cutting in before Killian could. “You didn’t know me at all. Why go to the trouble? Why take the risk in pushing us together?”

“Well for this, of course,” Gran said, gesturing at the two of them, who had only come closer together as Gran confessed the plot. Instinctively they’d been comforting each other, and it was so clear how in tune they were together. “Sometimes, life hands you a crossroads, a choice amongst the many. It may seem small or even questionable, but it matters. I knew in my bones this was what needed to be done, and while I regret tarnishing your trust in me, I will never regret these actions. My instincts were right. You two are a match, and our Killy has returned, better than ever.”

For a moment it was quiet, as they let the meaning of Queen Eleanor’s words settle. This was a revelation for sure, but for Emma there was no sense of maliciousness. This was the work of a dedicated grandmother, and yes, maybe it was over the top and a bit too heavy handed, but at the end of the day it was also a gift. Without her intervention, Emma and Killian never would have met each other, and that was something too painful for Emma to consider.

“Please don’t be angry with us, darling,” Meera whispered when all was revealed, and only then did Emma notice how rigid Killian still was. This had made him angry, or perhaps it had scared him. She ran her hand along his arm and he looked to her. There was so much in his eyes and she could read that his real worry was her. How did she feel about all of this? She offered him a smile, small but true, and then watched as he exhaled a breath. The stiffness of before had softened, and she knew in that moment the would-be-storm had passed.

“I understand why you did it, and if it brought me to Emma… well I can only be grateful really. But please, for the love of all that is good, let us live our own lives now, please?”

“Absolutely,” Meera said at the same time that Eleanor said “Within reason.”

Despite the lack of total agreement from Killian’s grandmother, Emma had to laugh. It was funny after all, and made all the better when Eleanor put her hands on Killian’s cheeks, looking at him with fondness and love, and sincerely promised never to manipulate a scenario of his heart again. Meera and Eleanor then offered similar promises to Emma, each of them giving her a quick squeeze and an honest apology for any discomfort on her end. She accepted it all, but was grateful for a new interruption. It was finally time for the baseball lesson, and Emma and Killian were both needed straight away.

“Are you sure you’re okay, love? I know it was a lot and I warned you before, but I never imagined…”

“Killian, it’s all good, I promise. It’s just a little meddling. And besides, it worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“Aye, love. Better than any such plot has a right to.”

Unable to resist, Emma stole a kiss from his lips, melting into the sensation but pulling back before it could become too big a display in front of the kids. It was hard stepping back but she had to, and yet she saw a curious look from Killian that she needed to figure out. She asked him point blank what he was thinking.

“Nothing, Swan. It’s just, well did you notice my Gran’s words? She said no more scenarios of my heart again.”

“Hmm. Makes you wonder, who may still be on her list.”

Without saying it aloud Emma and Killian both knew the only logical option was Liam, and as they looked to him they found him caught up in another bought of staring at Elsa. This time though the would be love birds were closer together, actually interacting, and the electricity between them was palpable. It gave Emma a secondary thrill and she grinned, because as much as Liam was feeling Elsa, Elsa was obviously just as intrigued by Killian’s handsome brother.

“You don’t think she’s planned that too, do you?” Emma asked.

“Truth be told, I wouldn’t put anything past her. Not after all we learned today.” 

He made an excellent point, but the more she thought about it the more it made sense. Queen Eleanor must have known about Elsa if she knew about Emma, and perhaps fate may strike twice. Who knew? Maybe brothers could find lovers in the same place. Only time would tell, but by the looks of things, it wouldn’t take much for something to blossom between King Liam and her friend.

“Mom, are you ready?” Henry asked, poised and prepared for an afternoon of Baseball 101. He stood beside Killian, and the two of them looked like a father and son, part of one big happy family that had always been meant to be. In an instant Emma could see that future Queen Eleanor made mention of, and it was perfect and precious and good.

I’ve never been more ready for anything, she admitted to herself, and as she joined her favorite people in a fun-filled afternoon, Emma knew they’d turned another important corner towards the kind of happy ending she wanted most of all. Now all she had to do was tell Killian she loved him and convince him that their future should start sooner rather than later.

Post-Note: Okay so there we have it. The big reveal of Gran’s meddling has finally come, and there was an introduction to another couple I just love writing, which is Liam and Elsa. So funny how I can ship them so much even though they were never on the show together. Anyway, next chapter is actually picking up right after this one. I definitely want to include the truth about Elsa and Anna and also show a glimpse of Emma and Killian getting some alone time together. Not sure when the next chapter will be here, as 2020 is kind of kicking my ass on an energy and motivation level, BUT, I want to thank you all for reading and I’m sending you love and good vibes in these trying times. See you next time and stay safe!

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

Reader and her boyfriend get into an argument at the tower and he hits her? Dick is furious because he’s in love with her but the reader is just embarrassed?

Thanks for the request and I’m so sorry it took so long! But alas, here it is. I really wanted to write this one, as well as some other I have pending, but I just couldn’t find the words. I’m not 100% satisfied with this one (there’s no lemoney or anything unu), but I think I made my point across towards the important thing of this relationship. Don’t stay in one where physical abuse is condoned!

SUMMARY: As stated by ask, thought I think I took some liberties, Reader has been a Vigilante for some time in California, all on her own. The Titans arrive, and both join forces: Dick and Reader click specially well together, but to his demise, she is already in a relationship. A happy one? He cannot really say, specially when the red flags start to arise and a surprising discovery comes up.

WORD COUNT: 4780

TW: Swearing and past mentions of physical abuse in a relationship. It’s not hardcore, as always I try to make it somewhat vague, but I thought I should let my readers know. Oh, and warning, I THINK, Dick in this one is somewhat OOC. I think it might be due to my lack of sleep, but just beware.

Please don’t give it up — Dick Grayson x Reader

They all dealt with their own human affairs in the best fashion that they knew. The secret identities were given; it was something that no one was supposed to share unless absolutely necessary (which hadn’t been the case yet), and thus the exertion of powers was forbidden (unless, again, of absolute necessity). No one got into no one’s business, and as hard as it was becoming, Dick himself made that rule after having Kori meddled into his own private relationships. So now he couldn’t come between (Y/N) and his stupid human boyfriend, as much as he wanted to. It was stupid anyways – as much people liked him in, he was definitively not supposed to be there.

           But he should start from the beginning. (Y/N) had joined the group a little after the Titans had settled themselves down on the Tower. She had already been a Vigilante in San Francisco; thus “they” were the ones entering her territory. She worked the city alone, and as such received the help without resentment or suspicions. After all, all she wanted to do was keep safe as much as anyone else. It was her home after all. As a lonely vigilante (Y/N) tended to go on her own, and maybe that’s why she had such a crazy magnetism to Dick. She never spoke too much of anything unless questioned, she was intelligent and clearly knew everything she talked about. In that sense she was a bit like Tim: definitely not the star or talker of the room, but the most intelligent by far. She had started to join forces with the Titans before her official joining months before their first crisis on the city: massive bombings, attacks on civilian areas. It was pure terror, specially in the famous Golden Gate Bridge (who would have said they would be JUST like those superheroes in movies?). That was, if Dick remembers correctly, the first time he saved (Y/N)’s boyfriend. Now he wishes he would have just let his car sunk in the bottom of the ocean.

           The crisis had made them both coordinate; she had taken care of a certain area of the city all by herself (she had been backed up after with the help of the Titans, reluctantly he must said), while his group and some more had taken care of the other. They had been a good team, good leaders. (Y/N) accepted her place within them, as one more but always above everyone else. Dick and everyone else thought something would flourish between them that same night, when they got tipsy and drunk celebrating the latest addition: they had been a bit touchy, jabbing each other with witty jokes and comebacks, until… She had just excused herself, saying she had to go back to her own apartment. He perfectly remembers the conversation and the silence following it:

           “You know the Tower is just your home as much as-“

           “Yeah, no, absolutely. You’re the sweetest. Seriously, I just have to go check on somebody after the crazy day. And I should definitively feed my dog.”

           “Oh yeah? I had one too back in Gotham. Well, half. Ace was never really mine.”

           “Really? I’m sure he misses you. I would.” And yes, she must have been flirting; the rest of the Titans had given them space, moving towards the windows while they appeared to be exiting. Her small and hot hand had paused on his chest, maybe just trying to keep stable. “Byron is always like crazy when I get home. I really hope Daryl has taken him today to the vet, though. Ugh, who knows, he told me-“

           “I’m assuming Byron is your dog and Daryl your br-?”

           “Boyfriend, yeah. We’ve been now some time.”

           At that point they had been at the elevator, she almost in and him in a “suave” manner leaning into the iron of the doors so that the conversation could go in a little bit more. But he almost stumbled into it as soon as she said that: and everyone else could, seeing as there was a bit of a silence and after some not-so-glamorous half-laughing half-choking sounds from Wally.

           And that had been one of their last nights alone. At least for some time, seeing as Dick thought it would be just a momentary infatuation, a bit of a crush. Something temporary based solely on lust, seeing as he knew little to nothing on her. She was secretive still, quiet, as commandeering as she could be at times. She was an enigma that Dick liked to detangle and know more than he would admit to himself. It had taken months for him to finally acknowledge that what he felt was definitively something more meaningful that a simple crush or shallow sexual desire.

           That’s when he knew he was fucked.

           …

           “Oh, no, no, he is currently working at the San Francisco Chronicle. Yeah, he’s a photographer. Would you mind if maybe we… Posed sometime for him? Or gave him something exclusive? I mean, I would do it myself but he knows me too well. He would know it’s me.” Dick, Wally and her had been sparring for a bit. More concretely, she and Wally had been. He was correcting both of them from aside, seeing as it had become increasingly difficult to talk without actually falling for her. Wally honestly felt bad for him.

           “What do you mean? Haven’t you-? Does he know?”. Wally was probably the only one with a stable healthy relationship. Linda knew. They were perfect. Everyone knew they would get married, and that’s why Dick had backed off, thinking that was the case for (Y/N) and the nameless perfect boyfriend he had pictures in his own mind.

           “No! No, fuck, no. Daryl is… Difficult, to say the least. He thinks I’m working at some crappy editorial. He’s a bit protective. And a bit of an asshole.” It sounds slightly bitter, added in the last second, improvised. Like she didn’t mean to say it. Her eyes cross his, and she quickly averts it, going back to Wally’s. “We’ve been together for years, but it’s not the type of thing I would tell him”

           “Yes, I know. It’s the type of thing you tell to a stupid bunch of teenage kids with delirious dreams of sweet greatness and-OUCH. That hurts!”

           “Keep your head on the game, West.”

           He gains hope. That small breach he has caught you on, after some months half-ignoring you half putting distance between you both, he thinks he may be able to fill. He can be the glue. He will try, as douchey as it can sound.

           …

           “You are insufferable, Dick Grayson!”. She shouts, as they enter the kitchen. She is using a small towel to take off the sweat from her forehead. Wally had been more of a tutorial in comparison with Dick’s force. He had full on challenged her. “So smug, fuck… And now I have to go back home like this. I hate you.”

           “Can’t help it. You like to be riled up”. He is bold. Wally chokes on his water, and quickly excuses himself, probably knowing which way he was trying to take things to. And he definitively was not good at hiding emotions.

           “Oh, come on, like you don’t like to be defied and challenged. You have a huge masochistic streak, Grayson”.

           YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW, he screams inside his own head, smiling just a bit, in that way that makes her roll her eyes off. Even if she claims some kind of rush when saying she has to go, he can see she doesn’t want to. Her arms rest on the kitchen counter, cool marble that has her face in pure bliss, and her legs, he imagines, are jelly. She should just-

           “Why don’t you take a shower at the Tower stay? Or… At the very least I can call you a taxi.”

           “I don’t have clothes here, and it’s fine. I’m not spending much time at home anyways; I think it will be good…” There’s a small silence, where he thinks he might have fucked it up. Did it sound too forward? Could he ask how things were with the famous boyfriend? No, that was probably too petty, too jealous-“… But I won’t say no to the taxi. Just today, though.”

           “Sure. Let me call it up.”

           …

           That brings the problems.

           “I’m sorry, I will be back in a second. It’s urgent.” They were in the middle of a debriefing. Patrols for the week, which she takes more seriously than anyone – but the mobile had started vibrating like crazy, even she had it on silence. Apparently, that one contact was special and overruled every control and silent tone. Dick could only imagine who it was. “Just continue.”

           She takes it up, and her voice changes immediately: sweet, cheerful, giggly. Even as he continues talking, Dick can hear her feet on their way to the lounge, as far as possible. Is it that private? He can’t get distracted as he is giving out missions, but her tone makes all of them stop, stare at the door where (Y/N) is elevating her voice. Dick shushes the Titans up like a bunch of kids with the latest gossip and orders them to stay, as he gets out of the room towards her.

           “No! What the fuck is your problem, D.?”. Ouch. She had been using the same name with him in their latest sparring session. That fucking hurts. “No! Of course I’m not, how-! No, oh my God, if I have to repeat myself one more time, Daryl! I’m not cheating on you!”

           There’s a deafening silence, a small dance of victory in his own head. He knows he should be taking it more seriously (they might break up and he knows she loves him), but he can’t help but take this small point from Daryl’s ghostly presence whenever they talk and he gets brought up.

           “A friend, Daryl. He got me the taxi because I was tired, I had been at the gym, I told you! Fuck, you never listen to me. And after that I even had to take Byron out, even when you promised-“. She gets cut off, again. It’s annoying really, and she sighs, loudly and exasperatedly. “Listen, if you are just going to shout like a fucking caveman be my guest, but I’m not listening to anymore of this bullshit”.

           “(Y/N)!”. He shouts so loud from the phone he can even hear it. Then she hangs up and lets herself drop on the sofas. She looks tired; his smug and hopeful detective abilities tell him, shout him, it’s because this is not the first time you’ve had that conversation, at that level of heat or shouts. Has his name been brought up at any point? He feels really like a small kid, wishing for little and petty things like that towards her.

           “Eavesdropping is not very nice, Grayson. Care to come in or are you going to make me stand up?”. She asks, sarcastic as ever and inviting him to sit in the place next to her, patting the velvet slowly of the furniture. “Just come in. And don’t say anything. Just hug me.”

           He complies.

           …

           They have been flirting a bit more this time. (Y/N) is not sleeping there anymore, and from what Dick knows, they talk everyday for a couple of minutes, in an almost muttering tone, sometimes with too many silences and too many breaks on both behalves He wishes he could feel bad for her, she is suffering a bit after all, but every time they laugh together and she punches his arm, jokingly, he thinks he makes her forget about it.

           Until that happens.

           It’s a shooting in one of the top-rated working areas of San Francisco, where a lot of offices are conglomerated together. It is a panic. The fact that they have to deal with human weapons, rather than with some random and new alien race, makes it easier to control, but nonetheless it’s hard to see the blood, get in the midst of the terrorists. Especially when they get into the Chronicle’s tower where (Y/N)’s boyfriend is working at that same morning. None of them had truly made bonds with the city or its inhabitants, but she has been raised there. It’s her home. Without thinking, not too much, she gets midst of the flames, with all the smoke and possibility of collapse when Daryl tells her that he is still inside, trapped with some colleagues. There’s no time to do anything other than follow her; Wally helps, but he is the only one save (Y/N) and Dick to enter the building, save the civilians left inside and… Fuck, her boyfriend who immediately recognizes her. It was not too difficult, to be honest, especially when they know each other so well and with half a mask broken (bullets, fire, desperate attempts to get there as fast as possible).

           It’s a week after that and no one knows a thing about them. (Y/N) has completely disappeared from the tower, and save the occasional “I’m okay” texts he sends to Dick, just so that he can sleep, no one knows what’s going on… Until she appears in front of the doors of the Tower with him by her side. It sickens Dick to the pit of his stomach.

           …

           They are mostly staying there. He goes back for Byron, for work, for meeting some friends, but he waltzes around the Tower like he is one of them, when he isn’t. When he voices his concerns, he is met with protests and mumbles of him being too grumpy, too attached to the rules. He is not! But it is supposed to be top secrecy, and there they have a civilian who is… Too touchy for his own like. For anyone’s, really. Dick is not comfortable at his own home and that (Y/N) starts to notice. They still spar, talk until late, but it weird to have Daryl always gazing directly at him: he is sure, he knows. But he never says a thing, and thus it is… Okay. Until it stops being and the red flags appear. The incredible rage within Dick Grayson wakens.

           “You are just so controlling! All the time!”. She shouts. There’s no one else at that hour in the tower. It’s way too early, and his early-birds are already on patrol outside. “You don’t-can’t control me! Okay?! This was MY thing even before you knew about it! Nothing has ever happened to me, fuck, and if it were to happen-“

           “You are a woman, (Y/N). Biology-“

           “Oh my God. If you are going there Daryl Lane-“

           “But it is true! It’s just-!”

           “No, shut up or I’m going to punch you, I swear on everything!”

           Things are silent after that, but there’s an obvious tension on the room until he decides to leave, in a rush. Dick hides in the shadows, at a corner, hoping he won’t see in time, but he is too blinded by rage. He turns around, hoping maybe she will come to him. But he doesn’t know (Y/N) at all. She won’t come, specially not on a subject like that. And as he expects, he gets alone on the elevator before disappearing from their sight. He is tempted to go by her side, but she needs space. And more than anything, he doesn’t want to get accused of being a stalker.

           …

           Daryl stops coming. Fall passes, and winter comes in: thus the appropriate parties, alcohol, and inevitable encounters are to happen. Their final one is the night before Christmas Eve. They are celebrating, as usual, some white Christmas with a wave crime that has almost disappeared from California. They can actually take time for themselves, and (Y/N) and him are closer than ever; they talk until very late, then sometimes take it to one of their bedrooms, a midnight improvised snack, or sometimes marathons of stupid black and white movies (which she loves, adores. She is going to love her gift, he knows). Everyone knows they are crushing on each other hard; one would think that her boyfriend would be still an obstacle, but they are not talking anymore. She went to see him once, and that has been it since; after, she has just perfectly fitted into the Titans, like a second family. And of course, she has brought Byron with her… Who is the first that knows someone has entered the Tower.

           “B.?” She asks, confused as the dog runs from the table where they are all clinking their glasses. Dick doesn’t notice, hasn’t been paying attention to security these days, and that might have been his fault. It wasn’t supposed to happen. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

           The tone makes everyone turn around – and there he is, Daryl in the flesh, slightly drunk and freezing, it appears. He looks embarrassed, but confident at the same time. It’s strange. She gets up, in all her elegance, and grips Dick’s shoulder before going to him. She mutters, almost only to him: “Don’t come”. The rest will understand, but he knows she considers him the closest one. The only one who could actually come and intervene, if he wanted to. They are close friends, after all.

           “I’ll be back in a sec. Stay here”. He says, after a couple of seconds, getting up and coming onto them, the closest room where they have entered to talk in private. The door is slightly opened.

           What he sees shocks him. From his position, she is giving Dick her back, thus letting him see the tense and anxious lines of her shoulders and neck: almost scared, fearing the encounter. Her legs are in a battling position, even when he is not doing anything, just talking-

           “I’m sorry, you have to believe it. I didn’t mean to-I would never-you know I’m not the type. I didn’t mean to shut you. Slap you.”

           Out of everything, he did not expect that. If anything, he sounds honest, but his own blood is boiling and there’s nothing that can stop that for the moment. It is her business to deal with… But still, they had grown closer, she could have told him.

           “I don’t know what the fuck you are doing here, but you should go. You have no right over me, over anyone, woman or man, to put your hand on them like that. You are a piece of trash, Daryl.”

           “I know, I-“

           “No, you are scum, I-I don’t really know what you expected. That you would come here, sit with us for dinner and after-what? Go home, have sex and everything okay?”

           “(Y/N), I-“

           “No, fuck off! I have been hiding so much for your sake, so that you wouldn’t feel like less! I feared your reaction about my other life a lot, Daryl. I felt s bad because I know how much you hated lies, how you felt about it, and I loved you. I loved you so much, but you are just a piece of shit, trying to put me in your small traditional box! I am not going to do your dishes, clothes or work! I am not your sweet little girl for you to care and patronize-“

           “What, so you are his?! You are such a hypocrite, (Y/N).And the worst kind, a bitch. You are for his use alone or what? You never let yourself be pampered like that, treat like his own little princess-“

           “Who are you talking about?!”

           “Your friend Nightwing! Fuck you, you have been having these little chats, secret meetings… Have you fucked him? Have you sucked his cock while I was here, waiting for you on bed and cheering you on?”

           “You are piece of scum, Daryl! I have not been rejecting you these last months because of him. Yes, I do like him, but I would not go behind your back like you did! Fuck you!”

           “You are such a-“. His arm moves. His hand gets higher. He knows he has to act quick, and thus opens quickly the door, shoving her behind him, directly going against him to push him brutally into the wall against his back. It cracks behind them, pictures hanging on that same wall falling to the floor. The commotion makes everyone move, to their room, worried to what might be happening. “Fuck!”

           She gets in the middle, Dick already up and prepared to get into a fight at any moment, while the other is still confused on the ground. He can feel his own raged breaths: fury, instinct taking over rationality. He is destroyed on the floor but he still wants to annihilate him. How dare he, how would he-?

           “Dick, Dick. Hey, look at me. Richard!”. He looks at her, smaller in frame, tugging at his chest in the opposite direction of the room. She is trying to separate them. “Just go, please, don’t do anything else. Shut up, please, go and-“

           She seems to be close to crying, desperate in her voice and trying to get him out, as she is making him go through the door. Her eyes won’t even reach his, and he is now desperately trying to make contact, even as she shoves him out the door, with a whimper and finally closing the studio off. He is just as confused as the rest of them, but he won’t talk.

           …

           “Can I come in?”. Dick looks surprised. Did he not hear her? She had been looming around her own room for some hours now, everyone in their respective rooms after the night had been fucked up like that. No one felt like partying or drinking anymore. Still, his door had been opened, explicitly for her. He nods, and she finally comes in, closing the door behind them. “Okay, I’m going to talk, and I really don’t expect you to understand but… Okay.”

           >> Daryl and I had a very complicated relationships for some years. His family is fucked up and he had substance abuse problems in the past. I’m not excusing him, Dick, don’t roll your eyes. I just want you to understand where he comes from, why he is the way he is. He is not a bad person. No one is… But he thinks like that. He has to be the very best man, the most masculine out of everyone and always the best. It is his problem, but I tried to make it mine and help him. It did not work and it only put me in a difficult position, you know: always trying to be less so that he could be more. That’s partly why I never shared my secret identity with him. And why Cali’s own Vigilante was born. I needed something like this for myself. I was drowning, otherwise… And then you appeared.

           She laughs in pure incredulity; her hands gets buried in her own hair, as she brushes it off and goes to his bed, where he has been laying waiting for her. She sits down, her hand resting on his leg.

           “Okay, “you” as in “The Titans” appeared. That saved my ass because… Well, California is enormous. I could definitively NOT cover it all, so you all appearing was a miracle, honestly… But you appeared, Dick. You, as in Nightwing, as in Richard Grayson and the rawest “you” possible.” She looks at the door, almost embarrassingly, laughing a bit to herself. “I had such a big crush a couple of years ago I almost didn’t believe that you were right in front of me. Or that we got on so well, apparently… I kinda wished I didn’t have to go back home a lot of times, and… That’s because I felt something for you. And that was dangerous, because I had a boyfriend but-but things didn’t click with Daryl the way they dd with you, D. Really, truly. It is such a big cliché, but you made me feel seen, heard. You made me feel special, and I got hooked onto the feeling but-but I’m not like that. And I still had a boyfriend. Fuck, hell, I thought I was only lusting for you, but then-then months came by and it was still the same. And then we talked night after night, we cuddled under blankets, we took care of each other and… And things started going bad at home. He knew I was not in love with him anymore, and who could blame him? And while I didn’t want to act on my feelings with you, he did. Physically.”

           She sighs, like it’s taking a bit out of her. She frowns, looking at her own thigs as she gets both legs on the bed. Dick has the urge to embrace her.

           “The second time you offered me a bed here I wanted to take it in so badly, Dick. I swear to God I didn’t want to back there. No one had ever hit me, and-“. She chokes. She is… Strangely embarrassed, panicked. She won’t look at him, making herself small in the bed, vulnerable. “I didn’t know what to do. I still loved him; not like before, but wanted to stay true to him, be loyal, and he hit me. He said sorry after, he had been too drunk, but I knew he wanted to. And I just didn’t know how I could stay there after that, but still I-he promised things would get better, and I believed him, Dick. And then they didn’t.”

           She confesses she trusted things to get better because they normally did. She had been hit before, but she couldn’t tell anyone; she was alone, isolated from her family. And the Titans, they would mock her! Obviously not to her own face, but someone like her being slapped by her very normal and human boyfriend?! The laughing stock. She felt embarrassed by it, not being able to stop him, the red mark on her cheek, shameful and making her weak, less.

           He felt enraged. Not at her, of course not: at Daryl for making her feel powerless like that, stupid and less of the incredible woman she was because she was being hit. No one should feel embarrassed by it, much less be silenced for it. Dick embraces her, piecing the rest together all by himself. Things had started to go well, but the taxi had made him feel insecure, and thus they had exploited at each other not much later, resulting in a second slap in a short period of time which made her put distance between them. Intelligent. But then he had come and-

           “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have felt like that all by yourself… But I understand. It was your own struggle to deal with, and you didn’t want anyone else to know, but… There’s people here that love you, (Y/N). I love you, for starters.” He blurts it out naturally, taking both by surprise. He gets red, closing his eyes and trying to keep his cool. “I meant-What I mean is that I feel something strong, or rather strong for you. Since the start. Or something like that, fuck-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to come off so strong, but… But fuck yes, I-I do love you.”

           She climbs him. Slowly, almost torturing him in the silence of the room, sheets rustling as he moves his back up to straighten it. He is nervous, maybe as much as she is.

           They kiss. Lips trembling, fear still in he system, an intense desire to care for the other in his. It’s a long but caring kiss as he opens slightly his mouth and she enters his cavity, her tongue conquering space and his hands going for her hips, stabilizing them. He has been dreaming with that for at least three months.

           “Be my girlfriend.” And she can’t help but nod, as she kisses him up again. And again. And again, until they both are a mess of juvenile panting and squirming under the sheets.

           “Get properly into bed, I want to cuddle you.” She says, turning off the lights and getting closer to his face, climbing him up until her face can be buried in his neck. He kisses her forehead, heart beating fast but tranquil, at the same time. They have time, she loves him, and the only thing he wants now is to protect her between his arms.

           And she couldn’t feel any more secure, as she gets into bed and closes her eyes near his neck, protected and cuddled up by his strong arms on her waist.

[jinmukangwrites]

Vulnerable

Batfamweek2020 Day 6 / Fluff / @official-batfam-week​

Summary: Jason finds a little intruder in one of his safe houses. He tries to convince himself he doesn’t care until he finds out he really, really cares. 

Yeah I know this is two days late. Listen, time is relative and the week isn’t over until I say it’s over. Also yes, the prompt is fluff and this seems to be mostly angst, but there’s cuddles at the end which is about as fluffy as you guys can get out of me.

AO3

-o-o-o-o-

When Jason entered his safe house, he honestly wasn’t expecting anything to be amiss or out of place, yet here he is, walking up to the run down apartment squished between some Chinese takeout shop and a weird voodoo shop just to see the front door slightly ajar.

On instant high alert, Jason grabs at the gun on his hip and considers digging out a domino mask to hide his identity. He’s in street clothes, a civilian if you will. He’s just gotten back from grocery shopping to fill up his various houses with a resupply of food storage. He’s not really in the mood to fight anyone, and for all he knows whoever is inside his safe house could just be a squatter.

Though, no typical squatter can bypass his security measures. Whoever is here is competent enough to discharge his surplus of alarms and boobytraps.

And besides, whoever went through the trouble of breaking and entering into his safe house wouldn’t be there for Red Hood. They’re here for Jason.

He slowly places his bags of canned goods and such onto the ground and pulls his gun out so it’s held out in front of him. He stalks towards the door and takes a calming breath, not wanting to think about who could possibly be in there but also thinking of the worst case scenario.

Maybe just a smart squatter. Could be the Joker. Maybe Bruce. Jason doesn’t if Bruce falls in the good or bad category, but Jason swears to god if he barges in there and it’s just that stupid bastard Jason will categorize him as the absolute worst and might just shoot the jerk-face anyway.

Jason kicks the door open hard enough to make it’s hinges squeal in protest. His gaze instantly locks on a figure sitting on his moth eaten sofa he placed in front of a display TV that he took from the local Walmart.

What? It was “broken” and they were going to throw it away even though he could easily fix it. No harm no foul.

The figure on his sofa looks up from a phone in their hands with a glare, and Jason lowers his gun with a scoff and returns the narrowed eyes with his own.

“What the heck are you doing here, tater-tot?” He demands.

“Tt,” Damian rolls his eyes and returns to his phone, Jason leans his head forward a little to see what the brat is doing on it and it looks to be... that Animal Crossing app. Huh. “It’s none of your business, Todd.”

Jason scoffs, putting his gun back in his holster. “This is my safe house, to which the door you left open. It’s every ounce of my business.”

“Fine,” Damian snarls, standing up abruptly and shoving his phone inside his jacket pocket. “I’ll leave then.”

Jason has to fight to not make any of his utter bafflement physical as he makes a grab for the kid’s arm before he can retreat through the door. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not leaving until I get a straight answer out of ya-“

Damian jerks his arm violently and Jason just manages to keep a grasp on him. “Unhand me, you imbecile!”

“Ah, nah,” Jason retorts, grabbing his other arm as Damian goes to throw a punch. Damian squirms and Jason fights off a sigh as he has to kneel down and hold the brat in an almost white knuckled grasp so he doesn’t escape. He really hopes no one steals his groceries while it’s just sitting out there ripe for the taking. “You broke into my house, you can leave and go throw a tantrum somewhere else after this, I could seriously care less, but if I have to tie you to a chair and play Justin Bieber until you talk I will.”

Damian shoots Jason a look of pure loathing before he glares at his shoes, no longer struggling but still looking like he’ll dart for the nearest exit the moment Jason lowers his guard. “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have come here. Let me go.” A second. Then a small: “Please.”

“Okay,” Jason says, and if he didn’t have both his hands keeping Damian still, he would be rubbing the bridge of his nose. Where’s the golden boy when you need him? “Okay, something is clearly up with you. What’s up? Did Titus poo on your bed? Break an expensive pot? Accidentally kill someone-?”

“I don’t kill,” Damian snarls suddenly, and the ferocity of the statement has Jason blinking in shock. Damian is refusing to look up now, eyes blinking quicker than normal. “I don’t. Not anymore. I don’t.”

Jason narrows his eyes and gets down on his knees to become level with the little midget. “Kid. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Damian sniffs, uses his shoulders to rub at his eyes, and there’s a suspicious glint in his green irises that has Jason suddenly feel a rush of panic. Oh heck nah. This is Goldilocks’ problem. Jason should have just let the kid go. Yeah, he asked what was bothering him but the last thing he expected were tears. However, Damian looks just as shocked with himself as Jason is and quickly bites his lip.

“Can I stay the night?” Damian asks suddenly, throwing another red flag up in Jason’s mind. Whatever is going on, Damian doesn’t want to go home where his daddy-dearest and perfect oldest brother are probably waiting for him in a panic. He know’s Dickhead is in town. He posted a picture of Alfred the Cat on his Instagram just a few hours ago, saying it felt good to be home.

Jason is almost tempted to grab the brat and stuff him a duffel, lock the zippers with a cable tie and drop him at the front gates for Alfred to find, just so he doesn’t have to deal with this, but then he studies the kid for a moment, seeing a vulnerability in him that he can’t say he’s ever seen before. He sighs.

“Fine. Don’t explain. Go to the couch and play your cute game thing. I’ll be back.”

Damian gives him an unimpressed glare. “It’s not a cute game.”

“I know what Animal Crossing is, sweetie-pie,” Jason says back, ruffling the younger’s hair and biting back a chuckle that tries to escape his throat as Damian tries to whack at his hand. “It’s a cute game.”

Jason watches Damian retreat back to the sofa, but this time the brat puts in some earbuds and curls up between the arm and the back of the couch, bringing his knees to his chest and his hoodie over his head. Jason has to gather all his will power to not roll his eyes as he stands up and goes out to grab his—thankfully untouched—groceries.

He walks in and begins to take everything out of the bags. He watches Damian out of the corner of his eyes as he does so, but the brat doesn’t move. Just flicks his finger over the screen, perhaps trying to catch a fish or something. He doesn’t dwell on it though, thinking about the tears that had threatened to fall a moment ago. They could have been a trick, a way for Damian to get Jason off his back because it would undoubtedly make Jason too uncomfortable to push more, but at the same time he knows Damian is awful at fake crying. He has a lot of pride stuffed in that little body.

He shakes his head and begins to sort the cans for storage, leaving a few out for dinner he guesses. He was planning on just going to the Batburger—because the Chinese restaurant next door gave him a night in the bathroom to remember the last time he ate there—and grabbing something filled with carbs, but now that the little bat-brat is here that’s sort of thrown out the window. He’s still hungry though.

Lets see, he has a can of sloppy joe, some buns in the pantry that are hopefully not moldy yet, and some mixed vegetables. Easy.

He begins to pull out various pots and pans to begin the last second dinner. It doesn’t take long for the meat to start sizzling while the vegetables just barely begin to warm. He sets a pan lid over the meat and lets it simmer as he goes to grab the buns and some American cheese slices. He eyes Damian as he does so, noting how the kid hasn’t moved since Jason had told him he could stay.

Whatever. It’s not his problem. He’s not worried about the tyke at all...

When everything is finally heated and warm it suddenly occurs to him that Dick has mentioned here and there that Damian was actually vegetarian. Jason curses and opens the fridge, looking for anything that’s leafy and green. Thankfully, he manages to scrape together a sad amount of green lettuce and half a tomato. He sniffs a bottle of ranch and looks at it’s expiration date and wrinkles his nose. He’ll let Damian choose if he wants ranch or not. He grabs two plastic plates and places his own Joe with cheese down on one plate and scoops out a helping of corn, peas, and carrots while he makes a terribly depressed salad on the other. He sighs and adds double the helping of vegetables onto Damain’s plate. If only he had shredded cheese or croutons or even garbanzo beans...

He plops himself down next to the kid and clears his throat, placing Damian’s sad sad meal down on the coffee table with his bottle of devious ranch and then digs into his sloppy joe, grabbing a remote to turn on the TV to something probably boring and dumb.

He watches as Damian wrinkles his nose slightly at his meal, and Jason almost prepares himself to snap that he did his best, but Damian surprises him and takes the plate into his lap. He takes out his earbuds and clicks his phone off, shifting so he can see the TV better.

Thankfully Jason manages to find a channel that’s replaying Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire so the silence between the two of them isn’t as awkward as it could be. Damian picks at his browning salad and makes a move to communicate.

They watch the movie in silence, and Jason finds himself not being able to actually concentrate as his mind keeps wondering what could be up with Damian.

-o-o-o-o-

“Alrighty,” Jason says, clapping his hands together as the movie credits begin to roll. “Goodnight.”

Damian doesn’t say anything as Jason gets up and gathers the paper plates to throw them away. Jason is determined to just go to bed and not deal with any of this in the morning. Sure, he should go out as Hood and take down some gangs, but Damian doesn’t appear to have his costume—let alone a change of clothes—with him and there’s no way Jason is leaving him here alone.

He should just call Dick. Call him and he’d gladly drop everything he’s doing to take the kid away. However, he can’t help but feel a sense of unity when he notices Damain’s phone ding with a little text notification and Damian quickly sliding it away, not even reading it.

Besides, Jason said he could stay the night. What kind of person would he be if he couldn’t make good on his word? He’s an ex-killer not a complete jackass.

He retreats to his room, releasing a sigh and shutting the door. It’s a small house, nothing but a living room, kitchen, master bedroom, and bathroom. Damian will have to sleep on the couch because there’s no way Jason is letting him take his bed. He takes off his shirt and changes into a pair of looser fitting pants as he crawls into the rickety old bed that was discounted at IKEA because someone broke some pieces. The blankets he slips into are thin but many. Well, three. It’s decent enough, he can survive most cold nights with the warmth three thin, threadbare blankets could scrap up.

He closes his eyes, thinking about nothing other than sleep.

He wonders if he has a blanket out there for-

Woah wait. Hold up. Nooope. Go to bed Jason. Go to bed...

Sleep...

It’s a colder night and the living room gets colder than the bedroom...

But it’s warm in his blankets so he won’t worry about it... sleep... sleep sleep sleep...

He peeks his eye open and looks at his phone sitting on the mattress beside his head.

Not even fifteen minutes has passed. He growls and forces his eyes closed, curling his knees so they’re almost touching his chest. Did he lock the door? He’s pretty sure he locked the door. Though, if he didn’t that would mean someone could barge in and the first thing they’d see was a small kid in his day clothes shivering in the cold of the living room with no pillow.

No, he definitely locked the door. He definitely locked it just like how he definitely doesn’t care if a certain demon brat is crashing on his couch in day old clothes with no pillow or blanket.

He opens his eyes, looks at how only a minute has passed and silently curses to himself.

Shit.

He cares.

He throws the blankets off from his body and slips off the side of his bed to his feet. He looks around his room and grabs at one out of two pillows he was using and then tears off one out of three blankets and stomps towards his door, just to stop and growl as he turns around and finds the smallest shirt and sweats he could find.

He barges into the living room and Damian practically jumps from his curled up position on the couch. Jason ignores the subject of his lack of sleep as he goes to the door, grabs the handle, and giggles it to make sure it’s locked.

It’s locked.

He turns heel and Damian is watching him as if he’s grown a second head. Jason ignores the stare and dumps the pile of fabric in his arms onto the kid. Damian squawks but Jason ignores that and storms back to his room, trying to ignore the goosebumps on his arms and chest from the cold of the room and how he’s making a thirteen year old kid sleep out here and- NOPE! He’s not worried about it. He gave him a blanket and pillow and even some of his own clothes. Damian will survive and Jason will sleep.

He hits his pillow, trying not to mourn the girth he’s lost beneath his head because he’s too nice of a guy sometimes, and curls up in his two blankets, fighting off the threat of shivers from going out into the chilly air. He eventually warms up, just like actual sleep begins to lure him, and soon he’s not thinking about much of anything...

...

Was that a sniffle?

His eyes creek open against his will. Time has felt like it moved, and when he glares at his phone to see two hours has passed he curses the gods for making this night as difficult as possible. He’s about to close his eyes again when the something that woke him up that he had almost forgot about sounds again.

A sniff. From the other side of the door. It sounds wet, like it belongs to a runny nose and his eyebrows come together. Yeah it’s cold out in the living room but not that cold. He closes his eyes, blaming dramatics, when the sniffle sounds again, but with something else this time that has Jason practically jumping out of his bed like he’s been electrocuted.

A whimper. That was a whimper.

He creeps towards the door, something heavy in his gut, and places his ear on the thin wood.

He can hear it all clearly now. The sniffles, the tiny choked off whimpers of someone trying to not make too much noise, the panting breaths.

Crying. Someone’s crying on the other side of his door and it’s two in the morning and Jason is all of a sudden thinking about the ignored texts, the silent acceptance of not even sub-par food, the cute distracting animal game, the caught in the headlights look when Jason stormed out earlier, the almost desperate way he asked to crash the night here, the angry outburst the he’s not a killer.

Jason doesn’t care. He doesn’t. This is Dick’s job. Not Jason. Jason is the family black sheep who people avoid unless they want something, and Jason avoids them right back. Dick is the big, caring, older brother while Jason is the distant outcast. Jason doesn’t care if Damian is in his living room crying. He really, truly, awfully, lyingly doesn’t care.

Shit.

He cares.

crying opens his door slowly and the sniffling and whimpering instantly cuts off. The door swings slowly open and Jason is left standing in his doorway watching as Damian wipes furiously at his eyes and glares at the opposite side of the room, curling up and biting his lower lip to perhaps stop it from trembling.

“What do you want, Todd,” Damian snarls, but his voice tremors and Jason has to fight down the panic threatening to escape his throat because he has no clue what to do. Here’s some kid who’s legally his youngest brother who’s swimming in his too big clothes with tear tracks down his cheeks and Jason cannot think of a single thing to do.

What would Dick do? Dick would smile and probably gather the kid up in a hug and say everything will be okay and other soppy comforting crap. Jason runs the scenario out in his head, imagines him trying to approach the kid with open arms to give him a hug. Strangely enough, while he can easily imagine Dick and Damian ending up cuddling or whatever, Jason can only see himself writhing on the floor with a knife between his ribs.

So, the Dick-protocol is out. Jason needs to do something else, and quick.

He grinds his jaw and forces himself to leave the safety of the room. Damian watches him warily as he slowly sits up and backs up to the corner of the sofa, furthest from where Jason is approaching from. Jason gives the kid a side eyed glance before he grabs at the remote and turns on the TV.

Jason isn’t the best with cuddles or comfort, but the least he can do is sit it out and let Damian decide what the next step is, even if Jason has to sit here shirtless in the chilly living room with the TV turned low on some Spanish soap channel for the rest of the night.

Somehow, Damian doesn’t fight that. He just wipes his eyes again, getting rid of most evidence of tear tracks, and then settles into his corner, stubbornly watching the TV.

Forty minutes into the soap marathon, right when someone is revealed to not be the father—gasp—something finally happens.

Damian speaks.

“Do you regret it?” Says a small voice in a whisper. Jason turns his head and he almost has to squint his eyes to make sure he’s seeing things correctly. Damian is valiantly avoiding his gaze, staring straight at the TV. His hands are nervously pulling at the strings of his borrowed sweatpants though, which is a sight Jason never thought he’d see.

“Regret what?” He questions.

Damian worries his lip for a second and something shiny swims in his eyes. Jason remains silent until Damian finally speaks. “Killing those people.”

Finally, Damian looks at Jason and he looks so vulnerable and scared and Jason is pretty sure this is all just some sort of fever dream because what the hell. His brain short circuits and restarts as he tries to gather his thoughts, but suddenly all his thoughts are nothing more than green anger as he hacks through the necks of drug dealers and stuffs heads in duffel bags. Thoughts lined with lividity as he shoots at rapists and murderers and gets blood splattered on his red mask. Thoughts of holding the Joker against his chest, pressing the point of his gun against the psychopaths temple and screaming a choice at Bruce.

The Joker, or him.

He absentmindedly reaches for the scar on his neck; it’s a unique one for the fact it’s not one that he gained in death nor in his autopsy. It’s thin and precise and did just enough damage for Jason to accidentally let go of the Joker and grab at the sharp batarang sticking out from his neck, blood already leaking through his fingers. Proof that Bruce would rather slice his neck than let a mindless murderer continue to breathe. A permanent reminder that Jason isn’t as important as some no-kill-rule. A warning he should never attempt something like that ever again.

He’s been doing better. He hasn’t killed anyone since... since forever. His bullets are not ones made to kill. His aims are not lethal. When he shoots he shoots because he has to, and he’s been forcing himself to use his fists first.

Does he regret it? Does he regret getting so angry and hurt and confused that he killed dozens of people just to get Black Mask angry so he could get to Joker and therefore Batman? Does he regret the blood on his hands? The hours clutching his chest in the shower after the first life he took, scrubbing at his skin so it’s red and raw, repeating over and over and over to himself that this will all be worth it. The days avoiding the freezer where he stored the severed heads until he had all of them because he was afraid he’d puke? The months convincing himself that beating his replacement senseless would be worth it?

Does he regret it?

He clutches the material of his pants with one hand and rubs the length of his scar with his other, taking a deep breath.

“No.”

Damian’s eyes widen slightly in shock, and Jason realizes he was expecting a different answer. He clears his throat, fights the urge to hug himself like he’s raw and vulnerable. An animal on display.

“I don’t regret killing those people. But if I was sent back in time and given the option to redo everything... I wouldn’t have done it.”

“I don’t understand,” Damian says and Jason releases a bitter chuckle.

“I’m a different person now, and back then killing those people I felt was the only thing I could do. I used to... sit and wonder about what I could have done differently, what I could have changed, but I decided it isn’t worth it. I killed those people in cold blood, and if I regret it now then I won't be able to move on. So no, I don’t regret it.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of silence and Jason sighs. “Look, I enjoy talking about my past as much as the next guy, but why do you bring it up?“

Damian bites his lip again, and Jason almost worries that sooner or later he’s going to draw blood with his sharp canines, but Damian brings his legs to his chest and stars absentmindedly at the TV as some chick slaps another chick for whatever reason.

“I regret them,” Damian whispers, and Jason decides now would be a wise time to remain silent. “I killed people because my mother and grandfather said it was my birthright too. I was superior and they were worthless. I never... thought anything of it. Until now.” He takes a shaky breath and continues, rubbing his eye with his shoulder. “I promised Grayson I would never kill again, and I’ve always intended to keep that promise for myself if not for him. B-but father doesn’t trust me all the time and it’s hard t-to think that I’m ever going to live up to that promise when he’s constantly telling me how I could have slipped up or how I could have killed... killed somebody a-and it’s been three years since- and why doesn’t he trust me? Why does he always think I’m... I’m gonna...”

He breaks off into a painful sounding sob and Jason watches wide eyed, completely at a loss of what to do. He sits there and watches as Damian explains through sobs that someone died yesterday, a criminal he was chasing. The man accidentally slipped off the docks into the freezing, churning, unforgiving water of Gotham Bay and drowned before Robin could safely get down to him. Batman arrived just as Robin pulled his dead body back onto the docks. Batman tried to resuscitate him, but with no luck.

Robin was benched, blamed for his death, and Nightwing didn’t take his side.

Bruce said he could have reacted faster. Dick chose to try and stay in the middle but ended up just getting Bruce mad at both of them and Damian feeling betrayed.

It’s no wonder Damian ran out and was ignoring every text message sent his way. He feels like his whole world has turned against him. Jason is almost tempted to let the kid stay more than the night.

Somehow, Jason’s managed to scoot closer to the crying kid, and somehow, Damian’s ended up under his arms. Leaning against his chest, crying and letting the warm tears run down his cheeks and against Jason’s skin. It feels personal. It feels open. It feels secret and sacred.

Jason clutches the kid closer, and he doesn’t say a thing because he doesn’t know what to say quite yet.

He just holds him, then when Damian tires himself out and his eyes become puffy and half-lidded, Jason gathers him up and carries him to the bedroom, his arms too full to turn off the TV. Damian instantly curls up into his side as he lays them both down onto the bed, dragging the sheets.

People die on patrol, yet Bruce seems to be the hardest on them when it’s the criminals who die. Victims, choking on their own blood and crying, eyes going milky, but Bruce only sees the criminal that Jason aloud to get shot by their own partner, he only sees the thug Jason aloud to get stabbed through the gut when Joker got sick of them. It’s a whole, vile system Bruce has. When victims die, it’s no one’s fault, but when the bad guys die, they should have been strong enough and brave enough and fast enough to stop it.

Jason doesn’t think Bruce will ever trust Jason not to kill. He doesn’t think Bruce will ever trust Damian not to kill.

So the least Jason can do right now while Bruce seethes and Dick tries to mediate is hold Damian a little tighter as a promise that Jason is on his side instead of the people who are supposed to be.

He hopes it’s enough. Because it’s truly the least he can do.

[akfanficlove]

“What if I remember?” - #SeblaineWeek2020

Written for Seblaine Week 2020 – Hurt/ comfort

Sebastian had proposed. A week later, he was in an accident, Blaine not knowing if he’d make it and remembering the day he went back to Dalton, met Sebastian again and – in the end – fell in love. This hurt so much when I was even just writing it but I love how it turned out.

 He remembers. He knows it happened, yet he can barely believe it. Why is he silently sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to beeping machines when he wants to scream at Sebastian to finally wake up? The hand that’s holding his boyfriend’s for dear life is sweaty. No, wait, not his boyfriend’s – his fiancé’s. It can’t be, it’s only been a week since Sebastian went down on one knee during their vacation in Paris.

Paris, where Sebastian had lived as a child and where he spent six months as an intern in college. Paris, where they wanted to go together after graduation, then after getting their first jobs, then after Blaine’s first show closed on Broadway.

Finally, 2 years after Sebastian had returned home to San Francisco, they finally went there and it was everything Blaine had dreamed about. They were strolling down the Seine late at night, eating crêpes and kissing under the Eiffel Tower, just like Sebastian had promised. And then, on their last night, Sebastian had insisted they’d go to this little restaurant in Montmartre that’s a cute café by day and a funky bar by night, even though they were both tired, so why exactly couldn’t they just order room service and go to bed?

Blaine knew why when Sebastian took his hand, his palms sweaty and shaking a little. “Blaine Anderson”, he said, “you are the most ridiculous person and a pain in my ass. But every day I wake up next to you and for a moment I am so in awe that you are still with me.”

His voice trembled a little and Blaine’s eyes started to fill with tears because, no, he couldn’t mean that, this couldn’t be… “You are stubborn and you drive me insane when I know there’s something bothering you but you brush me off like it’s fine. I hate it when you sing in the shower before I had my morning coffee and hate even more how I could never ever hate it when you’re singing because it’s beautiful. You have this smug smile when you know my arguments are better but your puppy eyes will make me give in anyways and we really need to talk about you not using them for evil purposes like having dinner with your strange public school friends you insist you like.”

Blaine gasps half-mockingly, half self-conscious (Sebastian might have a point about him using that method to get his way).

“All of this should have me running for my life as fast as I can, yet, you are in every way said puppy – one look, one smile and I’m done, Anderson. Actually, thinking about leaving you kind of leaves me shaking with fear because I might be able to survive without you but I would hardly call that living, so I’d really rather not.” Sebastian actually blushed and Blaine was about to yell “yes, I do!” before he even heard the question.

However, Sebastian got down on one knee, holding out a small velvet box with a beautiful simple silver ring with a row of very small black diamonds and asked Blaine to marry him right there in a little restaurant in Paris. It sounds cliché and cheesy but Blaine likes cheesy and he likes Paris and he likes the ring and, hell, yes, he wants to marry Sebastian! For a fraction of a second there’s an image in his head of the boy he used to love, the boy he thought he would marry one day and in another lifetime or universe maybe he would, would have proposed with a big romantic gesture and a moving speech, but here and now, he kissed Sebastian as he slid his finger through the ring.

At home, they threw a little get-together a few days later to break the news to their families and closest friends, both of them still basking in actually doing this, taking this next step together. They wanted to officially tell their fellow ex-Warblers, Blaine’s public school friends Sebastian pretends to dislike (although he knows Sebastian has a soft spot for Marley, likes playing video games with Sam and Sebastian’s relationship with Santana, founded on a deep respect for each other’s wit and snarky banter, Blaine will never understand) and a few other friends on a bigger party next saturday.

 Next saturday seems so far away right now. He doesn’t really know what happened, couldn’t listen to what the doctor told him a few hours ago when he stormed into the hospital after a call that began with “Mr. Blaine Anderson? You are the emergency contact for a Mr. Sebastian Smythe. I’m sorry to inform you that there was an accident…”

Everything is a blur now. He went where they told him to go. He moved when the nurses needed some space to change Sebastian’s IV-drip. He laid his head in the crook between Sebastian’s head and his shoulder, held his hand carefully, unable to say anything but “Please don’t leave me…”. He’s been like that for hours.

 It’s getting late and visiting hours are long over, one of the nurses obviously feels sorry for him, that’s the only explanation he has why he’s still allowed to be here. He really must look as awful as he feels. His whole body hurts when he moves to get up, not wanting to go but not wanting to cause any trouble for the lovely nurse who let him sit with Sebastian a little longer. He kisses Sebastian’s forehead. He knows, Sebastian doesn’t like this, feels like a little kid when he does it, and maybe Blaine does it on purpose to make Sebastian finally wake up. He remembers fragments now, that the doctor said something about “potential brain damage” and “we just need to give him a few hours, maybe a day or two” and Sebastian “being lucky”. He really wants to believe her, has a deep respect for doctors after seeing some of his friends like Wes and Jeff suffer through med school. So, he hopes she’s right and reluctantly let’s go off Sebastian’s hand.

 Turns out, going back to their apartment was not a good idea. Everything around him is Sebastian and when he’s finally in bed, the only thing he can think about is What if?

 What if Sebastian doesn’t wake up tomorrow?

What if he wakes up at night, now knowing where he is, what happened and looking for Blaine?

Or what if he wakes up not even knowing who Blaine is? What if what they had is gone now?

 Something in Blaine’s stomach doesn’t feel right and he needs to get it out one way or the other. He runs towards the bathroom and makes it just in time before he throws up his breakfast and some of the shitty coffee he had at the hospital. For the first time since the call, he allows himself to break down into tears. He sits on the cold tiles of their bathroom floor, grabbing his curls when the sob’s ripple through his body.

What if Blaine goes back tomorrow and they tell him, Seb will never wake up?

What if they ask him to decide to turn off the machines or believe in wonders?

Oh dear god, what if he actually dies?

 Usually, when Blaine is upset, he finds comfort in Seb’s arms and a solution for whatever problem in his analyzing way of thinking. Blaine gets up, washes out his mouth to get rid of the sour taste and makes his way back to the bedroom. He falls down on the mattress and curls up into a ball. He reaches for Sebastian’s pillow and hugs it tight, smelling the faint smell of the cologne he knows Blaine likes, and why? Why did it have to be Seb? Why now? Why doesn’t he wake up already?

Silent tears stream down Blaine’s face, memories flooding his brain: Sebastian laughing because Blaine’s very small mom was hugging him so tight when they told her about the engagement. Sebastian in Paris, the Eiffel Tower, the parks, the ring and his smile. Tears he tries to hide every time they watch “Moulin Rouge” or a Disney classic. Date nights in the park for the 4th July, sitting on a blanket watching the fire works explode over the Golden Gate Bridge. Little moments like them holding hands all the way back to the hotel with their National’s trophy. Their first kiss a few days later when Blaine burned his tongue on scalding hot coffee, Sebastian being there to soothe the ache. All the way back, Blaine’s first day back at Dalton, not officially attending classes yet but in his uniform anyway to try how it would feel. He remembers. He remembers Sebastian starstruck-expression and the hand on his back. He remembers the warmth that was partly because he was so excited to be back and partly because something stirred in his belly he didn’t dare name yet, not back then.

It’s that warmth he craves now. That warmth he wishes he could give Sebastian. He falls asleep with tears drying on his lashes, his body on Sebastian’s side of the bed. He sleeps restlessly but when he does, he dreams about that day at Dalton that changed everything.

 It’s 7 a.m. when he slowly wakes up, feeling even more exhausted than when he fell asleep. He just wants to shower and go back to the hospital. Before getting up, he looks at his phone, a little anxious to see a message from the hospital there telling him bad news although it’s a ridiculous thought. They would’ve called if something was wrong, right? Yeah. But they would’ve also called if Seb had woken up, a bitter voice in his head tells him.

After the shower and getting dressed he dials the hospitals number where they tell him visitors were not allowed sooner than 8:30 which leaves Blaine with one more hour to ki– to spend. What he wanted to say is a bad, bad word. A bad, bad word he purposely doesn’t use, afraid he might jinx something. Blaine huffs. Sebastian would so make fun of this, of how Blaine behaves when the doctor’s prognosis was that he would be fine and Blaine wishes more than anything for Sebastian to come home and make fun of him. He’d gladly take a life full of rolling eyes, half-smiles and shaking heads if it meant that Sebastian would just be fine. He loves this man and no God would be cruel enough to take him from him, right?

 Blaine sits down on the couch, completely ready with his shoes on and watches to clock on the wall on the left side of their TV tick. He unlocks his phone and scrolls through his pictures.

There are a lot from Paris, one of them in front of the Louvre – it didn’t stop raining this whole day. One of Sebastian in a small café with a French newspaper and an espresso. One of him kissing Sebastian’s cheek out of a sudden and Sebastian’s eyes wide in surprise from when they finally made it up the hill to Sacré-Cœur and enjoyed the view.

Then there are other pictures. Sebastian with his arms slung over Hunter’s and Beat’s shoulder on the night of their housewarming party for their offices of the advertisement agency the founded together. Sebastian, Kitty and Marley dancing on Sam’s birthday party last year, his boyfr– his fiancé’s tie undone and probably too many buttons of his shirt open to be appropriate. Yet, they seemed like they didn’t have a care in the world. A picture of Sebastian and him hugging in front of a huge poster of Blaine’s face on Blaine’s opening night on Broadway. It’s the look in Seb’s face, so proud, so in love, so excited that has Blaine’s heart breaking a little and makes tears sting in his eyes. His thumb brushes over their faces. “Seb, you can’t leave me now…”, he whispers although no one’s there that could hear him.

How he made it to the hospital, he has no idea. His whole body aches and it’s getting worse the closer he gets to the room door. When Blaine opens it, he actually stops breathing, only to let it out in a deep sigh when he finds Sebastian in exactly the same position as he was yesterday. “He looks so fragile”, Blaine thinks and he wants to do nothing but hold his boy in his arms. Maybe that’s why he dismisses the chair and lays down next to Sebastian, curled into his body, careful not to accidently pull out the IV-drip. How often he had found himself in almost exactly this position when they were cuddling in bed after an orgasm or when Blaine’s had this awful cold last winter. Blaine cups Sebastian’s cheek and stroked lightly. During the 5 days of the cold when he thought he might actually die, Sebastian kept him company in bed when he could, took a few days off of work to take care of him, brought him soup and water and tea and advil. And he sang to him, Blaine remembers, the memory might be a little fuzzy but he remembers his soft voice in his ear grounding him. So Blaine starts singing softly, if only to help Sebastian ground himself:

 “I still love you

I still want you

I still need you

After all.

For better or worse

Sickness and health

Till death do us part

After all.

Please don’t leave me…”

 It must be hours since Blaine has arrived. His voice is starting to get hoarse, his face is wet from tears Blaine couldn’t stop from falling and he feels exhausted. When the song is over, he burries his face in Sebastian’s neck and breathes in before getting up. He needs to go to the bathroom and even though he’s not hungry, he knows he should get something to eat. Before he turns to leave the room he leaves a lingering kiss against Sebastian’s forehead and mumbles “I’ll be right back…”. He walks towards the door.

“You know I hate it when you do that, B.”

Blaine stops in his tracks. He’s afraid to turn back around. What if his brain is playing tricks on him? What if he’s sleep-deprieved and going crazy?

“Makes me feel like a child.”

Blaine turns. Deep green is looking at him. There’s a crocked smile on a beautiful face and Blaine rushes back to the bed and grabs this handsome face. He doesn’t feel the tears of relief but he feels the chains that suffocated him burst in his chest, suddenly it’s easier to breath again. He doesn’t hear himself whisper his name again and again in awe. But he does feel it when Sebastian turns his head a little and winces but kisses his palms.

“Hey…”

Blaine blinks. “Hi… oh my god, Seb, you scared me so much!” He launches himself into his fiancé’s arms with an “I love you” but scrambles to his feet when he hears him groan in pain. “Shit, I’m sorry, Seb, I’m so, so sorry. Wait, let me get a nurse or a doctor, fuck, you must be in so much pain and I– I’m just so glad, you’re awake…” He wipes tears and snot away with the back of his right hand. Sebastian is awake. He’s awake.

Sebastian just smiles at him. “It’s okay, B, I’m okay, I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor, not right now.” He grab’s Blaine’s hand. “Why don’t you lay down again?” He scoots over and Blaine obliges, raveling in the feeling of Seb’s finger’s lacing through his curls. He’s awake.

“Oh, Blaine?” – “Mhm?” – “We have to postpone the party. I am so not giving Hunter the satisfaction of showing up with bruises on this usually perfect mark of beauty…”

Blaine just rolls his eyes and hugs Sebastian tighter even though he hears him hissing in obvious discomfort. Good. That’ll teach Sebastian to never, ever scare Blaine like that again. “I swear to God, Seb, if you ever scare me like that again, I’ll burn your French vintage-writing desk without batting an eye.”